I was going to put these into two different posts but they’re so similar that I decided to link them. Both of these books won the Booker Prize in their respective years, early to mid 90s and early 2000s. And in both cases, I can’t imagine a less good or less interesting book to win. It seems like for both, there was a kind of “this will shake things up” kind of element to their winning that it’s everything bad I can imagine about prizes. But, I will instead paraphrase some elements from a deliciously petty Edward St Aubyn novel about the corrupt nature of the prize. In Lost for Words, the James Kelman book, How late it was how late, is called something to the effect of “OI WOT YOU SAYING” or something equally ridiculous. The DBC Pierre book, Vernon God Little, is NOT parodied, but easily could be. The books are not alone in their mockery — St Aubyn also parodies and ridicules overtly serious “prestige” books too. So these are together because while I was trying to read all of the Booker Prize winners, I would of course stumble across some bad ones, but these left me with the same gross feeling. So here you go.
Vernon God Little
I am actually shocked that the author of this book lived in or near the United States during his lifetime, because I felt this book as a pure simulacra of my growing up in the United States, to such a degree I was almost offended. I was definitely not seen as it were. In the book, we are in the United States and there is a school shooting. But what goes from there is a series of events that feel so far removed from my experiences with the US that I was annoyed by it. This is going to sound weird, maybe, but the thing that set me off from the first page was the word “fucken” as a shortened version of “fucking”. Anybody actually familar with the US would have written “fuckin'”.
The effect was watching a BBC movie where there’s an “American” character and their accent is so bad and ridiculous.
How Late it was How Late
Speaking of bad and ridiculous. This book feels like a spoof. It’s almost a direct ripoff of Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha and the other Barrytown novels of Roddy Doyle, which are earnest and heartfelt. It’s about a Scottish ex-con who wakes up from a three day drunk, gets in a fight, gets arrested, and goes blind.
I would be ok with it, if I hadn’t already read Trainspotting, which is a better novel, more substantive, and more consistent with its language. My issue with this one is that it’s a third person narrative written as if Sammy the protagonist is the narrator. So it’s inconsistent with its formatting. Also, the novel just doesn’t amount to much when we’re done with it. It’s a weird exploration of a voice that’s not particularly good or interesting. It’s mock worthy.
(Photo: https://www.amazon.com/How-Late-Was-Novel/dp/039332799X/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=how+late+it+was+how+late&qid=1551707039&s=gateway&sr=8-1)