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'What a Carve Up!' is a thoroughly post modern romp through the decades from World War II through to the early 90s. Coe uses the villains of the piece, the Winshaw family, to explore various aspects of British society during the period with humour and compassion and without resorting to diatribe. Most notably, he takes numerous broad swipes (not always effectively or fairly) at the 'greed is good' ethos of Thatcherite economics.
The finale sees justice meted out to those who deserve it - and justice is not always a punishment in Coe's world - in a thoroughly Biblical manner.
You will read Coe's work for the characters and the up-all-night-reading plot. But what you will remember is his apparent message: 'Watch out, hold on to your integrity....but keep on laughing.'
As for the charge that Coe unfairly makes greed out to be a bad thing, what Thomas Winshaw does to Phocas Motor Services in the book (pp 322-24 of my edition) was played out in many much worse factual scenarios that I know of in the US throughout the 1980's. (Look at what US Steel did to southeast Chicago, for starters.) And his analysis of this sort of capitalism couldn't be any more relevant with all the short-sighted and criminally dishonest market manipulations by politically connected that are coming to light Stateside in 2002 (Enron, Harken, Halliburton, Dynegy, Worldcom, Global Crossing, Adelphia...). Think of the havoc that these scandals have brought to individual lives among employees and fundholders who counted on these 'businessmen' - really a network of interconnected charlatans - to be running sustainable companies, not inflating the value of their options to whatever unsustainable level would maximise their personal wealth. Lack of subtlety should be the last criticism pinned on someone who addresses this sort of outrage head-on.
In short, you don't need to be British to get this book, not even to appreciate the parts devoted to the National Health Service. The points he makes are just as relevant to what's happened in America under Reagan and Bushes I and II. I agree with the critcism that Coe panders to upper-class resentment by attributing all these various corruptions to one aristocratic family, when it's untitled corporate conservatives throughout society who need blaming. But he is doing a satire, and the aristocratic trope serves as the novel's framing device.
The unfashionable clarity is a result of the book's overt politics. I find that Amis and Self bury their political commentary in stories that focus on how tormented their characters feel by the unexplained vagaries of life and how irreversibly complex it's all become. Coe, on the other hand, is willing to identify and blame the forces that have made society such a mess and living so hard to figure out. It's not some Fat Controller with supernatural powers, nor a mysterious seeming-friend doing improbable things with the money system to play out a personal grudge. It's right-wing politicians and businesses who, among other things: control our news sources and fill them with meaningless gossip or misleading agitprop, stoke up wars and profit on arms sales, industrialise food production at the expense of the ecology and consumer health, and intentionally ruin our public services to serve their theological devotion to laissez faire economics. In this way, Coe actually has more intellectual heft than the authors who imply that the world is just cosmically, unfathomably unfair and unpleasant. He's telling us that the malignant forces are entirely within our control, were we willing to stand up to the bent plutocratic filth that are allowed to run our governments and economy.
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Not only is this politically-charged coming of age novel a gut-busting, funny-when-you-least-expect-it literary tour-de-force, it's an assured (although ultimately flawed) work displaying a rare élan and maturity seldom found in the works of young contemporary American writers.
Both an elegy to and an excoriation of the sordid "brown" Britain of the 1970s, which starts around the failure of the Edward Heath's Tory government and the attendant nationwide strikes, power blackouts, and general misery experienced by the population, the book moves through the resurgence of the Labour Party and the death of Socialism as marked by Margaret Thatcher's election victory in 1979.
Yes, this is a social history, and despite some critics who've said the book is too politically aware for its own good, it is first and foremost a tale of longing, be it the yearnings of a married, middle-aged man for his young lover, or protagonist Ben Trotter's (called Bent Rotter by his peers) unrequited desire for girlschool drama diva Cicely.
But the political cornerstone of the book definitely contributes to what many readers see as its major failing. Designed as the first volume of a dyad, this volume explores what Coe has called the last decade of real [British] politics, and a planned sequel will follow the principal characters as adults in the late 1990s through the current maze of Blairite socialism. As such, the novel's various threads don't all come together in a unified dénouement, and this open-ended, albeit life-like, conclusion will frustrate some readers.
And yes, the rumors are true: Coe, who's not afraid of experimentation, has indeed written a 15,000 word *sentence* which runs an exhausting 37 pages, and was inspired by Czech writer Bohumil Hrabal, who once wrote a novel which barely contained a full stop.
