Night Owl

Night Owl Book Review: ‘Molly Fox’s Birthday’ by Deidre Madden

I recently decided on a reading list that comprises novels that are linked by the Orange Prize for Fiction. I shall be reviewing them all here in the coming weeks.

‘Molly Fox’s Birthday’ was shortlisted for this year’s prize (2009), but didn’t win. Madden has had another novel shortlisted for the prize - ‘One by One in the Darkness’ (2003). However, Madden has won numerous other prizes and awards which you can read about here.

Madden was born in 1960, is from County Antrim in Northern Ireland and teaches at Trinity College Dublin.

This is the second Irish writer I have read recently, the other being Anne Enright who was born in Dublin in 1962. I read ‘The Gathering’, a few months ago which I enjoyed, but not as much as I enjoyed ‘Molly Fox’s Birthday’.

I am a latecomer to contemporary Irish writers, but have been fortunate enough to have this late discovery of excellent reading enhanced by a recent discovery of Ireland itself. I first visited Ireland a few years ago, and have returned on numerous occasions since, including several stays in Bray, where Anne Enright currently lives, and some day trips to Dublin (which I am visiting again at the end of this summer). I have, therefore, been able to engage my imagination with the settings of these novels much more rewardingly.

This relatively short novel (221 pages) is set over one day, a particular day – the birthday of one of its characters, Molly Fox, a famous actress who lives only through the reminiscences of her close friend our nameless playwright narrator, who is staying in her house while she is away. Of course the ‘day’ is heavy with meaning, a meaning which we learn as the novel progresses.

‘Molly Fox’s Birthday’ spoke to me very intimately at times. I re-lived elements of my student days and my early twenties and identified closely with some of the insights that maturity brings to the characters.  Madden tackles so many weighty ideas, ideas such as students might discuss late into the night, and it rings true that her characters continue their lives ever in the wake of the conversations of these formative years.

But to speak of weight in connection with this book is slightly misleading, as the syntax is airy, almost light, especially at the start. This is another case of ‘less is more’ (see my review of ‘A Week in Winter’); the prose gathers depth and perspective while maintaining a surface effortlessness – giving away nothing of Madden’s experience of writing the book as her most difficult. There does seem to be a giveaway ‘sigh of relief’ however, in the lengthy final conversation between two of the main protagonists at the end, in which so much is unraveled and elucidated.

I do feel that occasionally the design leaks through the text, more so in the first half than the second. The time shifts between the present (the entire novel covers only one day – recalling ‘Mrs Dalloway’) and the reminiscences of our narrator about a number of quite widely separated events in the past, are sometimes made in such a way that the join is too visible, but this is a minor quibble. There is a lot of coincidence too, in both the past and the present, but this allows a ‘neatness’ which the subject matter benefits from if the novel is to be kept relatively short, especially as the theme of the novel comes to a head; after all there is only so much thinking and reminiscing a person can do in the duration of one day.

The main theme of the novel is identity, how identity is developed and also how another’s identity is perceived and how we can come to a deeper understanding of those close to us. In this case we are examining this idea through a group of closely connected people – a triangle of good friends who share a life in the Arts, and their respective families. The exploration of the mental processes of an actor in becoming someone else is quite brilliant as a way to offset other explorations of self-identity. I was quite staggered to hear that Madden has no experience of acting herself as I found some of these parts of the novel quite the most profound and perceptive.

For example, our narrator describes Molly Fox’s performance as The Duchess of Malfi: ‘I believed in her as a duchess. Her plight moved me, and yet still I knew she was an actor’…”Who is it can tell me who I am?”…(and here is Night Owl's pellet from this novel) Is the self really such a fluid thing, something we invent as we go along, almost as a social reflex? Perhaps it is instead the truest thing about us, and it is the revelation of it that is the problem; that so much social interchange is inherently false, and real communication can only be achieved in ways that seem strange and artificial.’

After the loss of so much in her life, the Duchess had not lost herself, “I am Duchess of Malfi still”, and I feel that Madden wants to say this about her characters…I am Andrew still, I am Fergus still...and our narrator also subtly refers us back to her own sense of self, which we first start to understand from the encounter with the hare on the train that she is trying to work into her next play. 

At the very end of the novel, when we are probably feeling disappointed for our narrator, and when we might expect an outburst of strong emotion, instead we are taken back to something gentle and metaphysical which helps to dissipate the situation, so that we feel that our narrator has not lost her true self in spite of her personal disappointment.

I liked the voice in this novel. I shall be reading some more of Deidre Madden’s writing.

Audio books

I've almost started to take my fantastic eyesight for granted. A few months ago I had laser eye surgery with Ultralase. It's been one of the best things I've ever done for myself. I had different astigmatisms in each eye, but this was easily correctable. I've been totally liberated from glasses. Swimming is one of the most positive advantages of the treatment. Being able to see clearly in the pool is a great feeling, and in the spa or sauna too. Not steaming up in temperature extremes, or when you open the oven door, are other examples of little things that now make me smile.

However, in spite of great eyesight, I have recently been converted to the pleasures of audio books. These are downloadable complete books that you can transfer to a mobile listening device, such as an iPod Shuffle.

The best listen so far has been Ian McKewan reading his own 'On Chesil Beach'. This was hypnotic and addictive, and I was sorry when it was finished. Perfect for a long train journey. It's an intense and intimate story ideally suited to audio. I am on the look out for similar things.

Night Owl Book Review: 'A Week in Winter' by Barth Landor

The opening of this book appears to ask little of its reader at first, but this is a clever kind of deception, because when you reach the end, you may have tears in your eyes.

