Scan barcode
A review by emscji
The Pregnant Widow by Martin Amis
3.0
10/29/2012: I was stumped by this book. Confounded. But why, then, did I keep reading? It was a most frustrating experience; I kept thinking that Amis would say something to clarify his purpose, or to resolve his mysteries, or to align the elliptical asides that appeared every few chapters. But I ended where I began, with a "Wait, what?"
The man can write. And his characters, his scenes, his evocation of a time and place are arresting. Keith, Lily, Scheherezade, Adriano, Gloria, Violet--all seem to want to jump off the page. They are wonderfully and hilariously (and poignantly) drawn, as they bump and grind their way through a summer spent together in a castle in Italy, in 1970--the dawn of the Sexual Revolution. There is a pervasive nostalgia; the book is written from the present, looking back, from the point of view of an unnamed narrator, who reveals himself in the end, but who for all intents and purposes is omniscient, and has opinions about everything. Thus the poignancy, the sense that the wisdom of the old, while wonderful, can't ever beat the naive, foolish and hungry energy of youth. It is even possible to reconstruct the plot of the novel, to retell the story and get a hint at what Amis is driving at. But for over 400 pages I kept hoping that those hints would coalesce into a coherent, or at least poetically consistent, set of themes. And I'm still pondering.
I missed much of the British slang of the early 70s, the shorthand of the time and place. I also think I missed many of the literary references. And I should go search those out--it might make parts of the novel much clearer. But I don't have the energy for that. And I keep thinking that Amis--some of whose books I've enjoyed--suffers from two issues. The first is a severe case of self-indulgence (okay, inflated ego, maybe? but I won't go that far); he has clearly made it this far and can write whatever and however he wants, and he has chosen to write an elliptical, elusive, archly nostalgic novel. Okay…he can do that. The second problem? Ah, I've said THIS before. The book needs a GOOD EDITOR. Did I mention the over 400 pages…?
Take me back to social realism, please…!
The man can write. And his characters, his scenes, his evocation of a time and place are arresting. Keith, Lily, Scheherezade, Adriano, Gloria, Violet--all seem to want to jump off the page. They are wonderfully and hilariously (and poignantly) drawn, as they bump and grind their way through a summer spent together in a castle in Italy, in 1970--the dawn of the Sexual Revolution. There is a pervasive nostalgia; the book is written from the present, looking back, from the point of view of an unnamed narrator, who reveals himself in the end, but who for all intents and purposes is omniscient, and has opinions about everything. Thus the poignancy, the sense that the wisdom of the old, while wonderful, can't ever beat the naive, foolish and hungry energy of youth. It is even possible to reconstruct the plot of the novel, to retell the story and get a hint at what Amis is driving at. But for over 400 pages I kept hoping that those hints would coalesce into a coherent, or at least poetically consistent, set of themes. And I'm still pondering.
I missed much of the British slang of the early 70s, the shorthand of the time and place. I also think I missed many of the literary references. And I should go search those out--it might make parts of the novel much clearer. But I don't have the energy for that. And I keep thinking that Amis--some of whose books I've enjoyed--suffers from two issues. The first is a severe case of self-indulgence (okay, inflated ego, maybe? but I won't go that far); he has clearly made it this far and can write whatever and however he wants, and he has chosen to write an elliptical, elusive, archly nostalgic novel. Okay…he can do that. The second problem? Ah, I've said THIS before. The book needs a GOOD EDITOR. Did I mention the over 400 pages…?
Take me back to social realism, please…!