"Get up and go!" A prayer for Owen Meany

The Modern Novel worries me, as I think I’ve mentioned before. Creative writing courses and modern criticism have come together in an unholy alliance to produce unreadable novels we are told are brilliant. However, to be fair, I now think this only applies to a small number of books. Many modern novelists are still holding to E M Forster’s dictum: “Yes – oh dear yes – the novel tells a story.” Not that a novel has to be easy reading. Great writing, like any great art, needs the audience to take the time and the concentration to appreciate it. The novelist didn’t toss off the book while watching TV and eating dinner at the same time. The least you can do is afford the reading a commensurate level of focus.

My own theory of the difference between a popular novel and a literary novel is the quality of the subsequent reading. Many people like to re-read their favourite books, like they like to re-watch their favourite films. But on the revisits, it is the quality books and films that reveal new facets, provoke new ideas where as the popular type let us revel in the comfort of the familiar. To take a film as an example, Where Eagles Dare is a piece of tosh but I love it. If I come across it on TV, I watch it through to the end. I have the same reaction to Citizen Kane but I keep questioning Citizen Kane, the characters, their motivations, and what they do, whereas Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood can keep shooting the Germans till the cows come home and I don’t care. I engage with Citizen Kane, I watch Where Eagles Dare; and enjoy the heck out of both.

I’ve just reread, for the first time, John Irving’s 1987 book, A prayer for Owen Meany. This book knocked me out of my socks the first time I read it, and it did the same again. Even though I could remember the ending (I defy anyone to forget it) this in no way detracted from the journey. If anything, it enhanced it – another mark of a great novel. (No-one goes to Macbeth to see how it ends, someone once remarked to me. On the other hand, friends of mine had never read or seen Hamlet till they saw Brannagh’s version. I was somewhat envious.) It’s been a long time between reads. I suspect I was worried it wouldn’t be as good as I remembered it. A baseless worry as it turned out.

Irving is one of my favourite writers and this of his my favourite work. His books are wonderfully readable, his characters vivid, and his stories are strong. One thing that struck me in this reading was how angry he can be. A prayer for Owen Meany is the story of the friendship between John Wheelwright, the narrator, and Owen Meany, a boy of short stature whose voicebox is stuck in a permanent scream, through the 1950s to 60s, culminating in the Vietnam War. Owen is an extraordinary character.  A tragic accident that marks both their lives convinces Owen he is the hand of God, on earth for a special purpose, a purpose that makes his height and voice necessary. This leads to an exploration of religion, spirituality, fate and belief, not light subjects. Owen’s belief sometimes seems ludicrous, at other time wondrous. While he tells this story, Wheelwright, who now lives in Canada, keeps turning to the contemporary Iran-Contra scandal. This is where the author’s anger is palpable. Yet amid the anger and the seriousness, this is a funny novel, a wonderful achievement. Too often both politics and religion can make people so angry and so serious they are off-putting. Irving avoids that trap with joy and verve.

Irving is openly influenced by Dickens, who shares this gift of turning anger to humour without losing its power. Irving also creates outlandish yet believable characters and byzantine plots.  (I’ve also read this book is influenced by Gunther Grass’ The Tin Drum, but I’ll have to take their word for it. The Tin Drum has long been on my to-read list. Perhaps it’s time.) Nor is he afraid to take on big issues. Here’s a few I can think of just looking at the novel titles: abortion, family, feminism, incest, sexuality, and paedophilia. Sudden violent death is a common trope. And yet, all his books are richly comic. And full of life; funny, bizarre, sad, rich, and wonderful.

A prayer for Owen Meany is now over twenty years old and is still a fresh, entertaining and provoking read. The Iran-Contra scandal may fade in our memory, which is part of the point of the novel, but other government scandals will arise to take its place. What abides, what remains, what endures is what is important. I think that’s also part of the idea of this book. I try to think of why I write about the books I do (not every book gets an entry) so as to attempt to give each entry some sort of theme or spine. I love this book. That’s all.

"Tea and sympathy." Alexander McCall Smith

Barbara Cartland wrote 723 books in her lifetime. Can Alexander McCall Smith be far behind? I exaggerate of course, but McCall Smith is a prolific writer. He has five series he is writing concurrently, as well as other stand-alone novels. One series, 44 Scotland St, first appears in print in The Scotsman, before being published as novels. Another is published online in serial form. As far as I can tell, he has written at least sixty fictional works, as well as twelve works on law. So he’s a long way behind Cartland but considering his first work was published in 1978 (and his first novel in 1999), he’s doing okay.

I haven’t read Barbara Cartland’s work, but I have read several of McCall Smith’s. I started reading Espresso Tales, the second in the 44 Scotland St series. This series revolves around residents of the eponymous building, which includes a painter and his dog, a family driven by an ambitious mother, much to the consternation of her 6-year-old son Bertie, a rich but unambitious art dealer, and more, as well as their friends and relations. While the mode of publication is inspired by Dickens’ model of writing his chapters in newspapers, the stories lack any sense of an overarching plot. Instead we follow the doings and misadventures of these people, who are very loveable, knowable and plausible. I was hooked before finishing the novel, and have read all now except the latest. I realised on finishing the second-latest novel, The Importance of Being Seven” these books could keep going forever, if the author so desired. Each short little plot is entertaining, and there are many strands to keep us going.

