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franklekens 's review for:
Titus Groan
by Mervyn Peake
More and more often I don't finish books because I just don't have the time for bad or boring books, and besides I find it's actually depressing to get bogged down in them. Unfortunately this was one of them. I didn't get past page 150 or so, definitely feeling it wouldn't get much better or even different. I so would have liked to like this better. I recently saw a small exhibition about his life and work at the British Library, and this is what made me finally start this novel. The drawings on display there were delightful, the light verse quoted was entertaining and his concept version for an animated film for the BBC was charming. But this 'novel' just doesn't cut it.
In a way, his creativity reminds me of Terry Gilliam's. His also seems to be an imagination run wild, and multidisciplinary to boot. (Look at the delightful cartoonish drawings of Don Quixote he dashes off in the enthralling documentary about his failed film project, Lost in La Manch, reminding you that he was an animation artist for Monty Python before he became a 'real' film director.) But I assume his imagination, although always threatening to fly off the rails, is held in check by the fact that films are a commercial undertaking, and he has to satisfy investors. This is all for the good, he's turned out some glorious (even if sometimes gloriously flawed) films that I wouldn't have wanted to miss for all the world.
Peake's imagination in this novel doesn't seem to be held in check by anyone or anything, least of all the average reader's need for narrative tension and pace. There is none of that that I can find. On the internet I see fans defending his expansiveness by praising his lavish prose. But I didn't find his prose all that wonderful, and I *did* find his expansiveness tedious. And it wouldn't be so bad, if only it were embedded in a strong narrative structure. Lacking that, it lacks tension. The narrative seems adrift. It's like a child on an endless Sunday afternoon who keeps dreaming about this dream castle containing myriads of characters – Peake bouncing them off against each other like a preteen playing with his Lego figures.
Even the unrelenting 'darkness' of both the castle and its inhabitants gets to be repetitive. It's as though he's all the time warning himself not to make any character too attractive or it will smack of Hollywood cliché.
It's such a pity, but I'm afraid this is the novel of a potentially major artist who just happened to choose the wrong medium for his art.
The fans are welcome to keep enjoying this, but I can't help being puzzled (and a little bit worried too) at the high reputation this work still seems to garner.
In a way, his creativity reminds me of Terry Gilliam's. His also seems to be an imagination run wild, and multidisciplinary to boot. (Look at the delightful cartoonish drawings of Don Quixote he dashes off in the enthralling documentary about his failed film project, Lost in La Manch, reminding you that he was an animation artist for Monty Python before he became a 'real' film director.) But I assume his imagination, although always threatening to fly off the rails, is held in check by the fact that films are a commercial undertaking, and he has to satisfy investors. This is all for the good, he's turned out some glorious (even if sometimes gloriously flawed) films that I wouldn't have wanted to miss for all the world.
Peake's imagination in this novel doesn't seem to be held in check by anyone or anything, least of all the average reader's need for narrative tension and pace. There is none of that that I can find. On the internet I see fans defending his expansiveness by praising his lavish prose. But I didn't find his prose all that wonderful, and I *did* find his expansiveness tedious. And it wouldn't be so bad, if only it were embedded in a strong narrative structure. Lacking that, it lacks tension. The narrative seems adrift. It's like a child on an endless Sunday afternoon who keeps dreaming about this dream castle containing myriads of characters – Peake bouncing them off against each other like a preteen playing with his Lego figures.
Even the unrelenting 'darkness' of both the castle and its inhabitants gets to be repetitive. It's as though he's all the time warning himself not to make any character too attractive or it will smack of Hollywood cliché.
It's such a pity, but I'm afraid this is the novel of a potentially major artist who just happened to choose the wrong medium for his art.
The fans are welcome to keep enjoying this, but I can't help being puzzled (and a little bit worried too) at the high reputation this work still seems to garner.