At 10:35 on an early summer's morning, John Lanchester sat down at his study desk, switched on his new Dell computer, opened up the word processing programme that the computer had come with and began

isn't he from hackney also

If your definition of Hackney has now extended to the East Midlands (something that would not surprise me) then yes, yes he was.

Tariq Ali on ADTTMOT: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2008/jan/26/fiction4

Tim's last comment about the East Midlands is great and makes me smile.

you will all rue the day

just catching up a bit again but this from Ward

The main problem I have is that the two novel sequences, superficial similarities aside (eg very long, about 'high society', clearly autobiographical, dry comic moments etc), aren't very much alike in terms of the actual reading experience

is spot on imo. i've been toying with the idea that roman fleuve as a mode is not a useful category for comparison. the texture of the roman fleuve is the content of the times and lives it deals with. I'm not sure that works, but it was in response to a slightly odd comment in the Anderson piece (I'm only a quarter of the way through) where he said that Powell was good at changing fashions and times and Proust was less good – it remains static. But one of the entire points of the period that Proust deals with is

From what I remember it's also true to say that Musil was probably more of a favourite author and even influence on Powell than Proust.

Second mark s's point about poshness being something that seems to thread through public admirers. And also woof's point - I think the word 'rackety' is used in older Powell criticism, indicating people more mobile in their fortunes and misfortunes than more solidly established classes and wealth. nabobs, arrivistes, and the actors, writers and wider demi-monde.

Jocelyn Brooke is the true English Proust if anyone is arsed about looking for one <- this is a hill I will die on.

I'm ion a train to Portsmouth and should probably take this opportunity to read the rest of the Anderson.

Yeah, it seems to me exactly backwards to suggest that Proust depicted a static world. He's interested in how prejudices and class allegiances shift and disintegrate through the Dreyfus Affair and World War I; changing fashions (the women in the Bois de Boulogne), technologies (the telephone, automobiles and airplanes), taste in music, art, and literature; generally, how memory is distorted and things get left behind under new systems of value.

But one of the entire points of the period that Proust deals with is

finish this sentence!

Enjoyed the Anderson piece because it is always enjoyable reading long critiques of Powell and Proust.

Am I imagining this or did he basically do this in two articles in successive issues?

yes, it's a two-part essay

Perry Anderson

I started reading the new story and I find it as bad as Fizzles says. The plainness and banality of Lanchester's prose is strange.

But one of the entire points of the period that Proust deals with is

finish this sentence!

― mark s, Wednesday, 1 August 2018 14:37 (six hours ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink

lol can't believe i did that. but i'm now on the train BACK from Portsmouth so i can exclusively reveal...

one of the entire points of the period that Proust deals with is that it is a decadent and static end of epoch period. Powell self-conscious deals with the first world war and the second and both result in significant changes, and - given the notion of 'rackety' mobility - result in social convulsions that are represented in the novel. both musil and proust are retaining an entire period kept in aspic, devastatingly so. the nature of the roman fleuve is the nature of the time it depicts, not the fact it is a roman fleuve. Musil is of course also a master of the static society - an entire edifice of class and imperialism that is kind of crumbling into deep space through sheer inability to change. Just as Powell's stuff is change, Proust's is the opposite. Retention of a period.

Also i was going to say i the earlier post that style is another factor. i'm not equipped to talk about the influences on proust's style, but i've read criticism that will put it in bergsonian, sensual time etc. Powell is, as an English snob, influenced by and an ally of Waugh, and both of them saw the comic potential of Hemingway's style - those pages of brief, non differentiated dialogue - mixed with a bit of Firbank (who i've never really made the effort to understand or enjoy). This makes Powell and Proust substantially and importantly different. They're not doing the same thing, to emphasise Ward's point. (except they are a bit, and i feel a bit disingenuous emphasising it)

'devastatingly so'<- kill me now

I doubt that anyone in the history of mankind has ever written "second-best sleeping shorts" before Lanchester managed it

he describes things that do not exist as mental-linguistic objects. notionally, second-best sleeping shorts' exist, and i guess we all may notionally gesture at this sort of thing. but lanchester coming in with his authority, sorting through your socks and pants. i need to think this through, there's something important here, but there are two men next to me on the train who are talking incessantly about horse racing and it's both kind of interesting and also really fucking dull and stopping me from either reading or dozing.

