Hm. This was my first William Boyd and I have to confess I did not know what to make of it. Throughout my entire read, I felt both confused and a bit dazed - I just could not work out what this novel was trying to be... It clearly is not a literary novel - it does not seem to stand for something, it is not an obvious metaphor for things deeper than those that happen in it. It seems to be a thriller - certainly there is mystery here and it is set in the world of the pharma industry, there is an unresolved murder and there are intrigues and machinations behind the scenes. But for this to be enjoyable, the “whodunnit” aspect would have needed to be dominant, and it wasn’t. What was dominant was the slow decline of the protagonist from life-competent scientist to homeless bum. Now in itself, this type of theme may be interesting, but only if it stands for something else, and then we are reading a literary novel, which, as I pointed out above, we are not. So I really don’t know how to read this.
So let me just share a few observations with you:
Narrative mode
For the most part, William makes his characters speak through 3rd person point of view. As there are several characters in focus in different chapters, the perspective changes frequently and I found this to be an engaging aspect of the novel. But the first chapter starts with a paragraph that introduces the opening scene from the point of view of an omniscient narrator - the type we are used to in Victorian literature, used to excellent effect by the likes of Dickens or Thackeray. I must admit, it was this omniscient view that drew me in and made me buy the novel. To my disappointment, I can report that this omniscient narrator disappeared without trace from the novel after the first paragraph, never to make an appearance again. So why open the novel in this narrative mode? Did Boyd forget about his Victorian narrator? I must admit I felt cheated a bit - it certain feels sloppy (unless I am missing something).
Characters
When building some of the characters in his novel, William uses a technique that allows a character to emerge from a plethora of details and facts given about his lifestyle. And this is excellent technique - but it is difficult to master, since the details need to be spot on and consistent for this to work. And certainly in the case of Ingram, the CEO of the pharma company at the heart of the proceedings, I did not think William pulled this off.
Here’s some evidence: Early on in the novel, we are told that Ingram likes his chauffeur to drop him off at Holborn tube station on his daily journey to work, starting just after he has breakfast at 7.30am. He then takes the tube for his last few stops, because he likes to mingle with ‘real people’, likes to observe those not in charge of a large industrial company, blend in and take note. At Bank, he gets off and enters a glass-and-steel office block where his company occupies several floors.
So far so good. It is clear what William is trying to do. We, as readers, are supposed to feel invited into a world we may not know, we travel as Londoners on the tube, we share the life of a modestly eccentric CEO. But for this to work, the clues William leaves for us to build into a live character need to make sense. These, I am afraid, do not:
- No CEO is likely to have a leisurely breakfast at 7.30am. If you leave the house at that time in the morning and choose a car as your mode of transport, you will go nowhere fast. From the clues I have I’d guess it would take him at least an hour in rush hour to get to his office, probably longer. If he left at 7.30, he’d be at his desk at 9ish. The City (investment bankers and stockbrokers) will have been at work for 2 to 3 hours by that time. I don’t think any CEO would do this.
- You choose to go on the London Underground to conduct sociological studies? In rush hour? Really? We know he travels from Holborn to Bank, so he’s taking the Central Line, going East, at 8ish in the morning. The experience he will have is one of intense claustrophobia, pressed tightly against his fellow-Londoners, gaze firmly fixed to the floor, the ceiling, or a fellow-passenger’s coat some two inches away from his nose. I don’t think he’d develop much of an idea of what the lives of normal people are like from this activity, but of course I am not Ingram, and perhaps I am just not empathetic enough. The only thing to be said about taking the tube, rather than the car, is that the tube will get you to your destination, while a car will be stuck in traffic going nowhere. Actually, he’d have more leisure observing the real world from behind the tinted windows of his stationary limousine, coming to think about it...
- Somebody explain to me how it is possible to be dropped off at Holborn station in rush hour. The car cant travel West to East, as traffic does not flow that way on High Holborn, so he needs to be on Kingsway. Good luck stopping in the bus lane anywhere near the station...
- He gets off at Bank and walks to a glass-and-steel tower where his offices are. Well.... there is no such tower anywhere close to Bank. The closest is Tower 42, but that’s not a modern tower, and all the shiny new skyscrapers are on Bishopsgate or the insurance part of the City. Better to go to Liverpool Street Station or perhaps Tower Hill and walk up? Better still, take the first few stops of your journey on the tube, tell your driver to meet you at Bank (where you can stop, round the corner on Walbrook) and then drive the last few 100s of meters.
Granted, my points seem pedantic, and I think to some extent they are. But we need to remember why William dumps all this information on us. He wants to build a world that the reader does not know and then invite the reader in, for the reader to enjoy something from the inside that is not part of their normal lives. And for most readers, that will work. Most readers do not live in London, and most readers have not worked in the City of London. But I do, and have, and so to me it is obvious that William has not done his research on this one. Why is this important to me? Because I don’t know anything else - I do not know the world of pharma, or high-society gatherings, or homeless people. So how am I to trust that William creates authentic, believable environments in those aspects? Once bitten, twice shy, I am afraid - I must admit I lost trust in William’s ability to do that after the first part of the novel.
Paul Auster
The main character in the story is a scientist who comes to London for an interview. After the interview, he goes to a restaurant to have something to eat. Here, he starts chatting with a fellow diner. This person, his lunch finished, leaves and forgets a paper file with his address on it. The main character decides to hand-deliver the file to that person’s address, and, in walking up to the flat, finds the door unlocked. He enters, only to find his ex fellow diner lying in a pool of blood, stabbed. On the dying man’s insistence, he pulls the knife out, gets blood all over himself and his fingerprints all over the knife, panicks, runs from the scene of the crime, and.... goes to the police to report what happened, like any right-thinking individual would. Only... he doesn’t. Instead, he panicks some more, gets drunk, does not trust himself to go back to his hotel, sleeps rough, wanders the streets aimlessly for a day, finds a conveniently hidden spot on the Thames, and literally goes to ground on this concealed patch of land.
Huh. This is the aspect of the novel that left me profoundly bemused and dissatisfied. If you look at the sequence of events I just listed, we start off with an educated, life-competent individual, and end up with a scared homeless person. The journey from confident intellectual to lost outcast happens within a day, and is brought about by decisions that range from odd to bizarre. The character’s development feels exactly like the journey of characters in Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy. But Auster’s novel is a literary novel, the journey from the core to the fringe of modern society is a metaphor for something else, it may call into question how much we are proper members of society in the first place, or it may highlight some other theme. In William’s novel, it does not stand for anything, it injects a weird disillusionist strain into an otherwise straightforward narrative, its potential for comment on the human condition is in no way echoed in other aspects of the novel, and the result is... well, simply odd, I am afraid.
But as I said, I did not know what to make of this. I am sure other readers have different opinions, and indeed the novel was recommended by GR friends whose verdict I greatly value. So perhaps I am missing things, or I am exaggerating something that is not in focus for others. About the quality of William Boyd as a writer there cannot be any doubt - the list of literary prizes to his name is impressive testimony of his competence.
So I am back where I started. I am confused. I should pick up another one of William’s novels to see whether they are similar, but for now, I think I will give William a rest.