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Dead Babies
If the Marquis de Sade were to crash one of P.G. Wodehouse's house parties, the chaos might resemble the nightmarishly funny goings-on in this novel by the author of London Fields. The residents of Appleseed Rectory have primed themselves both for a visit from a triad of Americans and a weekend of copious drug taking and sexual gymnastics. There's even a heifer to be slugged and a pair of doddering tenants to be ingeniously harassed. But none of these variously bright and dull young things has counted on the intrusion of "dead babies" — dreary spasms of reality. Or on the uninvited presence of a mysterious prankster named Johnny, whose sinister idea of fun makes theirs look like a game of backgammon.
206 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1975
About the author
Martin Amis
85 books2,850 followersMartin Amis was an English novelist, essayist, and short story writer. His works included the novels Money, London Fields and The Information.
The Guardian writes that "all his critics have noted what Kingsley Amis [his father] complained of as a 'terrible compulsive vividness in his style... that constant demonstrating of his command of English'; and it's true that the Amis-ness of Amis will be recognisable in any piece before he reaches his first full stop."
Amis's raw material is what he sees as the absurdity of the postmodern condition with its grotesque caricatures. He has thus sometimes been portrayed as the undisputed master of what the New York Times has called "the new unpleasantness."
The Guardian writes that "all his critics have noted what Kingsley Amis [his father] complained of as a 'terrible compulsive vividness in his style... that constant demonstrating of his command of English'; and it's true that the Amis-ness of Amis will be recognisable in any piece before he reaches his first full stop."
Amis's raw material is what he sees as the absurdity of the postmodern condition with its grotesque caricatures. He has thus sometimes been portrayed as the undisputed master of what the New York Times has called "the new unpleasantness."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 273 reviews
September 28, 2024
On finishing Dead Babies (one of the most unappealing titles I've ever come across), I can only think of about three or four scenes that I remembered clear as crystal. One of them involved a game of darts. Another saw some crackers topped with smoked salmon being served. And a round of champagne cocktails laced with brandy being prepared was another. Excellent choice! Towards the end there was a mad dash down the motorway to try and save a life too. These things appeared to be sober, sane, easy to grasp, with everything else in-between feeling like a headfuck.
The novel felt to me like a paranoid, pill-popping, alcohol infused, sexually aroused J.G. Ballard having a go at a bawdy black comedy. Whilst some of the antics going on here in regards to the characters was pretty unpleasant and shocking at times: with one scene involving a porno being uncomfortable, overall it was quite a humorous romp.
One of the reasons it worked for me on a certain level was that each character gets there own back story as the narrative progresses, which kind of makes all the goings on at Appleseed Rectory seem believable, or at least, understandable. The characters are on the superficial side, until Amis starts digging around into their lives, and in particular their sex lives: I swear Amis wrote this with a persistent hard-on, so we get extra penetration as to why this group of characters are the way they are. From the unscrupulous and loathsome Roxanne Smith and the teeth obsessed Giles Coldstream, to the psychotic hillbilly Skip and the squat overweight Keith Whitehead to name a few: Keith suffers from digestive problems you don't even want to think about, this is one gathering where I'd quickly pop in for a drink and the odd cracker before getting the hell out of there! Actually, I'd turn around, go back in, clobber Skip, steal the brandy, grab Lucy: probably the least pathetic character, and then get out of there.
This was the second of a Martin Amis triple header. London Fields next.
May 6, 2020
Bit of nostalgia. Depraved innit. The sexual violence against women here will set your hair on fire. The novel‘s cruelty is puerile. Though when I was 26, about Amis’s age when this novel was published, I probably would’ve found it hilarious. (Male brains aren’t fully developed until age 25 or so.) Given the breadth of Amis’s achievement though I see Dead Babies as immature work. Please read The Information or House of Meetings or London Fields or The Zone of Interest before this one.
