Shantaram – Gregory David Roberts

If you haven’t yet heard of Gregory David Roberts or his novel Shantaram, I envy you, because this is the book you have been dreaming of. As reading experiences go, it is ludicrously rich and rewarding, taking us on a journey through the Bombay underworld – via slums, prisons, movie sets and wars – to the very core of human nature. It asks what is evil, what is love, how does greed, pride, envy, fear and faith change us. All this is delivered at a James Bond pace, with an Oscar Wilde eye and a Dickensian literary prowess. The integrity of Roberts’s voice and subtle beauty of his humanity are truly humbling to read.

Both the story and the language of Shantaram, combine the descriptive agility and poetic sensibilities of a high-minded aesthete with the gut-wrenching, sweat-soaked rawness of a hard-bitten criminal. Unsurprisingly so, as Roberts himself is (or was) both of these things. There is no doubt when turning through the pages of vividly brutal knife fights and beatings, mind-bending philosophical discussions and soul crunching moments of personal evolution, that Roberts has been there and done that himself. Where most authors use imagined situations to push their characters to the limit, Roberts delves into his own mental photo-library. 

At just shy of 1000 pages, this chapter in Roberts’s incredible life story leaves you almost insane for more. And after reading the book, you know he has a hell of a lot more to tell, but how could he possibly follow this? It’s like imaging Casablanca II or Hamlet Returns. However, there is a sequel planned for release in February 2010 which sees Roberts’s alter ego Lin on another addictively compelling adventure. In fact, Shantaram is the 2nd book in a quartet that Roberts plans to write and I would bet my last rupee that the complete volume will become regarded as a classic modern literary saga.

Shantaram stands as a testament to humanity in all its expressions, whether king or criminal, and ultimately shows that we all consist of the choices we make.  If this book had been written when the Voyager space shuttle was hurtled into space, this is what they should have stowed on board to inform aliens about our world today – not two records of assorted Beatles tracks and some wedding music.

Review – Mother’s Milk, Edward St. Aubyn

Edward St AubynSet over four consecutive family holidays, Edward St Aubyn’s sixth novel (and the fourth to feature Patrick Melrose, of the Some Hope trilogy)  empties out the bathroom cabinet of the Melrose family’s jagged emotional life.

The opening line of Mother’s Milk lands like a scud missile in your living room during Sunday afternoon tea. The first paragraph is one of the most brutally shocking I have ever read, detailing a modern, interventionist birth from the baby’s point of view. It is a clever device, and insightfully executed, which sets up the themes of the book immediately. It is not, however, representative of the narrative as a whole.

Robert, whose birth we experienced, narrates Chapter One in what later develops into an unbelievable and over worldly-wise voice. But despite his annoying precociousness, Robert is a powerful embodiment of the damage that children can sustain at the hands of blundering, self-obsessed parents. St Aubyn unflinchingly portrays the cycles of inter-generational emotional violence that plague all families, and our desperately futile attempts to avoid repeating mistakes of the past.

While these themes alone are likely to instil suicidal feelings in any reader, St Aubyn’s masterful black comedy and transcendental metaphors give the book a highly satisfying edge of comic-horror voyeurism. His multi-viewpoint interior portraits also deliver a gratifying exploration of such familial experiences as jealousy, betrayal and self-denial.

Despite the title, the hero of Mother’s Milk is undoubtedly Patrick – the intellectually brilliant, but emotionally confused and sexually frustrated father, whom St Aubyn inhabits knowingly. His acid-lashed attention detail in descriptions of the world around him (especially America) and of his own disintegrating mental state, provide moments of unadulterated reading joy.

Patrick is like a sun around which the planets of his children, wife, mother and mother-in-law must orbit. Robert is a mini version of Patrick and so shares the depth of understanding with which St Aubyn captures him, but the female characters feel less complex and only fully discovered within the context of their relationships to Patrick.

Ultimately deserving of its Booker nomination, Mother’s Milk is an addendum to the Melrose trilogy but can stand alone, as we see a new Patrick in this more mature setting. For those wanting resolution however, this is not the place to look. Patrick Melrose still has a long way to go on his path to redemption.

Lily Allen – A Noughties Kinda Girl

 

I want to pay homage to Lilly Allen as I think she’s been pretty amazing this last few years. She burst into our consciousnesses in summer of 2006 with that great track ‘Smile’ and since then has proved she has real talent, is an intelligent and uncomprimising young woman and a real voice of her generation.

I must admit I did have my doubts at first. It’s all too easy to think of her as a poor little rich girl with a famous daddy who gave her a leg-up into the entertainment industry, but 2 albums and several media storms later, she’s getting more and more interesting and producing work of greater depth and maturity. The lyrics of her recent songs 22 and The Fear (which debuted at No 1 earlier this year) show that she has real insight into our times.

22 tells the story of a girl who at ‘nearly 30′ finds her life empty of meaning. She wants a boyfriend but only gets one-night-stands. She has an OK job, but ‘not a career’ and wistfully looks back at her early twenties when the world was at her fingertips. There is so much pathos in this track it’s actually quite moving. And I know quite a few women of the 30ish age who have taken real offence to it – a sign that Lilly has got something right.

