First, a bit of shameless self-promotion. I have had a few pieces published recently, one, in LitHub, on reading Jane Austen during the pandemic, (https://lithub.com/why-did-i-wait-so-long-to-read-jane-austen/), and the other, in Salon, on Bill Barr, built around our mostly figurative intertwined histories (https://www.salon.com/2021/06/19/bill-barr-and-me-oddly-connected-but-still-on-opposite-sides-of-the-barricades/), as well as two short essays for Atticus Review, which can be found in the archives of Weekly Atticus (www.atticusreview.org). I hope you enjoy them.
And now, to the subject at hand.
It took me a while but I persevered and finished Martin Amis’ latest “novel,” Inside Story, allegedly his last big book. Martin Amis is a masterful writer. Not everyone’s cup of tea (for the record, I do not drink tea), but masterful nevertheless. The book, as a reviewer might say, is a “tour de force.” And seems intended to be so, which for much of the book I thought was a problem. Until I didn’t.
Amis calls it a novel, albeit an autobiographical one. The narrator is Martin, a writer, whose father is Kingsley Amis, his father’s close friend is the poet Philip Larkin, Martin’s best friend is Christopher Hitchens, and his literary hero, Saul Bellow. Some names have been changed and at least one of the prominent women characters may or may not be a composite. Some or all of the conversations or events may have happened, or didn’t, or not precisely the way he describes them. It is impossible to tell truth from fiction. Perhaps that is not important, and may, in fact, be the point. Who is to say with autobiography what is true and what is opinion, point of view, differing memory. There are a few mostly indisputable facts but everything else seems up for grabs.
There are extended sections offering writing advice, including passages about the difference between story and plot, an early chapter entitled “Guideline: Things Fiction Can’t Do” which Amis introduces by saying “I’ve come to an awkward conclusion: there are certain things that fiction must broach with extreme caution, if at all….”, namely dreams, sex, and religion. Pretty good advice, I think, although not necessarily for everyone. He himself breaks most of his own rules.
Notwithstanding my admiration for his craft and creativity, his use of footnotes, some quite extensive, is often tedious. As with some of his other books, he can seem too clever for his own good. He is also stunningly well-read. His easy familiarity with a broad range of novels, poetry, books of all stripes is awe-inspiring. Yet at times I have the feeling that his references are to some degree performance. Not always in service of the story, but just plain showing-off.
Amis also has the annoying habit, exercised just enough to be irksome (not a word I often use), of using words whose meaning you may know but I had to look up. Words like “prelapsarian“ [unspoiled, innocent, characteristic of time before the Fall of Man] or “recrudesce“ [to recur, to break out again]. Many others I failed to make note of. I am a firm believer in the English language. There are lots of good words, and I truly believe they should be used. But while I appreciate the education, it seems unnecessary, even mean-spirited, to use some of these words. Particularly when he warns writers to avoid this practice in one of his craft sections. Either I need to step up my vocabulary game or he needs to take his own advice.
I am glad I stuck with it to the end. As I read, my admiration for his creativity and his writing grew. By the time I reached the end, I truly appreciated the tour de force he so obviously intended…or perhaps he is so good, he just cannot help himself. You be the judge.
