Friday, 17 February 2017

Serious Sweet


And there was the day when Meg had walked through her own park, the Top Park, and seemingly she could watch the push of chlorophyll, the spring fire rising in a green blaze along branches. She'd seen the drift and scatter of white petals, blushed petals, mauve and pink and cream petals, and been struck, been beautifully punched in the heart, by the presence of everything. She'd kept on walking under surely the most beautiful blue on record, a sky that should have been commemorated ever after, a phenomenon of nature. The truth of beauty had given up more truth and then more beauty and then this serious sweet truth, the singing and wordless thing, alight, alight, alight.
Serious Sweet started super slowly for me, but since it was the last title from the 2016 Man Booker Prize longlist that I had to wanted to get through (months after the awarding of the prize because it was the second of two books I ordered from Britain as they never did become available for me to buy in Canada), and since I'm an obsessive-completionist type, I powered through, and am happy that I did. Mentally comparing this title to the others, I'm surprised it didn't make the shortlist; it's as expertly constructed and socially aware as anything that did. And it made me cry. 
   She was turning on all the lights she could – she was trying to be honest. That meant he would really be able to see.

   Which you can't help feeling on your skin.

   And in the end you say things to each other.

   I will meet you.

   You say that and he says that and then it's out loud and in the open and so it might happen.

   Which is the sort of thing that can make you disappointed.

   I think maybe that it always does. Always is the same as forever.

   I will meet you.

   Serious sweet.
It started slowly because it takes a looong time to understand what's going on; to learn and connect to the backstories of the dual protagonists; and to get used to the format of this pair having constant internal arguments between their conscious minds and their contentious and disruptive subconsciousnesses (initially confusing, but ultimately, a fair description of reality). Each chapter is time-stamped and it eventually becomes clear that all of the action takes place in one twenty-four hour span. As Meg and Jon each go about their ordinary lives and have their meeting delayed and rescheduled and delayed again, it's as though Mrs. Dalloway has arranged to meet Leopold Bloom in modern day London, and the more we learn about just how broken and deserving of love each of them is, the more frustrating it becomes that the unimportant demands of modern life are delaying that which seems ever more vital. Even more frustrating is to watch as Meg and Jon talk on the phone or text or recall earlier meetings in which these internal conflicts between their conscious and subconscious minds force each of them to hedge and stammer in an attempt to protect themselves from further hurt. I totally fell for all of author A. J. Kennedy's manipulations.
   But...

   But...

   There is this possibility that opens up as soon as you can tell yourself, your world, your love, darling, sweetheart, treasure, your sweet, your serious sweet, when you can tell her everything. “But...”

   You want her not to go, not quite yet – dearsweetmybaby – and you do wish that you could have heard – allthatIcould – what you managed to tell her – allthatIam – you really do wonder the words you could have picked and offered, the ones that let her no longer hate you when you deserve to be hated. You are all unsure.
So that's the how this book is written, but as for the actual what is written, the plot is all so slowly and expertly meted out that I wouldn't want to give away any of it. I will note that, as a disillusioned civil servant nearing the end of an unremarkable career, Jon devotes much of his internal dialogue to the limp and out-of-touch state of British governance that, pre-Brexit, reads like a warning bell for the revolt of the common voter that was soon to come (in Britain and abroad. Ahem.) And a further, unrelated, note: I liked the way that Jon and Meg are forever seeking and recoiling from human contact – Jon often resorts to holding his own hand when he's feeling threatened – and I laughed at Jon comparing shaking the hand of a Minister to grabbing a sock filled with shit; shuddered along when he was forced to shake the hand of the slimy journo Melkin:
   The contact was hardly a comfort – like grabbing a starfish, a squid, a dead animal – and the graced area on Jon's palm complained mildly, not liking the touch of hot salt.
I was at first impatient with Serious Sweet and was finding it a bit overblown (with its oft thrice-repeated pretensions, I see I see I see), but then I surrendered myself to the conceit and found myself swept along. Totally worthwhile read.




The 2016 Man Booker Prize Longlist



Upon the release of the shortlist (and as my two favourite titles didn't make the cut), this is my ranking for the finalists (signifying my enjoyment of the books, not necessarily which one I think will/should win):

Deborah Levy : Hot Milk 
Ottessa Moshfegh : Eileen 
Paul Beatty : The Sellout 
Madeleine Thien : Do Not Say We Have Nothing 
Graeme Macrae Burnet : His Bloody Project 
David Szalay : All That Man Is 

Later edit: The Man Booker was won by The Sellout, and although it was not my pick, I'm not dissatisfied by the result.
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