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vronksybeat_'s review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
starketry222's review against another edition
1.0
I like museums; art and regular, since I was a baby. I’ve always loved movies and documentaries and I can sit through long ones but this book is so mind numbingly boring;staring at a white wall, is like being at a Vegas show.
chirson's review against another edition
3.0
Sometimes reading a very cruel book can feel like (oh, forgive me for saying this, but it's the most accurate word here) self-care. Brings a degree of catharsis to some readers and clearly was cathartic to write. It is clearly not a book for everyone: it's a (famously autobiographical) novel about a bunch of awful people (ranging from criminally evil sadists to complicit victims to self-satisfied hypocrites) over the course of a very short time, abusing a child (in a variety of ways) or allowing the abuse to go on, all the while indulging in English upper-class pursuit of saying mean things to and about each other (with the exception of one character too drunk to say much) . After all, "what redeemed life from complete horror was the almost unlimited number of things to be nasty about" (Chapter 11).
All the same, it's a novel that is simultaneously self-indulgent and unsparing. It's deeply satirical and funny (I laughed out loud regularly, in fact, cringe comedy as this was), distanced, distancing and intimate.
It's a pity I read it now and not a week and a half ago: it's just the sort of "people at their most terrible" book that would have put my petty annoyances around Christmas at the right perspective.
I found it interesting though not earth-shattering, and will try the next volume sometime soon-ish.
All the same, it's a novel that is simultaneously self-indulgent and unsparing. It's deeply satirical and funny (I laughed out loud regularly, in fact, cringe comedy as this was), distanced, distancing and intimate.
It's a pity I read it now and not a week and a half ago: it's just the sort of "people at their most terrible" book that would have put my petty annoyances around Christmas at the right perspective.
I found it interesting though not earth-shattering, and will try the next volume sometime soon-ish.
charheel's review against another edition
dark
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Rape and Incest
gorecki's review against another edition
4.0
As usual, being true to myself, I’m joining the St. Aubyn fan train after everyone else has already boarded it, read the books, reviewed them, shared them and probably also watched the series. After all, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t read my books years after their hype has gradually petered out.
On this occasion, though, I can understand the hype. I’ve only read Never Mind so far, the first book in the Patrick Melrose series, but I already see that St. Aubyn is master of saying a lot with just a few words. While the events in this first book all happen within a single day, the feeling you get after finishing it is that of a lifetime of built-up abuse, both emotional and physical, internalised trauma, snobbery, substance abuse and privilege. And yet, it doesn’t do it in the aggressively tear-jerking way so many other novels use, trying to push it all in your face and bully you into a state of misery and feeling sorry for the characters by dragging them through fifteen types of dirt. Probably that’s where this novel succeeded in winning me - its contained way of showing everything horrible within a shockingly dysfunctional family by using matter-of-fact, detached, and elegant writing lacking of self-pity.
Another part I really enjoyed was the switch of view point in the writing and how often characters “passed” the storyline to each other - Yvette walking towards the house notices David in the doorway and passes the story over to him until he notices Patrick running in the garden and hands it over to him, in this way both making the story feel like a live thread connecting all of them, but also emphasising how no matter what, they’re all connected by the invisible lines which will always keep them tied down to each other, dragging them all down.
On this occasion, though, I can understand the hype. I’ve only read Never Mind so far, the first book in the Patrick Melrose series, but I already see that St. Aubyn is master of saying a lot with just a few words. While the events in this first book all happen within a single day, the feeling you get after finishing it is that of a lifetime of built-up abuse, both emotional and physical, internalised trauma, snobbery, substance abuse and privilege. And yet, it doesn’t do it in the aggressively tear-jerking way so many other novels use, trying to push it all in your face and bully you into a state of misery and feeling sorry for the characters by dragging them through fifteen types of dirt. Probably that’s where this novel succeeded in winning me - its contained way of showing everything horrible within a shockingly dysfunctional family by using matter-of-fact, detached, and elegant writing lacking of self-pity.
Another part I really enjoyed was the switch of view point in the writing and how often characters “passed” the storyline to each other - Yvette walking towards the house notices David in the doorway and passes the story over to him until he notices Patrick running in the garden and hands it over to him, in this way both making the story feel like a live thread connecting all of them, but also emphasising how no matter what, they’re all connected by the invisible lines which will always keep them tied down to each other, dragging them all down.
abotoldaccount's review against another edition
4.0
This is the first of the Patrick Melrose novels, and chronicles a day in the south of France while the eponymous character is five years old, surrounded by his drug- and alcohol-dependent mother, abusive father, and a surrounding cast of their friends and acquaintances who descend on the Melrose residence. It is a slow-moving book – although there is much drama in the action taking place, the focus of the prose is in the motivations and nuances of the characters caught in their currents. Primarily, it is about David Melrose: Patrick’s father, and a horrible, horrible man.
Edward St Aubyn’s prose is of incredibly high quality – there’s no denying that. The writing is sharp and precise, filed with the reservedness of English society but filled with revealing detail. Each character is acutely observed, warts and all – often, with more space given to warts than smooth skin, as far as personality is concerned. This is something I’ve often found difficult about ‘society’ novels – it’s not very compelling to read about a group of people all of whom could fall in a ditch and you wouldn’t be bothered. But St Aubyn is not falling into that trap, and there is far more to the narrator’s observations than the horribleness of people.