February 18, 2015
According to Martin Amis, 25 is the age at which I set aside childish things and become a wholly wretched person. I will move into a posh house in the country with my fratish friends and our pretty but willingly vapid chicks. Like all good-looking young people, we will leech off our nebbish but rich housemate, using his seemingly endless funds to maintain a continually bacchanal existence. When we are not rolling the next joint, snorting one more line, popping open one more bottle of champagne, we will amuse ourselves by terrorizing the elderly neighbors, we'll lure birds with seed so that we may unload rifles into their grazing, we'll bludgeon a bull, go to trendy, outsider clubs and watch grandguginolesque performance theater, and even then we'll still manage to find the time to think up new ways to humiliate the poor Danny-DeVito sized sod we let live in the boiler room - our own appointed court jester, if you will. None of us will have anything resembling an actual job - certainly not our chicks, who stalk cattily about the house, taking pleasure in each others physical imperfections, while resenting that they ever hooked-up with guys like us to begin with. (Not that we really give a shit what they think.) Just to spice things up, we'll invite a trio of morally bankrupt and sexually disgusting foreigners, along with this prostitute we all used to bang, to stay a weekend that will quickly descend into violent debauchery and disturbing realizations of self-loathing.
We may be grotesquely rendered cartoons and we may find pleasure in cruelty towards others, but that doesn't matter because we are good looking, urbane, we know all the right people, and our parents are wealthy. We are the future, or something like that. 25 is going to be a very good year.
We may be grotesquely rendered cartoons and we may find pleasure in cruelty towards others, but that doesn't matter because we are good looking, urbane, we know all the right people, and our parents are wealthy. We are the future, or something like that. 25 is going to be a very good year.
May 14, 2018
A scurrilous, snot-nosed, bile-black, scabrous, swaggering novel showing Amis at the peak of his misanthropic powers, in control of a crazed comic tenor that would resurface in less vicious form in the onanistic opus The Information. This is Amis’s Hex Enduction Hour.
July 2, 2008
Great fun! A wonderful book to read aloud to the children!
May 14, 2016
Amis at his most cutting and shallow. he's never been too big a fan of homo sapiens. this depiction of a weekend house party is populated by less-than sympathetic assholes who never quite reach the status of real people; it also includes a mysterious figure who visits various torments on these ridiculous little twits. do they deserve it? well, who really cares - they are basically insects at play, if such a thing could be possible. overall: pithy commentary, lots of sex & drugs & violence, despicable characters, hilarious & upsetting situations, a very fast pace...a moral vacuum illustrated with broad strokes and slashing wit. deadpan charred black. plus slaughter!
May 3, 2023
A group of young decadent hedonistic people gather at the Appleseed Rectory for a blitz of sex, drugs and more on the edge behaviour. Will it all end in tears Leave it to Martin Amis to tell the story; technically very well written, at times very funny, at times very very dark. 7 out of 12., Three Stars and with a title like this, I think I'll leave this one image and GIF free!
2013
2013
September 3, 2019
This is the kind of book that later gave birth to more modern dirty, cruel writers like Will Self and Tibor Fischer. Really weird, really disgusting, pure Amis.
July 6, 2012
The GROTESQUE! Satire can be so uncomfortable, especially when it details deformities, drugs, and sex. If you like Chuck Palahniuk, Irvine Welsh, or Marquis de Sade, all of which I do, read this book. Can’t quite figure out the significance of the motto of “dead babies,” except that it’s crass & unfeeling, a la ‘dead baby jokes’ from grade school (What's funnier than a dead baby? A dead baby in a clown costume!).
Though likely published as a comment on the hippies/hedonists of the 1970s, it is completely analogous and characteristic of 2010 twenty-something generation (though there would be more video games or television). As the plot, we follow a group of neighbors through a rowdy weekend of overindulgence and insensitivity, with short contextual background details for each of the characters. I read this book blind (glazing over the Menippus satire quote in the beginning…oops), and my emotions went as follows: appalled at the debauchery, became aware I was reading satire, laughed/cried at satire, and finally, suffered heart palpitations because the end is unexpectedly terrifying and gave me a nightmare.
I still love the voice of Amis…a chubby dwarf saying something “fatly”; a bench, “patterned with the amorous graffiti of the local young…Billy fks Jane, Susan Fs Emily…”; the “familiar fat-thighed shuffle” of Mrs. Fry; and [on seeing something pleasing] a character flatlines: “I like this planet.” And the definitive excerpt of the novel:
“Everyone is always blacking out at Appleseed Rectory, and they can’t remember farther back than a few days. Everyone tends to be either drunk or stoned or hungover or sick at Appleseed Rectory, and they have learned to be empirical about all sense perceptions. Everything is out of whack at Appleseed Rectory; its rooms are without bearing and without certainty. The inhabitants suffer, too, from curious mental complaints brought on by prolonged use of drugs, complaints that can be alleviated only by drugs of different kinds. And so Appleseed Rectory is a place of shifting outlines and imploded vacuums; it is a place of lagging time and false memory, a place of street sadness, night fatigue, and canceled sex.”
