Life Class

Let’s put it out there – Pat Barker is a genius. While the storyline and setting of Regeneration may not have been right up my alley, Border Crossing is pretty amazing and we can now add Life Class to that subheading. You have got to admire an author who is not afraid to tackle any of the “nasties” of modern life.

Life Class starts off concerning itself with the lives and loves of a group of students at the Slade School of Art, although ultimately it the war, and art and the war that is the focus of the novel. Paul, a somewhat disgruntled and nearly failing artist, is attracted to Elinor (like many other men on campus, including the hugely successful Kit Neville). However, Paul soon finds himself caught up in a relationship with Teresa, an artist’s model. Teresa is dark and mysterious, but Paul is not sure how much he trusts her, or her stories about her abusive husband. With such a lack of trust, it is no wonder when this fizzles out.

As we begin to see the growing attraction between Paul and Elinor, the narrative becomes interspersed with references to the possibility of war, and Neville and Paul both feel bound by duty (and artistic greed in Neville’s case) to make their way to the front in medical positions.

Although the narrative largely follows Paul, he, Neville and Elinor have very different experiences of the war, especially as artists. Neville, desperate for acclaim, wants to paint the war; it’s real, relevant and not subject matter that everyone has access to. Paul initially can’t think of painting, but eventually the horrors seem to flow from him into his paintbrush. The culmination of this is a sketch of a man with his jaws blown off that he later shows the art teacher who was previously so contemptuous of his work. Paul acknowledges that it is not a work he can ever display or sell, but he wants his teacher to see what he has become. The reader sees it too. Meanwhile Elinor has tellingly gotten involved with the Bloomsbury set, and the concept of painting the war is distasteful to her.

Paul’s return marks him as a changed man, and he is unable to come to terms with some aspects of his previous life. The ending is a little abrupt and uncertain, but this reflects the mental state of those returning from war, unsure of what the future will hold for them. So, the reader gets a rather “organic” experience, although it is sure to disappoint some. Overall though, I enjoyed Life Class (loaded title, huh?), especially the artistic aspects of it.

The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith

Thomas Kenneally of Schinder’s Ark fame brings us another novel based upon true historic events. This work focuses on Jimmie Blacksmith, a “half-caste” Aboriginal whose white father taught him to aspire to land ownership, a white wife and children and grandchildren that are more and more white.

Jimmie takes all these lessons to heart, and they are reinforced by the lifestyle he observes in the Aboriginal missions – lives of hazy drunkenness and loose women. He learnt early that this was not for him, so he adopts these “white” attitudes. He believes that with his own hard work will lead to his success.

But this is not a world that is ready to accept an Aboriginal with the same goals as white men. Jimmie is repeatedly cheated by his employers, and when he finally manages to take a white wife, the birth of their first child places Jimmie’s feet firmly on a path of vengeance. The child is snow white, and clearly not Jimmie’s.

Jimmie’s relatives come to visit him and remind him of his forgotten culture, causing his white employers to treat him even more like a stereotypical “black”. When they stop buying food for Jimmie’s family, and try to convince his wife to leave him, something inside of Jimmie snaps. He takes up his axe, and takes revenge.

There is a real irony in the setting of the story. White Australians in the background are talking constantly about Federation – the bringing together of all Australians under one banner – but what about the forgotten Australians? The narrative shows us clearly that this Australia was not at all united, nor ready to confront the race upon whose land they formulated their nation.

Jimmie is a sympathetic character, despite the barbarity of his actions. His rage is the rage of his own nation – for all that had been taken away from them, and all that they were refused access to. It’s an important read, and a nice change to read something of significance.

The Thirteenth Tale

It has become rather clear recently that I have made some rather tragic choices on my list of “must reads before I die”. Unfortunately, The Thirteenth Tale was one of them.

Let me explain – and defend myself for choosing this somewhat vapid book. I like books about books. It is as simple as that. Metabooks I guess you could call them, which of course differs slightly from metafiction, which is far more postmodern (and also very cool by the wa - just not what I am discussing here). No, I mean books that show us the value of books and reading. A good example would be Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. And this is what I thought I was getting with The Thirteenth Tale. The premise is a bestselling author calls in an obscure young biographer to tell her the last great tale of her career – the real truth of her life. This has been hidden for years behind a myriad of “smoke and mirror” stories, all of which proved to be false.

There are some interesting (although not entirely direct) references to the magnificent Jane Eyre, but the book slurs into a cheap mystery and loses its believability. Again, I am disappointed with this one, and thoroughly encouraged to go back to some traditionally good authors to bask in the warmth of their certain glow….

Expect some changes to the list too…. Amazing what one book can do.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Thirteenth_Tale_(novel)

The Poet

Good crime novels lead you in one direction – even though a savvy reader knows that the solution to the puzzle could never be that easy. Then it twists and turns and you enjoy the somewhat unexpected turn it takes you in. No so with Michael Connelly’s The Poet.

Obviously I was drawn to The Poet because of the title – and the delicious prospect of references to Edgar Allan Poe. I thought it might be an intelligent crime novel – and for a while it wasn’t bad. A serial killer of homicide cops has hidden his tracks for years by making his murders look like suicides. And all the victims leave a line of Poe as a suicide message.

The book leads you in one direction – the narrative is shared by an investigative journalist and a killer with a penchant for young children. When they finally catch up with each other though – we are nowhere near the end of the book. Now is clearly the time for Connelly to work his magic – yet there is no magic in sight. The reader expects to be misled... but the final resolution has to be satisfying. However, Connelly tries to mislead us again, by developing a case against the main love interest. While a little cliché, this is at least understandable to the reader, once her background is explained. However, Connelly tries to be too clever. He twists again, and yet another character turns out to be the killer. Unfortunately, Connelly is unable to provide us with any reason for this character’s dark desires – he does not even express his motivation. This is extremely disappointing and very “hack”. He twists and turns for the sake of it, and it left me very unsatisfied, and a little annoyed.

To keep the poetry metaphor going, I’d say in this instance, Connelly is about on par with a limerick.