The Fear is a perfect song for the Noughties. It wittily and succinctly reveals how we are all in the grip of consumer culture and yet has a wonderful lightness of touch that superbly reflects the flippant ‘whatever’ generation’s attitude. Lines such as; “I want loads of clothes and fuck loads of diamonds/I heard people die while they’re trying to find them” and “Life’s about film stars and less about mothers/ It’s all about fast cars and cussing each other/But it doesn’t matter cause I’m packing plastic/and that’s what makes my life so fucking fantastic”

She’s had a rough time in her personal life, with heartbreak, miscarriage, weight loss and gain and several short-lived flings. There was also the big row when she upset the Grande Dame of pop Elton John (she wasn’t showing any respect, apparently) and the infamous spat with brawling chav turned X factor golden girl, Cheryl Cole.  There was that terrible chat show on BBC3 and too many cringey TV appearances to mention, but this is how real human beings act – they get pissed, believe their own hype and fall over in public. She’s young enough to have learned from her mistakes and become better for having made them.

But what I love about Lilly is that whatever she does, she does it with all her heart. She’s a real artist and deserves recongnition and I believe that by the end of the next decade she will have made herself one of Britian’s most successful and respected media figures.

Hallelujah for Anarchy at Christmas!

So – Rage Against the Machine did it! The rap rock anthem Killing In The Name beat X Factor winner Joe McElderry to the coveted No 1 spot for Christmas 2009, and secures its place in history.  I, for one, am excited by the charts for the first time in ages.

The KITN campaign is a perfect example of how the internet has empowered individuals at a time when the homogenisation of our culture is all but overwhelming. Fed up with the X Factor’s domination of the charts, and the seemingly unquestionable right of its winner to take the Christmas No 1, Jon and Tracy Morter decided to start a Facebook group to launch a rival bid. In a matter of weeks it had attracted almost a million like-minded members. As of tonight, over 600,000 people have bought the single.

But it could never have happened without Facebook and iTunes. Facebook allowed Jon and Tracy to re-package their widely-held frustrations into a fun, viral campaign and to instantaneously communicate it around the world. iTunes (and digital music in general) allowed that feeling to be turned into something the music business understands – sales. 

Only since music has been downloadable have the general public been able to influence the charts to such an extent. We’re no longer bound by what the industry puts out as singles, but can choose anything that’s out there. How those music marketing execs must be weeping.

Previous quirks of this happy side-effect of the digital age were 2008′s Christmas No 2 – Jeff Buckley’s Halleluja (to X Factor winner Alexandra Burke’s No 1 version) and the Phil Collins 1981 hit In The Air Tonight which reached No 14 in the Singles chart in 2007  after being featured in the brilliant Cadbury’s ‘Drumming Gorilla’ ad. There was also that 30-second record-breaker The Ladies Bras by Johnny Trun & Wisbey which reached no. 27 in the Singles charts on download only, off the back of DJ Scott Mills’ air play. The artists in all cases have been flattered and somewhat bemused.

RATM’s members (unsurprisingly) got right behind the Facebook campaign. But also proved they were worthy of being chosen to front the people’s bid by promising live on air, during the BBC Radio 1 chart countdown tonight, to stage a free gig in the UK as a thank-you to fans. They’re also donating proceeds from the single to Shelter and the UK charity Youth Music. 

This wasn’t just a case of one song or another reaching the top spot. It’s what each of these records stand for that got people buying. RATM’s Tommy Morello said in an interview with BBC6 Music this week “I think people are fed up of being spoon-fed some sugary ballad that sits on top of the charts. It’s a little dose of anarchy.” The band’s front man Zack de la Rocha told Radio 5 Live that the campaign was: “a wonderful statement… it says something about the real tensions that people are experiencing all over the UK and US as well, as people would love to experience something which reflects this.”

There are 3 reasons I think KITN beat Geordie Joe’s The Climb into second place tonight. First of all, we are indeed sick of the monotonous dredge of X Factor chart toppers. Secondly, KITN is a play-it-loud, rock-out track which is about as far from The Climb as it’s possible to get. Thirdly, I think KITN perfectly expresses the simmering feeling of frustration and disenchantment that most people have about corporations, politics and the media at the moment. Listen to the lyrics. Just think about the name of the band for a second – it’s all there.

Simon Cowell may well think the campaign “cynical”, “stupid” and “Scrooge” but couldn’t he easily be accused of cynicism and thinking the public stupid? And what could be more “Scrooge” than moaning about members of the public launching their own right to reply?

So, here’s to hope this Christmas. Hope because at the end of this decade, that has seen more erosion of civil liberties and curtailing of free expression than possibly any other decade before it, the public has put a song on the top of the UK charts which proclaims “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me.”

It’s just the vibe of the thing…

I wanted to write to let you know about something amazing. It’s a film called The Castle, and it’s the most honest, funny, insightful and lightly-handled portrait of human nature I’ve seen. Stuffed with hilarious one-liners and beautifully sketched characters it’s the film I’d  take to a desert island, if ever I was invited. 

