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edgeworth's review against another edition
3.0
Of the 1,328 books I have logged on Goodreads (752 read, 570 want-to-read), Peter Carey’s Amnesia has the unfortunate position of being the second-lowest ranked of all of them, with a truly dire average rating of 2.82 stars out of 5. The lowest-ranked is Howard Jacobson’s The Finkler Question, which perhaps has the excuse of being a Booker winner which would’ve drawn many users to it who never would have read him otherwise, and quickly found he wasn’t to their taste – the same reason you can find so many copies in op shops. Amnesia is more of a puzzler. It’s not, I think, a particularly good novel, but it’s certainly not the worst book in the world – it’s not even Carey’s worst book, being a rung above two of his other contemporary efforts, His Illegal Self and The Chemistry of Tears.
I can see what irritated many readers, though, because it irritated me too. I think Amnesia is the first of Carey’s novels that was released after I’d started reading him, and I remember copies ranked across Waterstone’s new release shelves when I was living in London in 2014, when Julian Assange’s Ecuadorean consulate bolt-hole and Edward Snowden’s NSA leaks and subsequent flight to Hong Kong and Russia were still freshly ripped from the headlines. Assange’s Melburnian roots clearly struck a chord with Carey’s long-standing mistrust of American global dominance and how that interacts with Australia, previously explored in The Unusual Life of Tristan Smith and His Illegal Self, and Amnesia begins on a high note:
It was a spring evening in Washington DC; a chilly autumn morning in Melbourne; it was exactly 22:00 Greenwich Mean Time when a worm entered the computerised control systems of countless Australian prisons and released the locks in many other places of incarceration, some of which the hacker could not have known existed. Because Australian prison security was, in the year 2010, mostly designed and sold by American corporations the worm immediately infected 117 US federal correctional facilities, 1700 prisons, and over 3000 county jails. Wherever it went, it travelled underground, in darkness, like a bushfire burning in the roots of trees. Reaching its destinations it announced itself: THE CORPORATION IS UNDER OUR CONTROL. THE ANGEL DECLARES YOU FREE.
The first hundred-odd pages introduce us to Felix Moore, a flat-broke journalist recently ejected from his family home after being found guilty of defamation. Moore is recruited by the supporters of Gaby Bailleux, the arrested Australian hacker responsible for the novel’s opening incident and Carey’s Assange stand-in, to “properly educate the Australian public, who are naturally inclined to believe the Americans are overreaching again… Australianise her, mate.” With few other options he agrees on the story of a lifetime, but remains skittish and wary of what it will mean to be involved with the United States’ new public enemy number one.
The problem (and this is where I suspect Carey lost most of those disgruntled Goodreads users) is that he promptly ignores this promising set-up – which suggests Amnesia will be a timely techno-thriller – in favour of a rambling account of Gaby’s teenage years, ostensibly about the story of how she got involved in the world of underground hackers, but mostly just a family drama not dissimilar to any number of his other novels. It became increasingly clear, as Amnesia‘s pages went past, that the novel was never going to venture much further than the streets of Carlton circa 1989, and even then it surprised me when Carey only returned to the present day and wrapped up the original storyline, in a rather lazy deus ex machina manner, in the final seven (!) pages.
It’s a shame Carey took such a great idea for a novel and delivered such an underwhelming result, especially since on a line-by-line level he’s as good a writer as he’s ever been. As always, I quite liked his sense of place:
Before exhausting the last of the birdshit deposits which were the source of its fabulous wealth, before going into business as a detention facility for asylum seekers, the nation-state of Nauru destroyed two landmark buildings in Collins Street and erected a 52-floor octagonal monument to its own ineptitude and corruption. Who would want to have an office on this site? My mate of course.
The embankment was not a real riverbank, but a mess made by bulldozed mud and ancient garbage. From here you could look down to see the poor fucked Merri Creek threading through the body of Coburg like the vein in the dead body of a prawn. The descent was steep, shoulder-high with fennel. There was a spewy smell. Factories occupied the high ground above the creek, below the power pylons. The actual watercourse was marked by abandoned cars and broken industrial equipment including a sabotaged dragline crane with its long steel boom twisted like a swan’s neck.