Though likely published as a comment on the hippies/hedonists of the 1970s, it is completely analogous and characteristic of 2010 twenty-something generation (though there would be more video games or television). As the plot, we follow a group of neighbors through a rowdy weekend of overindulgence and insensitivity, with short contextual background details for each of the characters. I read this book blind (glazing over the Menippus satire quote in the beginning…oops), and my emotions went as follows: appalled at the debauchery, became aware I was reading satire, laughed/cried at satire, and finally, suffered heart palpitations because the end is unexpectedly terrifying and gave me a nightmare.
I still love the voice of Amis…a chubby dwarf saying something “fatly”; a bench, “patterned with the amorous graffiti of the local young…Billy fks Jane, Susan Fs Emily…”; the “familiar fat-thighed shuffle” of Mrs. Fry; and [on seeing something pleasing] a character flatlines: “I like this planet.” And the definitive excerpt of the novel:
“Everyone is always blacking out at Appleseed Rectory, and they can’t remember farther back than a few days. Everyone tends to be either drunk or stoned or hungover or sick at Appleseed Rectory, and they have learned to be empirical about all sense perceptions. Everything is out of whack at Appleseed Rectory; its rooms are without bearing and without certainty. The inhabitants suffer, too, from curious mental complaints brought on by prolonged use of drugs, complaints that can be alleviated only by drugs of different kinds. And so Appleseed Rectory is a place of shifting outlines and imploded vacuums; it is a place of lagging time and false memory, a place of street sadness, night fatigue, and canceled sex.”
May 12, 2018
A number of the unimpressed noted recently that 2010's The Pregnant Widow is similar to Marty's earlier novel Dead Babies. This observation is grounds for drug testing in my book.
Dead Babies is a veering gonzo, assault on the senses. Screams from the asylum compete with boozy sadism and a taunt of the bedroom farce which Iris Murdoch was accomplishing at the time (1975). Amis even makes snort in the direction of Iris, for the sake of form, mind you. Dead Babies is Houellebecq on acid. The serrated sentences all draw blood and I was left in awe. It isn't so much a novel as an exercise, a Salo for the budding stylist
Dead Babies is a veering gonzo, assault on the senses. Screams from the asylum compete with boozy sadism and a taunt of the bedroom farce which Iris Murdoch was accomplishing at the time (1975). Amis even makes snort in the direction of Iris, for the sake of form, mind you. Dead Babies is Houellebecq on acid. The serrated sentences all draw blood and I was left in awe. It isn't so much a novel as an exercise, a Salo for the budding stylist
September 1, 2012
A horribly well written book populated by horrible arseholes being unspeakably horrible to each other, in and out of the bedroom and in between times being horrible to neighbours, visitors and local wild life.
February 17, 2008
Brilliant opening. This is the first I've read of Martin Amis - his cruel, precise sketches of people remind me of Henry Miller or William S. Burroughs. I have to say I enjoyed the vocabulary after a week of nothing but young adult and children's fiction. And after Man Bites Dog, the characterisation in this seems especially imaginative: The characters are characters, by which I mean fuck ups, and while in a sense they're all caricatures I found them nevertheless engaging, and all the more impressive because they're unfamiliar and unsympathetic, yet nevertheless believable.
This book is very much in that modern grotesque style I usually find quite boring. But despite having the sense that it was written for middle-class white boys (like, lots of sex, drugs and violence, and vaguely political) I liked it. I was surprised -- in many ways its quite predictable, especially the ending. Despite the distance at which Amis positions the characters, I actually felt quite sorry for the whole sorry lot of them. But I think it was the characters of Giles and Keith that really kept me going. A couple of nights later I even dreamt about mouthwash.
This is the first of my alphabet library choices. Next is Murray Bail's Eucalyptus, followed by Italo Calvino's If on a Winter's Night a Traveller (also for book club). Please recommend me something for D.
This book is very much in that modern grotesque style I usually find quite boring. But despite having the sense that it was written for middle-class white boys (like, lots of sex, drugs and violence, and vaguely political) I liked it. I was surprised -- in many ways its quite predictable, especially the ending. Despite the distance at which Amis positions the characters, I actually felt quite sorry for the whole sorry lot of them. But I think it was the characters of Giles and Keith that really kept me going. A couple of nights later I even dreamt about mouthwash.
This is the first of my alphabet library choices. Next is Murray Bail's Eucalyptus, followed by Italo Calvino's If on a Winter's Night a Traveller (also for book club). Please recommend me something for D.
