The Book Tower

One of the advantages of having a sprawling collection of yellowing paperbacks is the delight of stumbling over titles you’ve forgotten about. I’ve recently rediscovered my small collection of Graham Greene novels, and realising that I have only read Brighton Rock and Travels With my Aunt I’ve decided to go on a Greene binge, aiming to complete The Power and the Glory, The Honorary Consul and The Quiet American in succession. If you don’t like Greene, look away for a while. Or prepare to be converted…

Set in Mexico during the religious persecution of the 1930s, The Power and the Glory follows the misfortunes of an unnamed Catholic priest. Often a little worse for wear from his favourite tipple brandy, this whiskey priest manages to stumble out of trouble as he is pursued throughout this outstanding novel. And it really is – I’d forgotten how good a writer Greene was. Written in 1940, this novel hasn’t dated whatsoever. The setting and cirmcumstances just serve as history and the writing, especially the dialogue, is particularly well written.

After recently reading so much Cormac McCarthy, in particular the Mexico-set All the Pretty Horses, I found a lot to compare between the two authors. Both have a way of delivering their stories with a degree of emotional detachment; we’re simply told the simple facts and left to make our own emotional responses – which we can’t help but do. In The Power and the Glory I couldn’t help but be drawn into the plight of the whisky priest. He’s a real and believable character with many dimensions, self-doubting and self-torturing. And it might be coincidence but I couldn’t help wondering if McCarthy has been influenced by this novel – there’s a familiarity about the encounters and recurring characters, the lengthy journeys into peril, even the pitiful prison scenes. Like McCarthy, there’s sometimes the worry that plot devices might get in the way of believability – with coincidence winning out too easily where loose ends are no more – but also like McCarthy the strength of Greene’s writing always wins out.

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In Life Class Pat Barker revisits the setting of the First World War, the ugly moment in history she so excellently helped to document in her Regeneration trilogy written ten or so years ago. This new novel begins just prior to the outbreak of war in 1914, following a group of students at the Slade School of Art in London. Paul and Neville are the boys, Elinor and Teresa the girls – both bringing torment to their male admirers in their own unique ways; Elinor indecisive over Paul’s affection, Teresa, an artist’s model, with her own estranged dangerous husband in the shadows.

So far so ordinary really. This group of students isn’t vastly different to a group from almost a century later, and it’s only occasional references to various antiquities such as a horse drawn cab that reminds of the historical setting, or the lack of any references to a burgeoning popular culture.

Life Class hits its stride with the outbreak of war. As Paul and Neville become volunteers in a makeshift military hospital in France (they are both rejected for military service on medical grounds), carefree student life full only of worries about artistic ability and female rejection are surpassed by the disturbing reality of wounded soldiers. Here Barker doesn’t hold back; her descriptions of the casualties are uncensored and grimly sobering.

Paul in particular matures as only a young man could in such circumstances. He meets another volunteer called Lewis who he slowly forms a close attachment to. Their relationship proves to be the best in the novel, subtle and understated. The pages are also interrupted but exchanges between Paul and Elinor, and they meet again when she visits him under the pretence of enlisting as a nurse. Love blossoms under extreme circumstances.

Fans of the Regeneration trilogy will love this. Barker manages to ask some interesting questions; is there any need for an artist in such awful moments of history – how can they contribute? Like her earlier novels set in this period, many real life characters are used in the fiction. Here, Henry Tonks is the critical tutor at Slade. The real life Tonks worked as a war artist in 1916, providing sketches to help the pioneers of modern plastic surgery, proving an artist’s worth in terrible times. A fascinating backdrop to a fascinating novel.

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‘We thought you knew what you were doing!’ shouted Ron, standing up; and his words pierced Harry like scalding knives. ‘We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!’

Well I’m afraid it’s a little bit more complicated than that. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is a slow burner indeed. Following a fantastic and dark opening, the novel takes its time to work its way to the Harry Potter conclusion. Rowling provides the final missing pieces of the jigsaw, with revelations revealing a deeper complexity to many characters, often confusing the allegiances of the reader as to who really are the good and the bad guys.

At times I found The Deathly Hallows long winded, but there are some excellent touches throughout – Rita Skeeter’s damning cash-in biography of Dumbledore is very witty, Harry revisiting his childhood home for the first time is equally tense, and Rowling explores the new adulthood of her characters very thoughtfully. And without revealing too much of the plot, you’ve probably guessed that this final instalment of the series finds the wizard world in chaos; following Dumbledore’s death the Ministry of Magic is largely in the hands of The Death Eaters with Harry and his pals in mortal danger as they race to defeat Voldemort.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows carries a lot of baggage; namely the whole Potter-wizards-Voldemort-Hogwarts mythology and backstory that I fully admit I had difficulty remembering. How come? Well, I read the first four Harry Potter books back to back in 2002 and have subsequently read the last three when they came out every other year. The back-to-back experience is certainly the best for understanding and enjoying the mythology and cronology; long intervals between instalments has left me struggling and The Deathly Hallows is full of references that just left me and my poor memory puzzled. I’ve raised this with die-hard Potter fans, but all I’ve had in response is a “hmmm…”, and I’ve left the room before they’ve had time to reach for their wand.

But fully grasp it all or not, there’s always one or two moments in a Potter book that make it worth reading; the giant spiders, Harry’s lessons with Lupin, the death of Sirius and the trips into the Pensieve with Dumbledore spring to mind although I am sure there are many more (usually anything involving Professor McGonagall, criminally underused in part seven). In the Deathly Hallows its the Pensieve again that provides some of the best written passages, with the final few chapters being the best that Rowling has ever written. In particular the chapter called Kings Cross is well worth waiting for, so brilliantly well written and touching.

So am I glad it’s all over? In many ways yes. There is still plenty of the Potter charm in evidence in The Deathy Hallows, I confess that the final pages brought a tear to my eye, but seven instalments is more than enough. Although, the thing is, my daughter has just reached the age where she’s discovering Harry Potter, so I’m just about to experience it all again.

If there’s anyone out there who’s bought the book and hasn’t read it yet take a tip from me: don’t indulge in the Potter speed reading and take your time over it – after all it is the last one. Go on, spoil yourself…

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