The after party was in East Kew. I had lived in Melbourne all my life and never saw a house with gates like these, four-metre-high spears tipped with gold fleurs-de-lis, like the owners were waiting for the revolution.
Amnesia is by no means a terrible novel, but it’s certainly a missed opportunity. I’m writing this while SBS News is on, with a story on the United States’ ongoing endeavour to extradite Julian Assange from prison in Britain. Whatever you may think of that long and sorry saga, or of the man himself, the real-life story is undeniably more interesting than the fictionalised version Carey delivers in Amnesia.
I can see what irritated many readers, though, because it irritated me too. I think Amnesia is the first of Carey’s novels that was released after I’d started reading him, and I remember copies ranked across Waterstone’s new release shelves when I was living in London in 2014, when Julian Assange’s Ecuadorean consulate bolt-hole and Edward Snowden’s NSA leaks and subsequent flight to Hong Kong and Russia were still freshly ripped from the headlines. Assange’s Melburnian roots clearly struck a chord with Carey’s long-standing mistrust of American global dominance and how that interacts with Australia, previously explored in The Unusual Life of Tristan Smith and His Illegal Self, and Amnesia begins on a high note:
It was a spring evening in Washington DC; a chilly autumn morning in Melbourne; it was exactly 22:00 Greenwich Mean Time when a worm entered the computerised control systems of countless Australian prisons and released the locks in many other places of incarceration, some of which the hacker could not have known existed. Because Australian prison security was, in the year 2010, mostly designed and sold by American corporations the worm immediately infected 117 US federal correctional facilities, 1700 prisons, and over 3000 county jails. Wherever it went, it travelled underground, in darkness, like a bushfire burning in the roots of trees. Reaching its destinations it announced itself: THE CORPORATION IS UNDER OUR CONTROL. THE ANGEL DECLARES YOU FREE.
The first hundred-odd pages introduce us to Felix Moore, a flat-broke journalist recently ejected from his family home after being found guilty of defamation. Moore is recruited by the supporters of Gaby Bailleux, the arrested Australian hacker responsible for the novel’s opening incident and Carey’s Assange stand-in, to “properly educate the Australian public, who are naturally inclined to believe the Americans are overreaching again… Australianise her, mate.” With few other options he agrees on the story of a lifetime, but remains skittish and wary of what it will mean to be involved with the United States’ new public enemy number one.
The problem (and this is where I suspect Carey lost most of those disgruntled Goodreads users) is that he promptly ignores this promising set-up – which suggests Amnesia will be a timely techno-thriller – in favour of a rambling account of Gaby’s teenage years, ostensibly about the story of how she got involved in the world of underground hackers, but mostly just a family drama not dissimilar to any number of his other novels. It became increasingly clear, as Amnesia‘s pages went past, that the novel was never going to venture much further than the streets of Carlton circa 1989, and even then it surprised me when Carey only returned to the present day and wrapped up the original storyline, in a rather lazy deus ex machina manner, in the final seven (!) pages.
It’s a shame Carey took such a great idea for a novel and delivered such an underwhelming result, especially since on a line-by-line level he’s as good a writer as he’s ever been. As always, I quite liked his sense of place:
Before exhausting the last of the birdshit deposits which were the source of its fabulous wealth, before going into business as a detention facility for asylum seekers, the nation-state of Nauru destroyed two landmark buildings in Collins Street and erected a 52-floor octagonal monument to its own ineptitude and corruption. Who would want to have an office on this site? My mate of course.
The embankment was not a real riverbank, but a mess made by bulldozed mud and ancient garbage. From here you could look down to see the poor fucked Merri Creek threading through the body of Coburg like the vein in the dead body of a prawn. The descent was steep, shoulder-high with fennel. There was a spewy smell. Factories occupied the high ground above the creek, below the power pylons. The actual watercourse was marked by abandoned cars and broken industrial equipment including a sabotaged dragline crane with its long steel boom twisted like a swan’s neck.
The after party was in East Kew. I had lived in Melbourne all my life and never saw a house with gates like these, four-metre-high spears tipped with gold fleurs-de-lis, like the owners were waiting for the revolution.