'just one race, brian, it was £230,000. just one race. i don't mind. jackpot at epsom. saturday. go there on the wednesday. up there at four o'clock in the morning. i went up there. up there with the duchess. standing in one line.'

where's john when you need him.

'won by the shortest nose you've ever seen in your life. we both looked at each other - £670,000, right down the pan. i'll never forgive Zoe for that'

Ihe shorts and especially the "low bed, the kind that older people find it hard to straighten up from" add just a bit of friction to the read as you have to pause each time and realize that no, this isn't a clever touch that adds something to the description, it's just a touch.

As Fizzles has said - the work doesn't seem drafted or rewritten. It's all like a first draft - maybe delivered verbally to a computer (something Lanchester once wrote about in the LRB, ie: talking to a computer to get things done).

Yesterday I saw a Lanchester article in the New Yorker where he talked about the difference between, I think, economic and literary outlooks, as though he has a literary outlook, an aesthetically thoughtful mind.

yes, i’ve noticed his manner on that sort of thing before and i’m amused at the harmless self delusion usually - a sort of lit dunning-kruger. then i remember that this is usually a prestigious literary journal or media publication and i end up stomping round loudly asking myself HOW. accepting self delusion is always possibly, HOW does everyone else nod and smile and say lanchester the great man of letters of our age?

the work doesn't seem drafted or rewritten. It's all like a first draft

But that's part of the issue, isn't it? That it doesn't feel like a draft at all - no one thinks or writes like that. It feels like a studied intervention; like he's reaching for some new style to detail our times. Which just makes it shitter.

But that's part of the issue, isn't it? That it doesn't feel like a draft at all - no one thinks or writes like that. It feels like a studied intervention; like he's reaching for some new style to detail our times. Which just makes it shitter.

so it’s a mixture of pinefox and chinaski. it’s first draft as style or manner.

I think sweet / suite must be deliberate, or at least connected -- cannot see how he would throw in the 'en suite' detail otherwise.

But the connection between them is basically non-existent so it doesn't work.

I think sweet / suite must be deliberate, or at least connected -- cannot see how he would throw in the 'en suite' detail otherwise.

But the connection between them is basically non-existent so it doesn't work.

Your last sentence effortlessly sums up Lanchester. It was written from Manchester.

looool.

btw NV otm about colly cibber or maybe colly wdve publishes him. and less luridly a buffoon. lanchester is not a buffoon. i wish he was. and it’s not really mcgonagall-ish either. it’s just so. fucking. mediocre. and bad. mesmeric.

yes i’ve been drinking and yes i think about JL when i’ve been drinking.

it's easier to be bad in verse in many ways. i don't think we should undersell Lanchester's achievement since Capital - a lot of this stuff *stinks* at the levels of prosody, insight and story-telling, and yet his (i assume) friends continue to publish him.

it's easier to be bad in verse in many ways. i don't think we should undersell Lanchester's achievement since /Capital/ - a lot of this stuff *stinks* at the levels of prosody, insight and story-telling, and yet his (i assume) friends continue to publish him.

PANCHESTER PUBIC JESTERER.

when this thread hoves into view i always find myself thinking of Magnus Mills - who i haven't read in 20-odd years but who made his affectless mundanity work in ways that Lanchester doesn't even nod towards - and Craig Raine - who i haven't read in 30-odd years, have no desire to read in the future, and who still used his affected alienation to some purpose, lightweight as it may've been. Lanchester seems purposelessly ugly, accidentally surreal. i can't believe he has readers who aren't in it for the lulz.

when this thread hoves into view i always find myself thinking of Magnus Mills - who i haven't read in 20-odd years but who made his affectless mundanity work in ways that Lanchester doesn't even nod towards - and Craig Raine - who i haven't read in 30-odd years, have no desire to read in the future, and who still used his affected alienation to some purpose, lightweight as it may've been. Lanchester seems purposelessly ugly, accidentally surreal. i can't believe he has readers who aren't in it for the lulz.

you can’t say lanchester’s no good - *in your own area!* - then what help with serious problems of knowledge and trust.

