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A review by aerdna
The Patrick Melrose Novels by Edward St Aubyn
3.0
This is junk lit for people who fancy themselves thinkers. I was totally into it at first, but I’m not sure I was up for four back to back novellas inside Patrick’s endlessly, helplessly spinning gears. In the first few there was a certain frantic quality to Patrick’s spin towards the bottom, a centrifugal force that was impossible to look away from. His 48 hour drug binge through Manhattan, his tales of social life with the titled- that was the show I came to see. St. Aubyn can writewritewrite, although he has a tendency towards solipsism in his authorial voice that I’m guessing is what limits him to what seems to be the semi-autobiographical.
The story arc moves from destructive tornado to a quiet folding in on oneself in what seems like a blink, though, and my interest started to flag. In Mother’s Milk, in particular, I couldn’t help thinking that Patrick had become that cardinal sin of his social milieu- rather a tiresome bore, to use his vernacular. Your affair is boring, Patrick. Your alcoholism is boring (although I suppose all addictions become boring by definition, in the end). Your perpetual inability to let go of your resentment of your parents is boring. Not that many of us manage to do that, but maybe that’s what makes it boring. Odd, since this was the one that was longlisted for the Booker, and I usually enjoy their selections. Perhaps they were just too many ennui inducing books in a row. I would have rated them differently if I had read them separately.
Patrick does have a memorable voice and I couldn’t help amusing myself by imagining his reaction to say, Eat, Pray, Love, or an overenthusiastic seatmate on the plane, etc, etc. I think there’s another one, and I may track it down eventually.
The story arc moves from destructive tornado to a quiet folding in on oneself in what seems like a blink, though, and my interest started to flag. In Mother’s Milk, in particular, I couldn’t help thinking that Patrick had become that cardinal sin of his social milieu- rather a tiresome bore, to use his vernacular. Your affair is boring, Patrick. Your alcoholism is boring (although I suppose all addictions become boring by definition, in the end). Your perpetual inability to let go of your resentment of your parents is boring. Not that many of us manage to do that, but maybe that’s what makes it boring. Odd, since this was the one that was longlisted for the Booker, and I usually enjoy their selections. Perhaps they were just too many ennui inducing books in a row. I would have rated them differently if I had read them separately.
Patrick does have a memorable voice and I couldn’t help amusing myself by imagining his reaction to say, Eat, Pray, Love, or an overenthusiastic seatmate on the plane, etc, etc. I think there’s another one, and I may track it down eventually.