Amnesia is by no means a terrible novel, but it’s certainly a missed opportunity. I’m writing this while SBS News is on, with a story on the United States’ ongoing endeavour to extradite Julian Assange from prison in Britain. Whatever you may think of that long and sorry saga, or of the man himself, the real-life story is undeniably more interesting than the fictionalised version Carey delivers in Amnesia.
captainfez's review against another edition
4.0
I've long been a fan of Peter Carey's work, so I was pleased to be given Amnesia as a birthday present. I was further pleased to discover that, though the work is flawed, he's created here one of his more memorable characters - Felix Moore, a weakling, a drinker, a leftie and crucially, a journalist.
Having worked in the industry for years, the portraiture is remarkably accurate. There's a quote in it,
What's interesting is that Moore, with all his failings (and his increasingly castaway facial hair and tendency to write the story he wants to, not the story he's hired to write) is a stand-in for Carey to a certain extent: he came from the same place (Bacchus Marsh) and has similar forebears. It's a neat little observation on the obsessiveness of creativity, even where history is concerned.
History is, of course, a Carey hallmark. Here, he turns an excoriating eye on Australian-US relations, on World War II, and on the history of our government - particularly the 1975 dismissal of the Whitlam government. There's more anger here than I've heard in his work of late, and it's great - the true sadness and frustration over missed chances by Labor, the regret of getting fucked by your allies, and the terrible way politicians are hamstrung by process.
I've read a bit of criticism that the blurb on the work doesn't reflect what's within. Given the vagaries of publishing marketing, it's a bit of a stretch to lay this at Carey's door; some PR wonk latched on to the terrorism implied in Gaby's actions and used it to flog the work. But anyone who's read any of the author's work would surely be able to tell you that "techno-thriller" is not his stock-in-trade.
(Also, fuck the blurb. Read something - or a selection of reviews, even - and make up your own mind, goddamn it.)
As it is, this isn't a techno-thriller, though technology does play a large role. The basic story of the work is that Gaby Baillieux releases a computer worm which opens prisons worldwide. Shady developer Woody Townes pays her bail, and hires Felix to write her story to turn the tide of public opinion. What results is a meditation on Gaby's youth, and on Felix's, particularly with reference to politics, the birth of online communication and programming. You're probably not too interested about ZIL, the language used to create the interactive fiction classic Zork, but Carey's characters are, and the research and presentation is solid. There's a mix of programming language and teenspeak that's evocative and appealing.
People complaining about the Australian idiom and floral namechecking in this work obviously haven't read much of Carey's work. Even though he's a resident of NYC (and has been since the early 1990s) it's obvious he's still very much here, spiritually. The difference here, perhaps, is that there's the addition of '80s teenage cant to the mix; it's not just the Struth Generation that's mined here for verbiage. Is this offputting to non-Australians? Maybe. But then they won't get the references to the Cosmic Psychos, either, but I don't know that this is a reasonable enough reason for shitcanning an otherwise enjoyable and interesting work.
Amnesia is worth a read. Is it Carey's best? No, it's not. It's confused, and the blurb probably sets people up for something Tom Clancy when this author is anything but. It's best appreciated by someone who knows a little about Australian history (or who is prepared to do a bit of research) and about Australian personalities of the business and arts world. (Woody is basically Kerry Packer with concrete instead of printers' ink for blood, a reference which probably makes no sense unless you know about media holdings and alleged shiftiness in the Australia of the 1980s.) So in that respect, the barrier to enjoyment is quite high. The book fragments and loses its train of thought, and though it might be a bit much to say that this is a reflection of its written architect, Felix, Carey's canny enough to have written it that way.
The book isn't boring, as some would have you believe. You just have to be speaking the same language. It's not Oscar and Lucinda, but what is?
Having worked in the industry for years, the portraiture is remarkably accurate. There's a quote in it,
"I had a lifetime of hard-won technical ability but was my heart sufficient... Did I have the courage for something more than a five-column smash and grab?"which pretty much encapsules the mind of the jobbing journo in a few scant lines.