I remember really, really enjoying The Debt to Pleasure back in the 1990s: I really should have another look and see if it's as cackhanded as his later fiction, or if he suffered some sort of head injury after writing that book.

And yet, I still enjoy his journalism, so what do I know?

same on the debt to pleasure, james. it’s partly why i picked up capital in the first place. keep meaning to go back. “slightly unsophisticated nabokov lite but quite funny and fun” is my memory. he had control of style, which is what he so clearly doesn’t have now.

argument in my head is that he can do unreliable first person (DtP) but becomes incredibly boring-patrician-voice and has evident lack of insight in third person (Capital).

also maybe a dose of fluid > crystallised mind, or to put it another way, he’s become more creatively stupid.

Is it possible that he's just lazier now? The story in question reads like a 'just get to the end and refine it later' first draft, without the refining bit. I mean the alternative is that he read, reread and laboriously pruned that paragraph I posted and still at the end thought it was a good idea.

I'm sure earlier Lanchester is better but can you seriously imagine him trying to do sexy reality TV contestants in the first person?

Ravaged by the Change, an island nation in a time very like our own has built the Wall--an enormous concrete barrier around its entire border. Joseph Kavanagh, a new Defender, has one task: to protect his section of the Wall from the Others, the desperate souls who are trapped amid the rising seas outside and attack constantly. Failure will result in death or a fate perhaps worse: being put to sea and made an Other himself. Beset by cold, loneliness, and fear, Kavanagh tries to fulfill his duties to his demanding Captain and Sergeant, even as he grows closer to his fellow Defenders. And then the Others attack. . . .Acclaimed British novelist John Lanchester, "a writer of rare intelligence" (Los Angeles Times), delivers a taut dystopian novel that blends the most compelling issues of our time--rising waters, rising fear, rising political division--into a suspenseful story of love, trust, and survival.

I feel like we could literally write this book in its entirety in the five months between now and its release and no one would be able to tell the difference between it and the real thing.

what if ilx pre-release but for novels.

and yes point taken on the first person love island contestant, i felt like my head had crashed just thinking about it.

lazier i don’t know. i don’t think he can know what good looks like. one possibility is that he’s not enormously well read in fiction and doesn’t have anything like an aesthetic sense. i mean he obviously doesn’t, but even in terms of reading. it doesn’t even feel like a case of “ah but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp”. more like a toddler trying to form a fist.

lanchester does ballard! (re the wall). it’ll be great! why wouldn’t it be? he’s a writer of rare intelligence. a statement that makes me stare so hard at the entire fucking world.

It is extraordinary that after all this discussion of Lanchester, Matt DC has just posted an incredibly melodramatic blurb for actual new Lanchester.

I think I agree with James Morrison and Fizzles -- something strange has happened between the very early Lanchester fiction, and now. The other possibility is that the early work was much worse than we are remembering.

Like James M, I am still quite capable of enjoying his 'journalism', which is written in amiable bloke-ish, a voice not very good for fiction.

It is plain that he can publish what he likes in the LRB (think how often they publish fiction - Hilary Mantel the only other one?), and thus that there is a basic lack of quality control here.

One of this week’s Proms:

Haydn: Symphony No. 104 in D major, 'London'

Interval Proms Plus
Novelists John Lanchester and Diana Evans discuss depicting contemporary London in their fiction with presenter Rana Mitter.

Vaughan Williams: A London Symphony (Symphony No. 2)

BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra
Andrew Manze (conductor)

willing the half-man shape of pierre boulez to come hideously sucking and slithering onto the stage with the novelists, cry-hissing " rău rău rău"

Ian McEwan giving Lanchester a run for his money: https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2018/07/19/dussel/

Yeah, that story is wretched. The worst kind of infodump SF-for-people-who-think-they're-too-literary-to-read-SF.