This is an uneven novel which, due to the specificity of its locale, time period, and cultural references, may confound many American readers (I am an expatriate Englishman of Coe's generation, but being a Londoner, his depiction of 1973 Brum is as familiar yet as foreign as Tony Soprano's New Jersey). But what a novel it is! And what a terrific read (I devoured it in two mammoth sittings in a day).
One way or another, discerning readers will discover a trip to The Rotters' Club rewarding.
I went to a school very much like the one Jonathan Coe describes, and reading the novel took me right back there - the angst, the cruelty, the stupid rules, the winter of discontent, the sudden death of prog rock, the friendships, the rainswept summer holidays, the girlfriends. The book is set in 1970s Birmingham, and Coe does a good job of evoking the sheer strangeness of the period. To be taken back there, pre-Thatcher,when unions had some power, and 'socialism' still meant something, is to realise just how much has changed, how British society is so shaped by the era but could never ever go back to it. Althought there is politics here, this is not primarily a political novel. Rather its great idea is the possibility that there are moments in time, instants in our lives, that 'are worth worlds' - moments that make life worthwhile, moments that we wish could go on forever. The characters' experiences of such moments are ultimately what drive the novel forward.
There were times when I laughed out loud, and many more times when I smiled in recognition. If I have one complaint it is that this is the first part of a two-novel sequence and I can't wait for the sequel.
I took the book with me on a flight but had trouble reading some of the passages in public since they were so laugh out loud funny. Coe is an author in complete control of his medium and thus also managed, in turn, to bring tears of feeling for his protagonists to my eyes. This book is a keeper - a snap shot of a city in a time that has passed but that is full of shared memories of youth. Bring on part two right away, Coe, or I'll give you a 2 side imposition on "Why the locker room is no place fop or idler."
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1) It has every bird you are likely to see in North America 2) Everything about a species is on one page, including illustration, description, range map, and sonogram of song (for many species) 3) Nice comparison charts of similar and confusing species 4) Range maps include migration date lines 5) True pocket size -- you will carry this book with you in the field!
The new edition also has updated nomenclature for species that the bird expert powers-that-be keep changing on us. It also has updated range maps for those species whose ranges are changing. It is printed on a slicker stock than the previous (only time will tell if this is better). It also has a new "quick" index which is handy for locating birds by generic name (crows).
But there are some disappointments.
1) It is probably 95% a reprint of the previous edition, both with respect to descriptions and (particularly) illustrations 2) The little check boxes to mark off birds you have seen are missing from the new edition -- surely that was an oversight(?) 3) They did not correct the one thing that was a true weakness of the previous edition, that the range maps are small and rather difficult to interpret. How much easier it would be if the US state borders were overprinted on these little range maps (or for that matter Canadian provinces and Mexican states)???
But of course, it is still our favorite -- if you have only one bird book, and you want to carry it in your pocket, this is the one to buy.
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One of the main characters, Sarah, suffers from narcolepsy as well as a disorder that causes her to dream so vividly that she often mistakes them for reality. Robert, another of the main characters who shows up mainly in the odd numbered chapters, is madly in love with Sarah who unfortunately does not return his affections. And then there is Terry a freelance journalist who once required fourteen hours of sleep but now finds himself getting less than twenty minutes of sleep a night. These three along with a host of other characters makes 'THE HOUSE OF SLEEP' a very interesting read that will keep you guessing and at times keep you laughing.
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Coe carves up quite a story here, but it's not the dainty carving of a romantic sculptor. It's the irreverent slash of the nonconformist knife. It's the wayward chiselling away by the postmodernist pen. Out of these strokes emerges a story that takes stereotypes to an absurd level. Yet the absurdity doesn't offend your intelligence. It's as if the author signs an invisible pact with the reader: "Yes, you know it's exaggerated, so do I, but what the heck!"
The Winshaws represent a bunch of opportunist parasites who have checked into the world without the baggage of conscience. A columnist who generates mindless trash endlessly, an art dealer who sells fame for sex, a merchant banker with a morbid voyeuristic streak, a livestock farmer whose way of dealing with economically unviable male chicks is to put them in a mill "capable of mincing 1000 chicks to pulp every two minutes" or to gas them with chloroform or carbon dioxide... you'll find the worst imaginable faces of post-War England here, caricatured to contortion beyond recognition. Each chapter is a peep at the plot from a different angle. The principal narrator is a young writer called Michael Owen who is commissioned to write a biography of the Winshaw family. Most divergent outlooks mingle and collide and so do the characters in ways stranger than fiction, culminating in a kind of nemesis any deus ex machina would stay away from.
"What a Carve Up!" is a wild cocktail. Cheers!
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