The other series I have followed is The Sunday Philosophy Club featuring philosopher-amateur detective Isabel Dalhousie, who solves problems both real and esoteric. Each of these novels are self-contained, while there are continuing arcs involving her, her niece, her partner Jamie and so on. In The Importance of Being Seven, there is a reference to Isabel’s baby, so both these stories take place in the same Edinburgh.

So I assume it is the same world as the Botswana of Precious Ramotswe, the lady detective of his most successful series The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. I resisted this series as I was already hooked to two and I didn’t want to embark on a third. I saw the television adaptation of the first novel, and was so charmed I finally read one of them, Miracle at Speedy Motors. I enjoyed it too, but thankfully have not been pulled into the lure of the whole series. This may be pure contrariness on my part.

The key to his appeal is the word I used, charm. These are charming books, the characters are likeable (except the few we are not meant to like) and they have a wonderful warm quality, and feature small communities of people who know and care about each other. Even the difficult and unlikeable characters are viewed by their neighbours with sympathy and an attempt at understanding. I have written elsewhere of our focus on dark and awful subjects. McCall Smith writes humane, gentle, empathetic stories and they sell like hotcakes. His popularity is evidence to me of a world that craves connection and civility. Barbara Cartland appealed to our dreams of true love, McCall Smith to our dreams for humanity. Perhaps they are as idealistic and unrealistic as each other. I hope not, and I hope he keeps writing.

"Words and and music go together." Sesame Street

As a child, I had three pillars of TV: 'Sesame Street', 'Play School' and 'Here’s Humphrey'. My parents kept a tight rein on our TV watching so I didn’t see too much. Two of these shows are still going, fortyish years on, which is a testament to both their popularity and commitment to excellence. Poor old Humphrey has just been sold and is languishing in someone’s cupboard. Still, you never hear him complain.

So Sesame Street, which started a year after I did, has been a big influence on my life. I spoke of this earlier in my discussion of Sesame Street: A Celebration, 40 Years on the Street. A friend of mine, who understands these things, more recently sent me Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street, by Michael Davis. I thought it might be a retread over travelled land, but it was not. They are good companion books. Whereas the first is a colourful, glossy survey of the show from concept to now, the second is a more scholarly book. Which does not make it dry. Quite the opposite, it’s a vibrant and heartfelt history of the show, but is, as the title suggests, a history. More than half of the book is taken up with the creation of the show, from its conception at a dinner party, through the gathering of television executives, writers, researchers, educators, producers, musicians, puppeteers, government support and actors, to the first broadcast.

The heart of the book, and Sesame Street, is Joan Ganz Cooney.  Cooney had a BA in Education, had worked as journalist, and had some television and government experience when she began the journey to Sesame Street. She had to overcome resistance to her idea as a woman, as a person with limited experience in education and children’s television, in order to bring her idea to reality. And she has managed to keep that show going over personality clashes, financial and political issues, and all the other challenges you would expect, as well as some you wouldn’t, in running a successful organisation. She is truly a remarkable and inspirational person.

The book gives due tribute to Sesame Streets (American) precursors, those children’s shows trying to give children a quality experience in front of the tube.  Many of the talents that ended up on Sesame Street came through 'Captain Kangaroo,' a long-running morning show whose creator, Bob Keeshnan was inspired through the negative example of Buffalo Bob on 'The Howdy Doody Show'. There were other shows as well that were trying to help children, with varying quality and success. But Sesame Street became the apotheosis, and the standard. If we ever meet, ask me about the monkey and raccoon story.

In later years, Sesame Street’s ratings were threatened by the egregious Barney. (One critic, quoted in the book, described the saccharine dinosaur as making Sandy Duncan look like a flesh-eating succubus.) The unexpected challenge made an enormous impact on Sesame Street, leading to changes of the show and personnel, some of which worked, some of which did not. However, Sesame Street still survives, while Barney seems to have joined his relatives.

Street Gang documents the creative, political and personal tensions behind the scenes. Many of the original creatives, including Jim Henson, Joe Raposo and Northern Calloway, died relatively young. Funding bodies tried to have more power, changes were made in response to politics, instead of research and creativity. But due to people like Ganz and her successors, Sesame Street has managed to do what it set out to do, educate, entertain and let children know that life has its challenges and its wonders.

I had a teacher at school who didn’t like Sesame Street he said because it brought children to school saying ‘zee’ instead of ‘zed’. Seemed then, and now, a minor point, but I do wonder about all the versions of Sesame Street that have been made and tailored to different markets, whereas we just get the unaltered US version. Mind you, ABC was one of the first to buy the show, which was lucky for me and others my age. Later though, I saw one episode with Mel Gibson and a map of Australia, with no Tasmania. He didn’t pick it up, nor did any researcher or writer or anyone else with the show. I wonder if they had any feedback from Australia, or Tasmania, subsequently. That was years ago. Perhaps they don’t even use the segment anymore. Actually with Gibson’s current reputation, they probably don’t, but for other than cartographic reasons.

