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A review by kitsuneheart
The Swimming-Pool Library by Alan Hollinghurst
2.0
I make a point of reading banned books. As a librarian who is very interested in intellectual freedom and serving a diverse community, knowing those works that are most frequently challenged for removal is an important first step in being able to defend their place in the collection.
And, I've got to say, it would be a hard battle for me to defend this book, simply because I just REALLY didn't like it.
I'm not saying I'd step aside and allow the removal. I'd fight tooth and nail for this book. But I am so, so not qualified to find its better points. I just couldn't see them.
I suppose the main focus of a defense would have to be the depiction of gay life in London, pre-AIDS. Hollinghurst shows us an underground society making its first flirtatious steps towards outing itself, but still wholly devoted to protecting one another from discovery. Our narrator, William Beckwith, is a bit past his physical prime, but still devoted to the male form, both his own and everyone else's. It seems as if every page involves a few word description (or speculation) of someone's genitals, and every fifth page a liaison. It makes the plot feel a bit sparse and slow.
I think, in the end, it just comes down to me not being the intended audience. While I am queer, myself, I never had a raucous youth, or even really needed to hide myself. Thus, so much of this book simply would not resonate. Perhaps it would do best with a bit of an older crowd, but, at the same time, I think a lot of those older queer readers wouldn't be able to read this book without being pressed down by the shadow of the AIDS epidemic. Certainly I, throughout this book, found it quite jarring to see no mention of protection. It's become so standard in modern literature to put a condom on for any sexual act that you can almost hear historical romance writers fretting about their absence.
I can't see myself ever recommending this book for reading, but, again, I'd fight for it to remain. It's not for me, but it's for someone, and that's what matters.
And, I've got to say, it would be a hard battle for me to defend this book, simply because I just REALLY didn't like it.
I'm not saying I'd step aside and allow the removal. I'd fight tooth and nail for this book. But I am so, so not qualified to find its better points. I just couldn't see them.
I suppose the main focus of a defense would have to be the depiction of gay life in London, pre-AIDS. Hollinghurst shows us an underground society making its first flirtatious steps towards outing itself, but still wholly devoted to protecting one another from discovery. Our narrator, William Beckwith, is a bit past his physical prime, but still devoted to the male form, both his own and everyone else's. It seems as if every page involves a few word description (or speculation) of someone's genitals, and every fifth page a liaison. It makes the plot feel a bit sparse and slow.
I think, in the end, it just comes down to me not being the intended audience. While I am queer, myself, I never had a raucous youth, or even really needed to hide myself. Thus, so much of this book simply would not resonate. Perhaps it would do best with a bit of an older crowd, but, at the same time, I think a lot of those older queer readers wouldn't be able to read this book without being pressed down by the shadow of the AIDS epidemic. Certainly I, throughout this book, found it quite jarring to see no mention of protection. It's become so standard in modern literature to put a condom on for any sexual act that you can almost hear historical romance writers fretting about their absence.
I can't see myself ever recommending this book for reading, but, again, I'd fight for it to remain. It's not for me, but it's for someone, and that's what matters.