GeekReads

"A novel" is totally necessary, otherwise the casual browser flicking through pages might mistake this book for non-fiction.

When a geek and aspiring writer comes across writing this good, he can’t help but hate it: hate how the author actually knows how the world works in the way that he only thinks he knows; hate how realistic and compelling his characters are; hate how he can’t stop turning the pages even though the socio-political commentary is like being forced to watch back-to-back episodes of Question Time; and hate how the author was able to completely obey Elmore Leonard’s third rule, which states “Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.” So it’s mainly through the green eyes of envy that I criticise Freedom, by Jonathan Franzen.

Somehow, “biting social commentary” doesn’t quite cut it – even Wikipedia puts it into the patently ridiculous categories of “hysterical realism” and “post-postmodernism”. After the initial prologue that sets up the story of the Berglund family, Franzen turns on his “shouty old man” mode and unleashes a torrent that might well include every single thought he’s ever had about the woes of modern America: the environment, politics, music, relationships, multiculturalism, parenting and even youth. After reading it you feel like no stone was left unturned in his quest to expose every problem there is with the country.

Every character, as realistic, fully realised and compelling as they all are, felt like platforms for Franzen to preach on his pet topics. Toward the end I became so tired of his cynicism that I wanted to disagree with him even though deep down I’d already accepted everything he’d said as true.

The book does end on a positive note, but against the sheer weight of oppression that preceded it, pales into sentimental inconsequence, satisfying only the emotional need of the reader and providing nothing to quell the misanthropic rage that the rest of the book incites.

Freedom is a scathing portrait of modern day America, but having said that it might be possible for a talented screenplay writer to strip off the veneer of loathing and reveal the interesting character studies that lie beneath. In other words (I never thought I’d say this): wait for the movie.

The cover of About A Boy

About A Boy is only the second Hornby novel that I’ve read, so this is hardly a scientific theory, but his writing process must go something like this: Old Nick picks some themes on the topic of misery – say, being a single parent, school bullying and depression – and then his dark minions go out and search London for real life people that fit the description, latching themselves into their brains, and transmitting their thoughts back to their dark master so that all he has to do is write it down and send it to his publisher.

Surely that’s the only explanation for how remarkably well Hornby articulates what goes on in people’s minds. When I first started reading A Long Way Down and it occurred to me that he was trying to write four different people in the first person perspective, I thought (while wearing my aspiring author’s cap): there’s no way that he’s going to be able to make them all sound distinct and authentic. I mean after all, how much insight can he possibly have into the mind of a 40-something divorcee with a disabled child?

The two books are quite similar. More than once while reading About A Boy (published in 1998), I got the feeling that A Long Way Down (2005) was its spiritual sequel, because in both books Hornby is fascinated with people who seem ordinary on the outside, but are in reality on the brink of “topping” themselves – i.e. committing suicide.* Both books are written in the “he said, she said” format, where one character speaks (or rather, narrates) first and then the other, although as I already mentioned before, Down is twice as ambitious in having four voices as opposed to Boy‘s two. The plots of both also revolve around a bunch of seemingly incompatible strangers coming together in one big happy, chaotic, totally random dysfunctional anti-families as the solution to all their woes.

The cover of A Long Way Down

It’s a shame that I watched the movie version of About A Boy before reading the book, because I couldn’t help but picture the male loser character (Will) as Hugh Grant. But then again, Grant is the archetypal British cad anyway (opposite Colin Farrell’s straight man, à la Bridget Jones’ Diary). Other than that though, the characters in both books seemed so… real. Hornby has a way of writing that makes you see the world through the character’s eyes, whether it’s a depressed single mother, a washed-out rock star, a dorky 12-year old or a disgraced former TV host.

The plots, if you could call them that, are little more than the morbid curiosity of wanting to see what happens next to this little circus of freaks – the story doesn’t really begin and end so much as we – the reader – starts and stops watching them. The feeling is not unlike experiencing a small slice of literary soap opera, and to stretch the cake analogy even further, it’s about as much as one can handle – much more and you’d get sick.

I do wonder though, whether my affinity for these books is more to do with my respect for Hornby’s abilities as an author, and being a slight anglophile. After all, these are probably among the most unlikely choice of books for GeekReads – it’s filed under “general fiction” for crying out loud! But what do you think? Does Nick Hornby and his kind of books belong in this blog?

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* From experience – specifically from my review of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog over at cyberseraphic – I reckon that some rabid Nick Hornby fan is going to come out of nowhere and post a comment about how the two books are nothing alike or not even remotely related, just like how some completely random Whedonite managed to find my other site to post corrections about what I wrote.

Check out Nick Hornby books at The Book Depository.