#05 Books
It was last Saturday evening when I recognised that (Paris excluded) I'd done absolutely nothing since finishing school. OK, I'd been out for a few pints with Croasdell and Telfer, but in terms of actually doing anything constructive, nowt had been achieved. Worse still, I was sitting indoors on a Saturday night watching In It To Win It. Immediate action needed to be taken...
So what have I done? Well, seeing as I am hoping to study English Literature at university this year, I thought it wise to get a few books under my belt. Raiding the loft reaped its rewards, because I stumbled across my dad's book collection. It amazed me just how many books I found boxed up from the 1970s/1980s that have since become Hollywood films. There must be something in that, I thought, so set about reading some of them. Before Sunday, I'd already read a few "now a major film" texts. On holiday last Summer, I read Joseph Heller's Catch-22; during the year, James Clavell's King Rat, Robert Ludlum's The Bourne Identity and Louis de Berière's Captain Corelli's Mandolin (as part of my coursework assignment) were all added to my bookshelf...
Sunday afternoon was Anthony Burgess's A Clockwork Orange's turn. Written through the eyes of Alex, a youth growing up against a background of a lawless society, its presentation could put off the casual reader. From the first line, the text is comprised of Alex's slang and colloquial patois. Through this unusual yet brilliant approach the sheer horror of the events that Alex finds himself embroiled in - robbery, assault, rape and ultimately, murder - is both distanced from the reader yet emotionally heightened. Scenes from the book have since become clichés, but once you remember this book dates from the 1970s, they become all the more chilling. The joy of reading is that you can become as involved or as distant from the plot as you choose. I wouldn't recommend forming mental images of what you read of this book - they will haunt.
Monday was spent at home doing not much else again. After visiting Bluewater's job centre on Saturday, I was half-expecting a phone call from Next. They told me that - whether I had got the job there or not - they would call and let me know on Monday or Tuesday. No call, so I spend the afternoon getting too hot by trying to paint the garden fence. Abandoning my attempts at 1 o'clock, I managed to make better progress in the fantastic evening we enjoyed that night.
Tuesday was spent doing not much else again (!), but this time in much more pleasant surroundings. Going down to Dartford Park with Croasdell, Adèle and Elyse was not only a fantastic excuse to get out the house, but a welcome opportunity to meet up with people again! Sitting in the blazing sunshine for a couple of hours felt fantastic - until recognising at about 5 in the afternoon that I was, in fact, severely sunburnt. There's an important lesson here, kids: wear sunscreen. The excuse that "It was cloudy when I left" just doesn't cut it. Luckily, after two hours in the direct sun, the rest of the day was spend sitting under the shade of trees, where the breeze and the cloud-less sky made for a perfect summer's day. And it saved me from losing the rest of my skin, to boot.
As well as swapping stories, Tuesday gave me the chance to lend Elyse a CD (Belle & Sebastian, what else?) and collect a book from her in return. It was Alex Garland's The Beach, and provided me with reading material for Wednesday afternoon. One of my pet hates is reading a book with excessively-long chapters. I can't leave a chapter half-way through, and you just know that as soon as you start reading one, you'll get a phone call, or a message, or a visitor that forces you to stop. Not only that, but they're impossible to read if you only get the odd five-minutes here or there during the day. Luckily, The Beach provided no problems: the chapters are short, but packed with excitement, action and suspense. Ignoring the times I had to stop to apply after-sun, I could not put this book down and finished it within hours.
There is a reference in The Beach to September 11th. It came as such a disappointing blow to me: I was so angry that such a good book up to then had been marred by such a clichéd comment. But then I read the front - the book was written in 1996. It made me feel guilty for ever doubting the author's integrity, and it made me recognise just how paranoid the modern world has become. Ironically, that's the whole point of the book. So should you read this book? On a selfish level, yes you should: that was I can discuss it with you! But also because this novel doesn't feel like any other book I've read up to now. It feels modern, fresh, and relevant: it feels like you're watching a really good film.
I've never watched the films that any of these books have inspired. I'm not sure I want to, either, through fear that they might spoil the images I have in my head. I don't want to sit through the horror of A Clockwork Orange; I don't want The Beach's beach to be any less beautiful than the one I've imagined; I don't want Françoise to be any less beautiful; Etienne to be any less friendly; Richard to be any less - well, anything less than like me!
I returned to Louis de Bernière's writings today by reading his first novel, Señor Vivo And The Coca Lord. There are many similarities between this book and The Beach. Firstly, there's one hellovalotta drugs involved in each! In both novels, drug barons provide the characters with protection and security, but also strike fear and terror into their hearts. You know when you've upset them: in both books, the results of making them cross manifests in horrific events. Thinking about it now, all the books I've read this week are pretty violent and bloody!
The difference between Señor Vivo... and The Beach/A Clockwork Orange is that in the latter two books you know from the beginning that the characters' fates are sealed. You can prepare yourself for their deaths; it doesn't shock you so much because you can see it coming. But in Señor Vivo... the contrast between joy and horror is scarily similar to London's plight over the last week. And it does scare you: no matter how strong your heart is, this book will break it.
I could write forever about why the books I've read this week appeal to me. Looking up, it appears I almost have.
