Books
Gaming the play
By Vivid writer: Andrew Begg
Andrew Begg reviews Bogdan Tiganov's The Wooden Tongue Speaks, Joseph O'Neill's Netherland, Kenneth Kelley's Working Class Diplomat and Ian Botham's Head On
Posted: 23/11/2009
Romanians - from an exile
Andrew Begg
The Wooden Tongue Speaks: Romanians: Contradictions & Realities by Bogdan Tiganov
A collection of short stories and poems, The Wooden Tongue Speaks uncannily distills the very essence of Romanians, from the small joys and beauty to familiar warts-and-all everyday domestic blights. There are many simple delights such as friendships that span a lifetime and survive regardless of the evolving behaviour that the children who become adults demonstrate (in 'The Killer'), and the wonder of desolation of a small boy who falls into a rubbish skip to retrieve a football during an earth tremor, and emerges to find that his friends have vanished (in 'The Fourth Floor'). Tiganov is particularly strong on describing urban domestic scenes, and the anger, frustration and hopelessness generated by them; in 'The Meal' (already reprinted in Vivid), the reader almost suffocates in the 'boiler-like' 'unbearable' kitchen atmosphere when the protagonist's wife switches on the cooker. Violence in the home is, if not a feature, then implicit in several of Tiganov's stories. In 'The Heart of a Woman' the descriptions of wife-beating are particularly brutal, with even the eldest child egging on his father, thinking him 'a real man' and 'in control of his life'.
Throughout the short stories, Tiganov adopts an interesting structural device with his prose which allows him to emphasise part of a sentence or paragraph that should be absorbed at one time - often this can be a part of a sentence that should be read 'in one breath' or sometimes it is just a few abrupt words, and sometimes just the one. Such a technique makes his prose read like poetry. His prose is also very colourful, and it is not at all surprising to learn that he was a student of visual arts. His website hosts a section called 'Colour Poems'.
These very specifically, unmistakably Romanian stories are all the more remarkable for having been authored by an exile. If you are not familiar with Bogdan Tiganov's work, The Wooden Tongue Speaks acts as a good introduction. It's an impressive collection and, as Tiganov is still in his twenties, it leaves the reader feeling that with maturity greater depths surely lie ahead.
For more information on Bogdan Tiganov
visit www.bogdantiganov.com
Subculture Books, pp 217, 2008, 978-0-9799194-3-5, $14.99 at www.subculturebooks.com
Post-apocalyptic splendour
Andrew Begg
Netherland by Joseph O'Neill
It doesn't disappoint - not really, anyway, but it isn't a modern version of The Great Gatsby to which some critics have likened it, nor is it the best short novel since Scott Fitzgerald's timeless classic. Readers could never feel ambivalent towards, say, Jay Gatsby or Dick Diver, the hero of Fitzgerald's other masterpiece, Tender is the Night, but O'Neill's protagonist does not inspire similar sympathy or empathy. Netherland presents a very different New York than ever portrayed by Fitzgerald; if Gatsby is the greatest American short novel, Netherland may well be the quintessential post-9/11 novel.
Netherland's protagonist, Hans van den Broek is a Dutch oil analyst who works for an investment bank, first in London and then in New York, where most of the action takes place. He is married to Rachel, an aggressive human rights lawyer who has recently given birth to their first child. Shortly after the well-heeled couple cross the Atlantic and settle in a Tribeca loft the 9/11 bombings rock New York and the family move further uptown, renting an apartment in the sloppy-chic Chelsea Hotel (in which, in real life, O'Neill lives with his wife and three sons). But Rachel grows increasingly despondent and restless, and wonders how the family can be happy living in a country that is "ideologically diseased" governed by the Bush administration. She eventually ups and leaves, taking young Jake with her, and van den Broek is left alone.
Hans's relationship with Rachel is one of several plots running through Netherland, which begins with a phone call from a journalist about the murder of Chuck Ramkissoon, an eccentric, ambitious, somewhat shady West Indian businessman with whom Hans meets and befriends through a mutual love of cricket, which Hans has begun playing again after his wife's departure.
Like Hans, O'Neill obviously loves cricket, a game with a vast body of literature behind it, and his understanding and knowledge runs very deep. There are some wonderfully rich cricketing descriptions in Netherland, which aficionados of the game will enjoy for that reason alone. But it isn't necessary to be familiar with cricket to enjoy Netherland, which is infinitely more than a declaration of love for the game anyway. It's a novel to be appreciated on many levels and the concept of solitude - Hans's as he wrestles with trying to keep his family together, while wrestling with his conscience over his mother, who lives alone a world away in Holland, world politics, ambition and identity are just a few of them. Throughout the novel the prose never wavers from a very high quality. Netherland is an experience that is exceedingly worthwhile.