This is the first of five books following Patrick Melrose – going in knowing that, I paid possibly more attention to the lonely five-year-old than I otherwise would. He is dreamy and neglected, full of ambitions which he cannot quite fulfill. But he is only five, and can’t quite carry the narrative by himself – and the cast surrounding him make for interesting viewing. His mother, Eleanor, is a mess – drinking and popping an assortment of drugs to make it through the day, fearful of her husband and yearning for a real friend in a way she can’t articulate, she has lost her connection to her son and has no concept of how to establish it.
The variety of guests brought into the house have their own flaws – Bridget Watson-Scott is shallow, cynical and self-absorbed, Nicholas Pratt has little empathy and a fascination with dysfunction, Victor Eisen is willing to overlook other people’s cruelty for their social standing. The most ‘normal’ or perhaps, recognisable, is Anne Moore, Victor’s partner – and though at the start of the novel I wasn’t sure about them, by the end I was relieved to have the glimpse of honest humanity.
The Melrose’s relationships are set against these other pairs – one who, although very different, muddle along in happiness; and another who are often entirely at cross-purposes, who don’t really care for each other but are carrying on anyway. The history of David and Eleanor’s relationship is haunting and saddening; the power which he has exerted over her, and the pain he continues to inflict, having only married her for her money. Anne’s sympathy for Patrick is painful, as she cannot begin to understand the extent of his trauma in this house.
Bridget brings a much-needed element of comic relief – but rather than just being used for humorous observations, she is often used to underline the darkness of the situation, and possibly sees things most clearly: she becomes entirely clear about how dangerous David Melrose is. There are many parts of the novel which were uncomfortable to read – and they are meant to be, chronicling as it does incredibly dark and traumatising events.
This would feel like a strange book to ‘recommend’, because its subject matter is so distressing – but it is magnificently written, and casts a very straightforward gaze on autobiographical events from the author’s life. I was nervous about all that going in – but I came out with nothing but admiration. If you’ve enjoyed some of Ian McEwan’s darker books, this may also be something you’ll enjoy.
Edward St Aubyn’s prose is of incredibly high quality – there’s no denying that. The writing is sharp and precise, filed with the reservedness of English society but filled with revealing detail. Each character is acutely observed, warts and all – often, with more space given to warts than smooth skin, as far as personality is concerned. This is something I’ve often found difficult about ‘society’ novels – it’s not very compelling to read about a group of people all of whom could fall in a ditch and you wouldn’t be bothered. But St Aubyn is not falling into that trap, and there is far more to the narrator’s observations than the horribleness of people.
This is the first of five books following Patrick Melrose – going in knowing that, I paid possibly more attention to the lonely five-year-old than I otherwise would. He is dreamy and neglected, full of ambitions which he cannot quite fulfill. But he is only five, and can’t quite carry the narrative by himself – and the cast surrounding him make for interesting viewing. His mother, Eleanor, is a mess – drinking and popping an assortment of drugs to make it through the day, fearful of her husband and yearning for a real friend in a way she can’t articulate, she has lost her connection to her son and has no concept of how to establish it.
The variety of guests brought into the house have their own flaws – Bridget Watson-Scott is shallow, cynical and self-absorbed, Nicholas Pratt has little empathy and a fascination with dysfunction, Victor Eisen is willing to overlook other people’s cruelty for their social standing. The most ‘normal’ or perhaps, recognisable, is Anne Moore, Victor’s partner – and though at the start of the novel I wasn’t sure about them, by the end I was relieved to have the glimpse of honest humanity.
The Melrose’s relationships are set against these other pairs – one who, although very different, muddle along in happiness; and another who are often entirely at cross-purposes, who don’t really care for each other but are carrying on anyway. The history of David and Eleanor’s relationship is haunting and saddening; the power which he has exerted over her, and the pain he continues to inflict, having only married her for her money. Anne’s sympathy for Patrick is painful, as she cannot begin to understand the extent of his trauma in this house.
Bridget brings a much-needed element of comic relief – but rather than just being used for humorous observations, she is often used to underline the darkness of the situation, and possibly sees things most clearly: she becomes entirely clear about how dangerous David Melrose is. There are many parts of the novel which were uncomfortable to read – and they are meant to be, chronicling as it does incredibly dark and traumatising events.
This would feel like a strange book to ‘recommend’, because its subject matter is so distressing – but it is magnificently written, and casts a very straightforward gaze on autobiographical events from the author’s life. I was nervous about all that going in – but I came out with nothing but admiration. If you’ve enjoyed some of Ian McEwan’s darker books, this may also be something you’ll enjoy.
zahrah_zackri's review against another edition
5.0
WOW totally didn't expect that this is the book that would make me stay up all night to read it
Note : this book is just straight up cruel and all the characters in this book is just so unlikeable except a few and I read this because I've already seen the adaptation and it's really good so why didn't I read the book too? And so I did
Note : this book is just straight up cruel and all the characters in this book is just so unlikeable except a few and I read this because I've already seen the adaptation and it's really good so why didn't I read the book too? And so I did
juliana_aldous's review against another edition
4.0
Yikes not exactly a feel good book but I am interested enough to read the next of St. Aubyn's novels.
lydiahousley's review against another edition
3.0
Enjoyed the first of the Patrick Melrose series, the style of writing takes a little re to get used to but very interesting as a third person style. The characters are all pretty flawed as people but that doesn't make St Aubyn's study of them any less interesting. Particularly intrigued to read the rest of the series and get more insight into Patrick himself.