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A review by ridgewaygirl
A Week in December by Sebastian Faulks
3.0
"You like reading, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Why?"
"Dunno. I s'pose it's an escape from the real world."
"But surely it's just the opposite," said Gabriel. "Books explain the real world. They bring you close to it in a way you could never manage in the course of the day."
"How do you mean?"
"People never explain to you exactly what they think and feel and how their thoughts and feelings work, do they? They don't have time. Or the right words. But that's what books do. It's as though your daily life is a film in the cinema. It can be fun, looking at those pictures. But if you want to know what lies behind the flat screen you have to read a book. That explains it all."
It took me awhile to get through this book, but I think the fault was mostly my own. I was in the mood for something emotionally resonant, like Birdsong, Charlotte Gray or On Green Dolphin Street, but A Week in December is a much colder book. It's a satire of modern life, well done, but it does carry more than a whiff of old man crankiness. Is it possible to write a social satire with heart? Faulks does give a half-hearted try at the end; he's too good a writer to make every single one of his numerous story-arcs end in despair. And he writes fantastically well, so that his biting jabs at what is presented as the emptiness of modern life all hit their targets with wit and accuracy.
Set in London in 2007, the book follows a large cast of characters through their daily lives. There's a soulless investment banker plotting a big trade and a hopeful Jihadist. Would you like to guess which is the bad guy? There's also a bitter book critic, a disaffected young person, and an up and coming Polish football player, among many others, allowing Faulks to lampoon pretty much every facet of modern British society. The book warms up a bit in the final third, as though Faulks had, in the end, found it impossible to avoid all sympathy for his characters and the plot does heat up, but writing about an entirely irredeemable character in a three dimensional way does ultimately prove beyond even Sebastian Faulks's considerable skills.
"Yeah, I do."
"Why?"
"Dunno. I s'pose it's an escape from the real world."
"But surely it's just the opposite," said Gabriel. "Books explain the real world. They bring you close to it in a way you could never manage in the course of the day."
"How do you mean?"
"People never explain to you exactly what they think and feel and how their thoughts and feelings work, do they? They don't have time. Or the right words. But that's what books do. It's as though your daily life is a film in the cinema. It can be fun, looking at those pictures. But if you want to know what lies behind the flat screen you have to read a book. That explains it all."
It took me awhile to get through this book, but I think the fault was mostly my own. I was in the mood for something emotionally resonant, like Birdsong, Charlotte Gray or On Green Dolphin Street, but A Week in December is a much colder book. It's a satire of modern life, well done, but it does carry more than a whiff of old man crankiness. Is it possible to write a social satire with heart? Faulks does give a half-hearted try at the end; he's too good a writer to make every single one of his numerous story-arcs end in despair. And he writes fantastically well, so that his biting jabs at what is presented as the emptiness of modern life all hit their targets with wit and accuracy.
Set in London in 2007, the book follows a large cast of characters through their daily lives. There's a soulless investment banker plotting a big trade and a hopeful Jihadist. Would you like to guess which is the bad guy? There's also a bitter book critic, a disaffected young person, and an up and coming Polish football player, among many others, allowing Faulks to lampoon pretty much every facet of modern British society. The book warms up a bit in the final third, as though Faulks had, in the end, found it impossible to avoid all sympathy for his characters and the plot does heat up, but writing about an entirely irredeemable character in a three dimensional way does ultimately prove beyond even Sebastian Faulks's considerable skills.