The subtle, understated prose is a pleasure to read and the style economic, almost minimalist. But this is certainly a case in which less is more. The book is, as the title suggests, structured around the events of one week. Yet it is in fact the working week, Monday to Friday, which provides the time-scale. This simple structure is vital to the impact of the story as a whole, as it successfully offsets the complex deliberations and vacillations of the protagonist. Within these few pages, (only 143 of them), a timeless tragedy unfolds. In fact it is a double tragedy, the one indivisible from the other: one is finite, irredeemable, the other a contagion within our civilized world - and it is this latter condition that motivates this extraordinarily powerful book.

The main drama takes place within the mind of the narrator. Clark is a weary worker in a remote American consulate in Eastern Europe, disillusioned by his job, his career. He is deeply disappointed by those around him; his hopes for friendship with his colleagues long since faded:‘Once I thought such a fine profession would perfectly suit me; now I find myself disagreeably altered by it. It changes the way I relate to my world, causing me to distort the significance of success.’ He has become an outsider; he sees his name, literally separated from those of his colleagues, on a tick-off sheet, the context of which he cannot discern. He consoles himself by reading great literature. Gradually, his meditations and deliberations draw us in closer and we start to travel with him, with every twist and turn of his conscience as events unfold. We see him managing his young son in the temporary absence of his wife, telling him unlikely tales in order to win his obedience or avoid the directness of his questions and see him struggle with his weakness and exhaustion and with what is contained in each ordinary day - for it takes little to drag him down.

Every nuance of the preparations being made for an important visitor to the consulate irritates him – he cannot partake in all the fuss. He seems paranoid, projecting all his insecurity onto others. Why has he been given the most menial of jobs? But then he makes a connection with someone who is herself an outsider, a persecuted soul, and he finally resolves to follow his instincts against the probable wishes of his superiors by helping her. A chink of light enters his heart and his humanity is re-awakened; for a time he even notices that his co-workers are engaged in tasks as menial as his own and he feels some alliance with them. But then come small but significant moments of personal revelation and lucidity which coalesce gradually into a resolve which never the less vacillates until the moment of action.What he discovers as a result of his decision is an atrocity which cancels any doubt that he is doing the right thing. Yet events occur beyond his control and the agonies of the whole week pour into one moment. Clark is left with one final chance to stand up to his superiors.

I particularly enjoyed the descriptive details which unselfconsciously reveal Clark’s feelings and the way he relates to his world. Owl's pellet from this novel is: the office manager ‘unsurpassed in the art of looking indispensable,’ and of whom Clark wonders ‘whether it really is his enterprises, large and small, which give birth to his purposeful manner, and not the manner itself breeding the enterprises.’ I think many of us encounter this in our daily lives. But the value of this book is far greater than the sum of its contents, for we are taken on a journey of monumental importance to our age which lifts off the page.I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It is a remarkable debut that will attract readers across the globe.

Night Owl Book Review: 'Black Swan Green' by David Mitchell

Today, I finished David Mitchell's 'Black Swan Green'.

Narrated by a 13-year-old boy, the story takes place over 13 months of his life, and is set in the England of 1982.

This novel resonated all the more for me for two reasons: I have a 13-year- old son, and I was not living in England in 1982. For these reasons, the story has given me wonderful insights. On the one hand, I valued getting a teenage angle on the Falklands War (I was 14 in 1982) and on the other, I relished the opportunity to see through the eyes of a young boy of this age. I don’t think I have ever read anything with this kind of voice before. I rarely read books twice, but I can see myself wanting to go through this experience again.

What I have retained most, on first reading, is the poignancy and immediacy of the young boy's experiences - the adjacency of revelation, pain and joy. Especially effective is the way Mitchell has the boy narrator (cast as a fledgling poet) quoting his own poetic lines, in a way that makes them spontaneous and relevant to the moment, but also timeless. This gifted child is put to the test by his peers in rites of passage & initiation, but is also tested and mentored by the mysterious Madame Crommelynck – a character of archetypal quality – in a section of the book which is strangely otherworldly. In fact, Mitchell evidently enjoys using such episodes which act as subtle, unconscious psychological explorations. Take the house in the woods - at first we can’t work out whether the narrator is dreaming or not. But the narrative is so good, it can be read and enjoyed effortlessly without concerning yourself, if you prefer, with what these episodes might really be conveying about the character – they’ll affect you whether you realise it or not. The time-frame is fairly short, and densely packed with engaging detail and dialogue which keeps you hooked. Yet, essentially, I think that this is a story about the survival, nurturing and awakening of a poet. And this is why we want our protagonist to win through – because the world needs its poets – something that society so easily forgets. I couldn't recommend this book highly enough. I was pleased that the story included a positive relationship between the boy and his older sister too. I only had a couple of minor complaints: At times, in the early stages of the novel, I felt a little like I was reading the Beano and also, I felt that some of the 1982 references were surplus to requirements and were there as an easy hook for the age group of reader that the author obviously had in mind.

Night Owl's 'Pellets' from this book:

'The world's a headmaster who works on your faults.'

'Woods in winter're brittle places/Your mind flits from twig to twig.'

'Over the English Channel, the sticky afternoon was as turquoise as Head and Shoulders shampoo.'

What a Hoot

I find myself with a blog.

Night Owl will perch on her branch and watch the strange world we live in, and twitter and hoot from the safety of the tree top at night.

To find out what 'Night Owl' is all about, see 'Owl Pellets'.