Anymore for anymore...?

Next up, Not Fade Away, by Jim Dodge.

Jim Dodge is something of an enigma in Literary circles; the rarity of his public appearances only surpassed by the rarity of his publications. In total, over the last 30 odd years he has released two books, a novella and a collection of poetry, all have received lavish praise from critics and readers alike. Yet you have probably never heard of him. I hadn’t either until about a year ago when I bought a copy of his other book, Stone Junction. Again it’s difficult to put any kind of label on his work, which is how I like it! Not Fade Away is a road story, kind of Easy Rider with fewer hippies, no motorbikes and late 50s rock music. So not really much like Easy Rider. The main character is on a mission to drive a shining new Cadillac across the states to find the place where the Big Bopper is buried, and deliver the car as a present. On the way he picks up a variety of hitchhikers, salesmen, scientists and psychos, who each influence his journey in some way. Sounds weird, and it is a bit. But like Craig Clevenger there is something in the author’s turn of phrase, the way he makes banal words dance of the page that is fascinating. If you have to choose between Not Fade Away and Stone Junction, I’d say go for the latter. Not that this is by any means a bad book, it really isn’t, but Stone Junction is one of the best books I have ever read, from the very first page to the last.



The Underground Man, by Mick Jackson.
I have just finished this earlier this week, and it is unbelievably good. Unusual, witty, original, sad, and an almost perfect ending, which I won’t spoil. It is the story of an eccentric Duke in the early part of the 20th Century. The Duke owns a vast estate somewhere in Nottinghamshire, where he lives alone, but for his serving staff. Somewhat advanced in years, it is fair to say that the Duke’s mind is not what it once was, and over the course of the book his descent into madness gathers pace, getting funnier along the way. The title refers to one of the Duke’s many follies, namely the building of tunnels from his house to the edge of his estate, 8 in total, spreading like the spokes of a wheel, and as time passes he spends more and more time in the tunnels, exploring, hiding and mostly thinking. It is written in the style of a Journal, so the accounts we read are from the pen of the Duke himself, carefully cataloguing his own mental demise, though of course he is blissfully unaware of his failing faculties.
Apparently it was nominated for the Booker Prize about 9 years ago, but didn’t win. If anything that should encourage you, as the Booker Prize winners I have read have been terrible, most notably Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre.
So, to sum up, a brilliant book that had me laughing out loud frequently, grimacing in pain at one particular episode of the Duke’s madness, and smiling triumphantly at the end! Read it!