July 2, 2012
Overwhelming, complete, sick, scary, splendid. Everithing is perfect about this book.
April 10, 2014
So this is gonna be a shitty review and for that, dear readers I apologize. I wrote a review this afternoon and before I could hit submit, my window crashed and I lost my text. And of course, I was rushing to finish prior to leaving to pick kids up. Now, I have the chaos of kids and dinner and needing to leave for work in 45 mins (!), but I want to get this off my to-do for the day so I can embark on Spooner guilt-free later this evening.
And so, here are the highlights:
I liked it. I felt like it was a solid text that was a bit between Palahnuik and Agatha Christie. We have the country-house England mystery to solve, but the characters are rather "Fight Club". I also realized about 10 sentences into the book that I had read it years and years ago.
So, maybe I can't be quite praised for figuring out on pg 53 that "Johnny" was in fact the "least likely" character: "Watch Quentin closely. Everyone else does. Stunned by his good looks, proportionately taken aback by his friendliness and accessibility, flattered by his interest, struck by the intimacy of his manner and lulled by the hypnotic sonority of his voice--it is impossible to meet Quentin without falling a little bit in love".
Ultimately, though this book is fun. Yeah, I did just say that about a drug-filled haze in which most people die (not a spoiler there, it is called DEAD Babies).
I felt like (unlike in Lional Asbo), Amis actually knew these people. He describes them and their indulgences well and he does make them likeable. We see the range of each individual (Quentin is the best and worst of them; Andy is the biggest jerk but he is orphaned and sad and lonely when Diana dumps him), as well as the haze through which they struggle. And, of course, there is the fun of "eavesdropping" on the spoiled rich. It kind of read like how I imagine some of Lindsay Lohan's parties must go (that is a joke by the way).
I think my favorite quote was: "'Sexual emotions'--fuck them. Sex is something your body does, like eating of shitting. Yeah, like shitting. Just something your body does."
Overall, it was compelling and humorous and a quick read.
And so, here are the highlights:
I liked it. I felt like it was a solid text that was a bit between Palahnuik and Agatha Christie. We have the country-house England mystery to solve, but the characters are rather "Fight Club". I also realized about 10 sentences into the book that I had read it years and years ago.
So, maybe I can't be quite praised for figuring out on pg 53 that "Johnny" was in fact the "least likely" character: "Watch Quentin closely. Everyone else does. Stunned by his good looks, proportionately taken aback by his friendliness and accessibility, flattered by his interest, struck by the intimacy of his manner and lulled by the hypnotic sonority of his voice--it is impossible to meet Quentin without falling a little bit in love".
Ultimately, though this book is fun. Yeah, I did just say that about a drug-filled haze in which most people die (not a spoiler there, it is called DEAD Babies).
I felt like (unlike in Lional Asbo), Amis actually knew these people. He describes them and their indulgences well and he does make them likeable. We see the range of each individual (Quentin is the best and worst of them; Andy is the biggest jerk but he is orphaned and sad and lonely when Diana dumps him), as well as the haze through which they struggle. And, of course, there is the fun of "eavesdropping" on the spoiled rich. It kind of read like how I imagine some of Lindsay Lohan's parties must go (that is a joke by the way).
I think my favorite quote was: "'Sexual emotions'--fuck them. Sex is something your body does, like eating of shitting. Yeah, like shitting. Just something your body does."
Overall, it was compelling and humorous and a quick read.
November 24, 2022
Whilst not directly and overly about dead babies, it certainly had the quintessence, the putrescence, the texture and wetness of dead babies. 👍🏽
April 17, 2012
The subtitle for this one is "Dark Secrets". Doesn't that sound positively scandalous? Martin Amis is kind of a strange case: on the one hand he's incredibly witty, observant and has a style that could cut steel with its keen edge, but on the other reading his books sometimes feels like a guilty pleasure because he just loves to burrow deep into the minds of his characters and bring out the filth and degradation inside. Not only that, but he seems to revel in it: to delight in the fetishistic excess and gross misconducts and absurdities to the point where I feel I can rightly call him a sadist. I've read four of his books now and, while the short story collection Einstein's Monsters is pretty sparing on the excesses, the novels have been pretty redolent with it to varying degrees, and as this one's deliberately tasteless title (hey, what you reading? Oh, just Dead Babies) might suggest, this is probably the vilest one I've come across yet.
