For the past five days I have been attempting to write a post about Alan Hollinghurst's 1998 novel, The Spell. Turns out it's a much more difficult task than I'd anticipated. As an admirer of Hollinghurst's debut effort, The Swimming-Pool Library (1988), and the Booker-Prize-winning The Line of Beauty (2004), I expected to have similar regards for The Spell. As it happens, I don't. Not that The Spell is a bad book. It's just that the British author has set such a high bar for himself that it's a disappointment when a work doesn't clear that bar.
The Spell is an intergenerational tale that presents a quartet of gay, middle-class Brits whose lives and tangled relationships intertwine, unravel, and reinvent themselves, as their desultory circle expands and contracts amidst paroxysms of lust, drugs, betrayal and unrequited love. That's the plot, in a nutshell. It may be a satire, as some (including the author) have claimed, or it may be a comedy of manners, a sex-saturated soap opera, or some combination of the three. The book certainly resembles a comedy of manners, given the personalities involved and their, often, awkward circumstances. Yet, while there is a certain comic absurdity to these situations, it seems less sophisticated comedy than gimlet-eyed soap opera. The book captures certain types of gay men--in this case, dreamy monogamist, bitchy queen, muscle daddy, twink--and presents them as they actually are. There's no satire about it, this is us, kids. Labeling it satire seems redundant.
As in his other work, Hollinghurst moves this book backwards and forward through time in order to more fully develop characters and clarify their complicated relationships. When this narrative device works, it is a beautiful thing. In The Spell, it's a bit of a mixed bag that is periodically distracting, and sometimes confusing. From chapter to chapter--sometimes without preamble--we are maneuvered from past to present, city to country, as our four protagonists squabble, scheme, drink, drug, and generally make bad choices, all while keeping a stiff upper lip. Or, if not a stiff upper lip, a stiff membrum virile. There's no shortage of sex in The Spell, although, for the most part, it really wasn't all that good for me. As a reader, I mean. I'm not exactly sure how satisfying our characters found it, either, although supporting players come and go (and usually come again) to keep things lively for our turgid foursome.
Chief among our lead characters is Alex, the dreamy monogamist. On the shady side of 35, he is an incurably romantic and shockingly naive public servant who has spent the past six months mourning Justin, his former lover who unexpectedly decamped to the English countryside with the hunky, newly-widowed architect who's been rogering him on the down low. One day, out of the blue, fickle Justin calls and invites Alex for a casual weekend at the Dorset cottage he shares with 47-year-old Robin: the other man! Never having met, Alex and Robin are each bewildered by Justin's motivation for this little get-together, and equally resentful of one another. Against his better judgement, Alex succumbs to curiosity--and a lingering sense of desire for his licentious ex--and undertakes the 3-hour journey to the village where the couple reside. Almost from the moment Alex enters the cottage, Robin's aggression and competitiveness threaten to overwhelm the fragile reunion. The mood soon brightens with the arrival of Robin's 22-year-old son, Danny, who decelerates Alex's extended period of grief. Entranced by the boy's youth and beauty--and by the fact that Danny is openly gay--Alex experiences a resurgence of long-dormant passion.
The two beautiful blondes in the story--Justin and Danny-- are separated by over a decade, but, otherwise, very much alike in their ability to cast spells on hapless admirers. Everything about Danny--his good looks, his sexual availability, his libido-enhancing drugs, his popularity in London's queer scene--is catnip to Alex, who wants to experience everything he missed out on when he was young. The fact that Danny is the son of Alex's bitter rival only sweetens the pot. Or does it? Danny, it turns out, is rootless, lazy and easily distracted--qualities either missed, or dismissed, during Alex's initial assessment of the boy. For all this, Danny never seems like a real person, or rather, he feels like a composite of ten thousand other callow youths who have adorned the pages of countless gay-themed novels of longing, betrayal and coming-of-age.
The Boxer (1933) by Konstantin Somov
On the other hand, the conniving sensualist, Justin, feels utterly authentic. With his knowing absurdity, cattiness, and sly jocularity, this two-timing tool is humanized by an infusion of doubts, insecurities and a certain psychological insight into his cottage-mates (if not himself). Self-centered and alert to all sexual possibilities, Justin feels like the most alive character in the book. It is Justin's actions, reactions, pithy asides and, sometimes shocking, joie de vivre that keeps The Spell more pleasurable than it, otherwise, might be.
For the most part, Robin--a daddy in more ways than one--is insufferable. Sketched as a Tom-of-Finland-like figure (at least, in appearance) whose principal emotions are jealousy and lust, this humorless, dominant egoist strikes a sour note from the very first page and never really evolves into someone the reader cares about. He's real enough--we've all known someone like him--but, even as a sex object, he's never fully engaging. At first glance, I thought that Robin and Justin deserved one another, but then I discovered that I actually liked Justin, whereas I never felt the slightest bit invested in Robin's story arc. He just seems like such a jock-ish, narcissistic bore.
And, finally, poor Alex--the book's nominal protagonist--is basically a schmuck, so sensitive and so desperate for the affections of comely, perfidious blondes that he just can't help falling madly--deeply-- crazily--in love with everyone he sleeps with. Tall, handsome and educated, Alex should be something of a catch, but, instead, sets himself up for habitual misery through his neediness and poor judgement. The fact that he refuses to see the freight train coming makes it difficult to feel much sympathy for Alex--although I really wanted to. (On the plus side, by the end of the book, Alex may be somewhat redeemed.)
The supporting cast is mostly forgettable except for the village rent boy (who manages to bed 3 of our 4 heroes) and the drunken heterosexual couple befriended by Justin during his brief charm offensive to try and persuade the villagers that he and his cottage-mates are actually good neighbors. Unfortunately, an unruly, all-night birthday party attended by a surplus of gay Londoners puts the kibosh on whatever good will the men hoped to generate amongst the populace.
There are moments when The Spell comes to life, particularly during the aforementioned party when the colorful city folk come to the country, and in previous scenes involving Justin and his misadventures. There are, however, just as many moments when the book grinds to a halt because two of the main characters--Robin and Danny--just aren't that interesting, and Alex's meshugas simply became too tiring to sustain my attention. I was determined to finish this book but found myself dreading having to slog through another chapter of more self-inflicted crises. The Spell isn't a terrible book but the characters, their behaviors and situations were too familiar from real life, so it appears that maybe too much authenticity isn't necessarily a good thing.
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