If you are a Sesame Street fan, then by all means read this book. You’ll be surprised, informed, delighted and sometimes a little sad. 

"What I tell you three times is true." The myth of Lewis Carroll

Beware accepted opinion, it can lead you to believe silly things. Or miss things that are worth catching. These thoughts came to me recently when I watched Walt Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, the 1954 adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s Alice books, It’s actually a lot better than its reputation suggests.

I have written before about Lewis Carroll, and he is an author I continually revisit. Both as an author and as a person, he is fascinating. He cannot be pinned down, and any opinion about him or his work is subject to revision. The Alice books have been adapted frequently into film, television, plays, musicals and ballets. (Has there been an opera? I don’t know.) But they are a challenge to adapt. To be honest, I don’t think I have ever seen an entirely satisfactory adaptation. A lot of the magic is in the prose, which can be hard to preserve. And the books are very episodic with no real narrative drive, which presents the greatest challenge.

Some have shoehorned a heavy-handed metaphor onto the work such as Alice growing up with the jabberwocky representing all her fears (this was the basis of a 1980s mini-series and a more recent theatrical adaptation, which was more an adaptation of the mini-series than the book. I wondered if the adaptor had read the books, to be honest.) Tim Burton took the memorable characters and shoved them into a dull quest movie in the latest film. The best adaptation I saw on stage was Christopher Hampton’s ‘Alice’s Adventures underground’, which examined the relationship between Carroll and his supposed muse through the books, with the characters represented by actors wearing Victorian costume, no animals or masks in sight. It worked rather well. He may have stolen the idea in part from Jonathan Miller’s BBC version, which was proposed as a children’s show for Christmas but became more adult in flavour. Either of Dennis Potter’s takes on the books, one for TV and the other for the cinema are also worth seeing.

The book can appear to modern eyes as rather creepy and nightmarish. However, this may be our more limited imaginations. My grandmother thought it was a lovely fairytale. When I first read it, around age twelve, I didn’t care for it much. I reread both books when I was about twenty, and haven’t stopped reading them since. What I particularly love is how the books touch on fascinating and profound ideas then just as quickly move on. It’s why they are so re-readable.

One reason people find them creepy is the idea the Lewis Carroll was a repressed paedophile, an idea that also drives many adaptations. If he was a repressed paedophile, then three cheers for Victorian sexual repression! More recently argument has been made that Carroll preferred the company of young women in their early twenties. However, this meant they were having tea and worse, visiting the theatre, behavior that should have been leading to marriage. However, he had no such intention, but he did enjoy their company. Such activity could ruin the reputation of a girl at the time, and so Dodgson referred to them as his child friends, to give the impression they were much younger and so keep their reputations, and his own, intact. After he died, his family emphasised his actual, and genuine, child friendships as evidence of his innocence and purity, perpetuating the deception that his only relationships were with children. It was only in the second half of the Twentieth century that our collective dirty minds began to put the worse possible spin on that. However, argument rages on this point.

In any case, the Alice books were written to amuse children, and the Disney film does that very well. The books themselves are so immortal that like Shakespeare’s plays, no amount of bad adaptations can kill them. And this isn’t a bad adaptation. It’s funny, visually striking, and the characterisations and voice work are strong. Our picture of Alice in blue dress with white pinafore comes more from this movie than any other source. The Tulgey Wood is one of the more interesting sequences. I think it’s inspired by the chapter The Wood with No Names in Through the Looking Glass, and is full of animals that would not look out of place in a Muppet movie. I can give no higher praise. And I have to say that The Cheshire Cat in this movie leaves the Tim Burton/Stephen Fry Cat in its wake. This movie uses incidents I’ve never seen in other adaptations, such as The Wood of No Names and the mother bird screaming “Serpent!” at the over-tall Alice. And it nicely gets past the problem of losing the narrative voice in one scene by creating a talking doorknob on the door into the Garden. All in all, enjoyable.

And while I’m bending your ear, can we get past the idea that Lewis Carroll wrote on drugs? The evidence for it is so slim; actually to call it slim is to exaggerate the amount available, and to use the word ‘evidence’ is to compliment its quality. Yet how many times do I hear people talk about doing a ‘dark’ adaptation, ‘drugs and all that’? How sad that confronted with a unique imagination, the only explanation we can come up with is drugs and/or sex. When did we as a people become so dull?

Here’s a tip; if you want to write a dark version, tot up the number of jokes about death in the book. Actually the Victorians were much more comfortable about death than we are, which is why Carroll could joke about it with children, and no-one thought to comment on it. But that is another topic, for some other time.  I could also discuss the common idea that Disney films are sanitised versions of fairytales and at the same time too dark and traumatic for children to watch. Oh I could go on and on – and often I do.