At first glance the book seems to be about a bunch of spoiled rich English twenty-somethings living in a house together and being slovenly, mean-spirited and raunchy in every way they can. As it turns out they're not all really well off, but circumstances seem to have conspired to bring them together to form this den of idleness and pigheadedness. All these people are absurd to the highest degree and mostly highly unlikeable, although the fat little dwarf Keith, who only wants to be tall and, he thinks, to get laid, inspires a sort of pity, even when Amis is going out of his way to describe his unbelievable gastric problems and other bodily mishaps. Then there's Gyles, traumatised by an incestuous relationship with his now institutionalised mother, a poor, harmless sod slowly drinking himself into oblivion. . Mostly this is the story of a single weekend in the lives of the denizens of Appleseed Rectory, tempered with flashbacks for each of the principal characters detailing how they got to their present state and attempting to flesh out their characters. It's a rather special weekend though, for three American visitors have shown up, friends of the self-appointed house lord Quentin. These Americans fancy themselves nihilistic decadents and whether that's true or not, certainly seem a bit of a handful for our roosting Englishmen and overwhelm with their overwhelming presence: Skip, the homosexual sadist who beats animals and goes berserk whenever somebody mentions his father, Roxy, the hedonist who will apparently fuck anything bipedal, and Marvell, the "drug doctor" who mixes potations and concoctions to heighten the sensory experiences of his disciples. Naturally, when these three are thrown into the fray, things start going a bit mad ... someone is leaving nasty presents for the housemates, presents of a very personal nature, and new narcotics seem to be wreaking havoc with everyone's perceptions.
I think on some level I did enjoy this book. If it were told in the bland and ridiculously dull style of a Brett Easton Ellis I'm sure I would have hated it, but Amis is so cuttingly ribald and hilarious at times and his wit so keen that it's hard not to find him engaging even at the worst of times. A lot of themes familiar from his other work show up here. he's got a definite fixation of some kind with sodomy as well as an obsession with all things nuclear and the possible aftermaths of nuclear destruction. His characters are always infuriating and sad and twisted, sometimes to an almost unbelievable degree, but then again I tend to believe that deep inside most people really are this fucked up .. Amis just shines a bright and garish light upon all their most cherished inner filth. Still though, the ending is pretty weak and abrupt and seems deliberately so, as though Amis had suddenly decided he'd had enough of all this ridiculous behaviour and wanted to throw a molotov cocktail through the window and then drive off in his fancy automobile. The end of London Fields had me a little incredulous too, but I could swallow that one, because there was so much buildup and it felt like he'd planned it this way from the beginning at least. This is nowhere near as good a novel as that other, later Amis book, because it doesn't really seem to say much in the end other than to expose the nonsensical depravity of human beings. The characters seem poorly drawn, and again, this may have been purposeful, especially as there are many references here to "false memory" and at least one of these people is definitely not what they seem to be. Still, it's sort of irritating to get a chapter going into detail about the life of such and such a person, only to have them not really developed beyond that point at all.
If you don't know Amis, you are missing out on one of the greatest and most sardonic modern stylists, but I certainly wouldn't recommend starting with this one. If you already enjoy being dragged through the mud by Mr. Amis, his usual flair for keeping the pages turning through his painful barbs and witicisms is much in tact here. I just find the whole thing a bit excessive and heavy-handed in its attempts to be shocking, and am not convinced it really has much to say beneath its surface.
At first glance the book seems to be about a bunch of spoiled rich English twenty-somethings living in a house together and being slovenly, mean-spirited and raunchy in every way they can. As it turns out they're not all really well off, but circumstances seem to have conspired to bring them together to form this den of idleness and pigheadedness. All these people are absurd to the highest degree and mostly highly unlikeable, although the fat little dwarf Keith, who only wants to be tall and, he thinks, to get laid, inspires a sort of pity, even when Amis is going out of his way to describe his unbelievable gastric problems and other bodily mishaps. Then there's Gyles, traumatised by an incestuous relationship with his now institutionalised mother, a poor, harmless sod slowly drinking himself into oblivion. . Mostly this is the story of a single weekend in the lives of the denizens of Appleseed Rectory, tempered with flashbacks for each of the principal characters detailing how they got to their present state and attempting to flesh out their characters. It's a rather special weekend though, for three American visitors have shown up, friends of the self-appointed house lord Quentin. These Americans fancy themselves nihilistic decadents and whether that's true or not, certainly seem a bit of a handful for our roosting Englishmen and overwhelm with their overwhelming presence: Skip, the homosexual sadist who beats animals and goes berserk whenever somebody mentions his father, Roxy, the hedonist who will apparently fuck anything bipedal, and Marvell, the "drug doctor" who mixes potations and concoctions to heighten the sensory experiences of his disciples. Naturally, when these three are thrown into the fray, things start going a bit mad ... someone is leaving nasty presents for the housemates, presents of a very personal nature, and new narcotics seem to be wreaking havoc with everyone's perceptions.