What's interesting is that Moore, with all his failings (and his increasingly castaway facial hair and tendency to write the story he wants to, not the story he's hired to write) is a stand-in for Carey to a certain extent: he came from the same place (Bacchus Marsh) and has similar forebears. It's a neat little observation on the obsessiveness of creativity, even where history is concerned.
History is, of course, a Carey hallmark. Here, he turns an excoriating eye on Australian-US relations, on World War II, and on the history of our government - particularly the 1975 dismissal of the Whitlam government. There's more anger here than I've heard in his work of late, and it's great - the true sadness and frustration over missed chances by Labor, the regret of getting fucked by your allies, and the terrible way politicians are hamstrung by process.
I've read a bit of criticism that the blurb on the work doesn't reflect what's within. Given the vagaries of publishing marketing, it's a bit of a stretch to lay this at Carey's door; some PR wonk latched on to the terrorism implied in Gaby's actions and used it to flog the work. But anyone who's read any of the author's work would surely be able to tell you that "techno-thriller" is not his stock-in-trade.
(Also, fuck the blurb. Read something - or a selection of reviews, even - and make up your own mind, goddamn it.)
As it is, this isn't a techno-thriller, though technology does play a large role. The basic story of the work is that Gaby Baillieux releases a computer worm which opens prisons worldwide. Shady developer Woody Townes pays her bail, and hires Felix to write her story to turn the tide of public opinion. What results is a meditation on Gaby's youth, and on Felix's, particularly with reference to politics, the birth of online communication and programming. You're probably not too interested about ZIL, the language used to create the interactive fiction classic Zork, but Carey's characters are, and the research and presentation is solid. There's a mix of programming language and teenspeak that's evocative and appealing.
People complaining about the Australian idiom and floral namechecking in this work obviously haven't read much of Carey's work. Even though he's a resident of NYC (and has been since the early 1990s) it's obvious he's still very much here, spiritually. The difference here, perhaps, is that there's the addition of '80s teenage cant to the mix; it's not just the Struth Generation that's mined here for verbiage. Is this offputting to non-Australians? Maybe. But then they won't get the references to the Cosmic Psychos, either, but I don't know that this is a reasonable enough reason for shitcanning an otherwise enjoyable and interesting work.
Amnesia is worth a read. Is it Carey's best? No, it's not. It's confused, and the blurb probably sets people up for something Tom Clancy when this author is anything but. It's best appreciated by someone who knows a little about Australian history (or who is prepared to do a bit of research) and about Australian personalities of the business and arts world. (Woody is basically Kerry Packer with concrete instead of printers' ink for blood, a reference which probably makes no sense unless you know about media holdings and alleged shiftiness in the Australia of the 1980s.) So in that respect, the barrier to enjoyment is quite high. The book fragments and loses its train of thought, and though it might be a bit much to say that this is a reflection of its written architect, Felix, Carey's canny enough to have written it that way.
The book isn't boring, as some would have you believe. You just have to be speaking the same language. It's not Oscar and Lucinda, but what is?
gh7's review
3.0
Amnesia has had a rather sorry time of it in the world. Almost all the reviews are damning and its average rating is a woeful 2.82. Half way through I thought I might be able to launch a laudable defence. After all, Peter Carey is now 75 and we all know his best days as a novelist are behind him and have been so for a while now. In his prime he wrote a fabulous series of novels and, without doing the math, I'd include him as one of the thirty best living novelists.
The main problem of Amnesia is perhaps how Carey chooses to tell what is potentially a great story. His ever more experimental narrative technique has been a problem I've had with him for a while. In his prime his narrative voice was always pretty straightforward. The conventional tracks along which he unfurled his tales suited his fabulous talent at storytelling. He's blessed with fizzing vitality and his characters are always imagined and brought to life to the hilt. In recent years he's gone all post-modernist and experimented with dual, sometimes conflicting, narrative voices. As is the case here where the first half of the novel is narrated in the first person by a disgraced journalist who has been bamboozled into telling the story of the daughter of a woman he had a crush on as a young man. This is Gaby, an eco-terrorist who the US government wants to extradite. The second half of the novel switches to two first person narratives recorded on tape inside a kind of third person overview. Yep, it's confusing! Oddly though it's the second half which is more engaging. I had problems with Felix, the narrator of the first part. I didn't find him very interesting and often found his life drearily confusing. The beating heart of the novel is Gaby and the mother/daughter conflict was brilliantly done. Whenever Gaby's on the page the novel is compelling. Unfortunately this isn't true when Felix hogs the pages. Another problem, at times Carey assumes a knowledge of Australian politics which I simply did not have. So the best bits are a punk take on movies like Silkwood or The East and the worst bits another take on the mid-life crisis of a liberal warm hearted, cold-footed male.