I first discovered this film, written and directed by Rob Sitch (who also directed The Dish and the brilliant comedy series Kath & Kim) when my most random friend made a group of us sit and watch it without telling us anything about it. The film spread like a social virus amongst everyone I knew.  

This is most often the way that cult films, new music and fashions are passed on. It’s like a chain-letter (is that what they were called? If you were a schoolkid in the 80s you’ll know what I mean) sent from person to person, until everyone you know is talking about it.  It could have started in Norway in 1981 and suddenly it’s here, in your fingerless-gloved hands on the back row in Mr Kendal’s class in the West Midlands. (We could get away with  fingerless gloves in class for a while, but never mismatched flourescent socks.)

This need to transmit an emotional signifier from person to person probably lies somewhere near the root of what what it means to be human. Creators and receivers of everything from fine art to forwarded email jokes are doing the same thing. Every little piece of information you choose to extol to others represents a part of you - an attitude, an experience, a hope, an affectation.

Each generation and specific groups have broadly similar icons, but as individuals we are all entirely unique, having a kind of symbolic, emotional-DNA stored in our brains. We can learn about ourselves from these gems, and we can also choose whether to polish them or leave them to tarnish. These are the things we exchange when falling in love and bonding with new friends. They’re the psychic equivalent of gifts.

So here’s my gift to you. A great film which hopefully will hit your buttons this christmas. Go rent it and think of me.

Say No to Kittens in a Basket

We have a sunday afternoon ritual. I go and get the papers  and my 5 yr old daughter gets to choose one of those sickly sweet pink and sparkly magazines aimed at girls under seven (post-seven they have like, SO moved on from all that stuff).

Cosy at home after the horredous downpour that co-incided with our 10 minute outing, Daughter was leafing through her mag. As I read the front pages she came over to me proffering a double page photo of a group of kittens. They were assembled in a haphazard mess of fluff in a small basket and decorated with pink bows. “Look!” she demanded. I glanced over.  Mariah Carey couldn’t have come up with a cuter, more appropriately girly photo shoot. “Aaaaah” I responded, absent mindedly colluding with her childish appeals. Or so I thought.

Not a bit of it. “No!” She shot back reproachfully,  a look of  furrow-browed confusion on her face. “I thought they were being treated badly!”  

Notice past tense. She thought the kittens had been treated badly until I unknowingly corrected her by my reaction. I felt slightly ashamed that I had unthinkingly taught my daughter that dressing up baby animals is what passes as cute and should be cooed over.

Not that kittens being photographed is cruel of course, it’s just fake. But the larger point is that this sums up the artificial world that we casually create and inhabit, without so much as a second thought as to where it all leads.

There’s a lot to be learned from the piercing innocence of small children. Not the Disneyfied cookie-dough version we’re sold by the media, but the natural, instinctive understanding of truth that kids (co-incidentally, up to the age of about seven) posess.

By the time we reach our teens we have completley forgotton how to be authentic and so desperately search for an image onto which we can project ourselves. But have you ever tried bullshitting a toddler? Impossible. 

So I think I may give the cute-animals-mags a week off next sunday.

commitment issues

My name is Emma and I’m a commitment phobe. It’s detectable in the obvious area of course – Relationships. The idea of putting a ring on my finger still makes me quiver with fear even though my man and I have been together for 6 years and have a 5 year old daughter (yes, you do the math…). As you can see, I didn’t exactly plan on settling down.

But my commitment phobia pervades more than just my personal life. It’s like a rule I live by. For example, I have a thing about finishing books. On my bedside table, with less than 20 pages to go, currently lies The White Tiger, The Name of the Rose, and - ironically - The End of The Affair.  Downstairs I have at least two more books that have been opened and emptied of their secrets before being heartlessly discarded without the decency of getting to the last page. It’s not even like I skip ahead to the last page and then drop the book, or even pick it up and decide it’s not for me. No I like to go all the way to within the finishing line, and then run for the hills. The problem is, I don’t want to know the end. It’s like a mark of respect for me. If I love the book I just don’t want it to finish.

I have a problem with completeness. With doing one thing at a time and doing it well. Even whilst writing this blog I have been eating my belated dinner, checking 3 times on my cough-ridden child and speaking on the phone. I’m a manic multi-tasker and it’s getting to the stage now where I really have to get it in hand. Speaking of getting it in hand, I suddenly have a really strong urge to remove the chipped nail polish from my fingers. I really must do it right now. But instead I am forcing these digits to press the keys against my will – oh – coughing again – back in a minute –

Hmm. Perhaps I need therapy. In fact, I’m sure I do need therapy, but with my myriad projects, personal commitments and unassailable ambitions to lavish attention on (little and often) I really don’t have the time.

Last summer I did go on a retreat for 10 days (fasting, wilderness, mountains and solitary) – that was the biggest commitment I think I’ve made to anything for a good few years. I was supposed to go back in September for a weekend to ‘complete the process’. Did I? Did I heck.

Yesterday I did one of those silly facebook quizzes – the ones which often seem spookily accurate. This one was to tell you the song theme of your life. Mine is apparently ‘Unwritten’ by Natasha Bedingfield. How utterly appropriate. 

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