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A review by andrew_russell
Who They Was by Gabriel Krauze
3.0
Who They Was by Gabriel Krauze falls firmly and squarely into the category of autofiction, depicting Krauze's associations with and membership of London gang culture in the early years of the naughties. Laced with the patois dialect of the streets, it carries with it a weight of authenticity that is hard to ignore. Krauze leaves his stamp and, if nothing else, makes a statement on the society of the working classes in the present day; the segment of society that are so derisively labelled as 'chav's' by those who choose to brush them from their thoughts.
Longlisted for the 2020 Booker Prize, there is a lot that makes Krauze's debut offering stand out. The main aspect of his work which helps achieve this, and draws the immediate attention of the reader, is his use of language as a vehicle to convey the society he grew up and spent his formative years in. It's hard to define unless you are close to that society, or at least have a strong association with it. The society to which I refer is gang culture and is one in which Krauze, growing up on an estate in South Kilburn on the outskirts of London, was heavily involved. As such, his work contains strong themes of brutal and unflinching violence. Shootings, stabbings and muggings are a commonplace occurrence. What gives Krauze's novel a unique facet though is that he experienced, or even participated on occasion, in these crimes whilst at the same time studying for a degree in English Literature.
There are brief moments where the interface between Krauze's gangland life and that of a more 'normal' life is depicted in stark contrast, and these are undoubtedly the most touching. A missed opportunity to spend time with his Dad making Easter eggs, attending university lectures and witnessing a child in a house shutting themselves in a toy box to escape the hellish existence they are brought up in. They really chime in your heart. But at the same time, there is no escaping that this is a work of autofiction and as such, is arguably one of the easiest and yet at the same time most difficult sub-genre's of fiction to successfully pull off.
The easy thing is constructing the story - it's basically already done. The difficulty (and it is enormously difficult) is making that story stand out from the rest. Lifting it head and shoulders above the noise of all the other work out there. The simplest conclusion to arrive at is that the story requires something novel in the form in which it is told. Krauze attempts this through his use of what most of us would consider the unfamiliar vernacular of the streets in the council estate he grew up in. But this is his language and as such, never seems sufficiently novel to achieve it's end goal - drawing the reader in. What ultimately results is a story that achieves goodness, without reaching greatness. An endless litany of violent acts, interspersed with conversations between fellow gang members about...committing yet more violent acts.
This is a good book and a daring debut but it is unlikely to stand the test of time, in my reading life anyway. It lacks any progression, any light and shade, instead presenting us with an unremitting tide of bleak poverty and violent crime. It is worth the reading - but not necessarily worth a reread.
Longlisted for the 2020 Booker Prize, there is a lot that makes Krauze's debut offering stand out. The main aspect of his work which helps achieve this, and draws the immediate attention of the reader, is his use of language as a vehicle to convey the society he grew up and spent his formative years in. It's hard to define unless you are close to that society, or at least have a strong association with it. The society to which I refer is gang culture and is one in which Krauze, growing up on an estate in South Kilburn on the outskirts of London, was heavily involved. As such, his work contains strong themes of brutal and unflinching violence. Shootings, stabbings and muggings are a commonplace occurrence. What gives Krauze's novel a unique facet though is that he experienced, or even participated on occasion, in these crimes whilst at the same time studying for a degree in English Literature.
There are brief moments where the interface between Krauze's gangland life and that of a more 'normal' life is depicted in stark contrast, and these are undoubtedly the most touching. A missed opportunity to spend time with his Dad making Easter eggs, attending university lectures and witnessing a child in a house shutting themselves in a toy box to escape the hellish existence they are brought up in. They really chime in your heart. But at the same time, there is no escaping that this is a work of autofiction and as such, is arguably one of the easiest and yet at the same time most difficult sub-genre's of fiction to successfully pull off.
The easy thing is constructing the story - it's basically already done. The difficulty (and it is enormously difficult) is making that story stand out from the rest. Lifting it head and shoulders above the noise of all the other work out there. The simplest conclusion to arrive at is that the story requires something novel in the form in which it is told. Krauze attempts this through his use of what most of us would consider the unfamiliar vernacular of the streets in the council estate he grew up in. But this is his language and as such, never seems sufficiently novel to achieve it's end goal - drawing the reader in. What ultimately results is a story that achieves goodness, without reaching greatness. An endless litany of violent acts, interspersed with conversations between fellow gang members about...committing yet more violent acts.
This is a good book and a daring debut but it is unlikely to stand the test of time, in my reading life anyway. It lacks any progression, any light and shade, instead presenting us with an unremitting tide of bleak poverty and violent crime. It is worth the reading - but not necessarily worth a reread.