If you've never read Carey I'd recommend all his early novels, from Illywhacker through to Theft.
The main problem of Amnesia is perhaps how Carey chooses to tell what is potentially a great story. His ever more experimental narrative technique has been a problem I've had with him for a while. In his prime his narrative voice was always pretty straightforward. The conventional tracks along which he unfurled his tales suited his fabulous talent at storytelling. He's blessed with fizzing vitality and his characters are always imagined and brought to life to the hilt. In recent years he's gone all post-modernist and experimented with dual, sometimes conflicting, narrative voices. As is the case here where the first half of the novel is narrated in the first person by a disgraced journalist who has been bamboozled into telling the story of the daughter of a woman he had a crush on as a young man. This is Gaby, an eco-terrorist who the US government wants to extradite. The second half of the novel switches to two first person narratives recorded on tape inside a kind of third person overview. Yep, it's confusing! Oddly though it's the second half which is more engaging. I had problems with Felix, the narrator of the first part. I didn't find him very interesting and often found his life drearily confusing. The beating heart of the novel is Gaby and the mother/daughter conflict was brilliantly done. Whenever Gaby's on the page the novel is compelling. Unfortunately this isn't true when Felix hogs the pages. Another problem, at times Carey assumes a knowledge of Australian politics which I simply did not have. So the best bits are a punk take on movies like Silkwood or The East and the worst bits another take on the mid-life crisis of a liberal warm hearted, cold-footed male.
If you've never read Carey I'd recommend all his early novels, from Illywhacker through to Theft.
ktreadsnm's review
2.0
I hated this book. I could only get about 1/4 of the way through. I'm just done reading about alcoholic jerks.
jim_b's review against another edition
3.0
I was expecting more from this book. All in all I think it was just too dull
jventer's review
2.0
Maybe if I had a better understanding of Australian history and politics I would have enjoyed it more. It felt like it was trying to tell too many stories and it didn't quite connect.
innerweststreetlibrarian's review against another edition
3.0
I enjoyed that. It’s a bit messy/implausible but unpredictable enough to keep me interested to the end. Weird bunch of people!
TW for sexual assault and suicide.
TW for sexual assault and suicide.
lgmelcher's review against another edition
1.0
I could not finish it. Between the obscure Australian social/historical references and the complete lack of compelling characters, it does not even begin to meet the hype.
husk's review against another edition
4.0
Traditional narrative structures seem to be thrown out the window in a sometimes rag tag read. But it is affecting, and it is successful. The disconnect between the ageing protagonist (and a mirror held up to Carey himself) and the activism within the world of the dark web translates well against the traditional background of the Australian Labour movement and industrial action of the 1970s – both social movements ultimately proving a chimera to those wishing to press for social justice. Each narrative moving beyond the reach of the protagonists as the need to move outside of the traditional constructs of politics or to act legally on an increasingly monitored and controlled internet to pursue success becomes clearer and clearer through the novel. The generations are mirrored in their desire to fight corporate influence on both the environment and society through their own social tools, but anchored in a history of the Americans, all expensive uniforms and great teeth, coming to save the world with their parents/grandparents in the 1940s. The successful outcome of that war enabled the American corporate machine to pervasively affect the modern world (and its neutered politics, driven by corporate lobbyists and benefactors) is supported by the military stations (and spying capabilities) left behind as a consequence of military support – as was Coca Cola the very same benefactor of such global American military spread. The parallels are laid clear in this generational story in this book and, whilst not a classic, it is a really good work.