Harper Perennial, pp 247, 2008, ISBN: 978-0-00-727570-0, RON 49 at Antony Frost bookstore
Our man in wherever
Andrew Begg
Working Class Diplomat by Kenneth W Kelley
Early in his career Kelley found himself posted to the British embassy (then 'Legation') in Bucharest, in 1953 and 1954. Romania then was austere and unwelcoming, and the communist regime went to great lengths to keep locals separated from the handful of Westerners in Bucharest. Their phones were tapped, and Kelley and his new wife Margaret frequently found themselves woken several times a night by the ringing telephone, which when answered would just be hung up. A man was stationed at the end of Kelley's street that recorded his every movement in and out of his home; several visits to an embassy-owned villa in Timis, Kelley noted, had a Securitate officer in tow each time. Social life revolved around the Diplomatic Club with other diplomats. All in all though, as Kelley says on leaving Romania, "we were not sorry to see the back of a regime that had found it necessary to keep us under constant scrutiny and to deny us access to the country and its people." The consummately cheerful Maria, who looked after the house where he and his wife lived, provides the only insight into the national character Kelley was allowed.
Kelley's job takes him all around the world; as well as Bucharest there are stints in Germany, Bahrain, Libya, Iraq, Turkey, Congo, Uruguay and Canada, which are interspersed with stays in London for training and other diplomatic work. One gets the impression Kelley far prefers his work in the field rather than at HQ. The traveling is done by car, train or boat, or a combination of all three, which lends a romantic side to the idea of the jobbing diplomat; it is only to his last post, in Ottawa, that he travels completely by aeroplane.
At times Working Class Diplomat reads like a travelogue: that travel and new surroundings are one of the prime attractions for diplomatic life is very apparent here. The Kelleys are not the types of diplomats who stay at home and grumble about local conditions. They find time to visit and see much of the countries and cities they are posted to, and make many friends along the way. Golf becomes a lifelong passion and helps in gaining a local's perspective on home affairs.
But life has changed for diplomats. No doubt Kelley had his fair share of desk work too, but whereas he and his contemporaries would record at first hand a revolution and be the first brave souls to venture back into a warring country after everyone has left, yet still find time to visit elderly British ladies in foreign nursing homes for a cup of tea, today's diplomats seem besieged by bureaucracy and endless rounds of meaningless cocktail parties in comparison. Towards the end of his career modern times catch up with Kelley, and, just as he is making serious headway the small office he heads in Halifax, as British Consul to the Atlantic Provinces, is shut down as a cost-cutting measure. Always polite and diplomatic almost to a fault, Kelley can barely hide his bitterness towards those behind the decision.
Many people who have lived in diverse and not always friendly locations will identify with Kenneth Kelley's memoirs, and for them this is highly recommended.
The Memoir Club, pp 142, 2008, ISBN: 978-1-84104-187-2, GBP 14.95 from the Memoir Club
A heroes hero
Andrew Begg
Head On: Ian Botham, The Autobiography by Ian Botham
I have a vivid recall of the third Test, the first of the series that England won, because I watched it in the intensive care ward of a hospital in Melbourne, while recovering from a complex appendicectomy, receiving pethadine intravenously every four hours to ease the post-operative pain. Spaced out and mellow, propped up in my hospital bed and watching the cricket on a seven-inch black and white television with the sound turn down and receiving the commentary from BBC Radio via an earplug, Australia was in a winning position - until Botham came in to bat and turned the game on its head, dispatching the Australian bowlers to every corner of the ground with a ferocity rarely seen before. It was difficult to believe that this was not some kind of hallucinogenic nightmare, but it was all too real. Botham - who had at that time just relinquished the burden of captaincy - went on to perform two more superhuman feats in that series, and virtually singlehandedly clinch the famous little urn that is the Ashes trophy for England.
It is this confidence and fearlessness that people loved about Botham, who is all inspiration, all gut feel and instinct. He finished the 1980s as Britain's greatest sporting hero; indeed, by the end of the decade he was being criticised for making people believe that winning at cricket was all about inspiration rather than careful planning, preparation and cunning. He became famous for shooting from the hip. He wouldn't walk into a room - he would bluster in, or kick down the door. His relationship with the media was always rocky and his off-field antics led to his becoming an object of obsession for tabloids.
The book captures the character of one of the most naturally gifted, lion-hearted sportsmen of the era. There are many great descriptions of sporting contests involving Botham. One I particularly liked was his facing the fastest ball in his life, from the West Indian speedster Andy Roberts, which came at the beginning of Botham's career. Botham's county, Somerset, were involved in a run chase against Hampshire and Botham had just hooked Roberts for six, before Roberts turned, ran in and unleashed an absolute thunderbolt that was so fast Botham didn't see it at all. It slammed into his face, knocking out four teeth on either sides of his mouth. A mere mortal would have quickly retired hurt but Botham, dazed and spitting blood and bits of teeth onto the pitch, pulled himself together and calmly helped accumulate the remaining runs needed for victory.
As Australia's nemesis in many an Ashes Test, I was hoping that this book would consolidate my dislike for Botham, but learning about the sheer courage and character of the man, his cocking a snook at authority and the media and the millions of pounds he has raised for leukemia research since retiring from the game - its impossible not to admire him. As sporting biographies and autobiographies go Head On rates pretty highly.
Elbury Press, pp 384, 2007, ISBN: 9780091924379, GBP 5.99 at amazon
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