I think on some level I did enjoy this book. If it were told in the bland and ridiculously dull style of a Brett Easton Ellis I'm sure I would have hated it, but Amis is so cuttingly ribald and hilarious at times and his wit so keen that it's hard not to find him engaging even at the worst of times. A lot of themes familiar from his other work show up here. he's got a definite fixation of some kind with sodomy as well as an obsession with all things nuclear and the possible aftermaths of nuclear destruction. His characters are always infuriating and sad and twisted, sometimes to an almost unbelievable degree, but then again I tend to believe that deep inside most people really are this fucked up .. Amis just shines a bright and garish light upon all their most cherished inner filth. Still though, the ending is pretty weak and abrupt and seems deliberately so, as though Amis had suddenly decided he'd had enough of all this ridiculous behaviour and wanted to throw a molotov cocktail through the window and then drive off in his fancy automobile. The end of London Fields had me a little incredulous too, but I could swallow that one, because there was so much buildup and it felt like he'd planned it this way from the beginning at least. This is nowhere near as good a novel as that other, later Amis book, because it doesn't really seem to say much in the end other than to expose the nonsensical depravity of human beings. The characters seem poorly drawn, and again, this may have been purposeful, especially as there are many references here to "false memory" and at least one of these people is definitely not what they seem to be. Still, it's sort of irritating to get a chapter going into detail about the life of such and such a person, only to have them not really developed beyond that point at all.
If you don't know Amis, you are missing out on one of the greatest and most sardonic modern stylists, but I certainly wouldn't recommend starting with this one. If you already enjoy being dragged through the mud by Mr. Amis, his usual flair for keeping the pages turning through his painful barbs and witicisms is much in tact here. I just find the whole thing a bit excessive and heavy-handed in its attempts to be shocking, and am not convinced it really has much to say beneath its surface.
July 1, 2013
Pissed myself laughing!!
September 15, 2024
Invero, 4,5 stellette.
Dead Babies,
[ Futuro Anteriore, in traduzione, va poi a capire perché ],
1975.
1 9 7 5 .
Va sempre a finire che qualcun altro l’ha detto prima.
E Martin Amis lo dice sempre meglio.
Il Breakfast Club passa il WE ad ‘autopunirsi’ in una meravigliosa villa nella periferia di Londra, smarginata e implosa, facendo un po’ le Cavie(Palahniuk), senza stare a guardar passare i treni(un po’ Welsh).
“Ma abbiate pietà di questi giovani illusi.
Adesso, prima che cominci.
Non potevano sapere cos'avevano alle spalle, né cosa li aspettava.
Il passato? Non ne avevano.
Come bambini dopo un lungo viaggio diurno, le loro vite si organizzavano in un patchwork di mattine svanite, pomeriggi perduti
e probabili ieri.”
🎶 hey, hey,
hey, hey
Ooh-ooh,
ooh-woah 🎶
Dead Babies,
[ Futuro Anteriore, in traduzione, va poi a capire perché ],
1975.
1 9 7 5 .
Va sempre a finire che qualcun altro l’ha detto prima.
E Martin Amis lo dice sempre meglio.
Il Breakfast Club passa il WE ad ‘autopunirsi’ in una meravigliosa villa nella periferia di Londra, smarginata e implosa, facendo un po’ le Cavie(Palahniuk), senza stare a guardar passare i treni(un po’ Welsh).
“Ma abbiate pietà di questi giovani illusi.
Adesso, prima che cominci.
Non potevano sapere cos'avevano alle spalle, né cosa li aspettava.
Il passato? Non ne avevano.
Come bambini dopo un lungo viaggio diurno, le loro vite si organizzavano in un patchwork di mattine svanite, pomeriggi perduti
e probabili ieri.”
🎶 hey, hey,
hey, hey
Ooh-ooh,
ooh-woah 🎶
July 2, 2020
This is the first book I read after graduating from university. I've found the book searching through my 'to-read' collection and the title and the cover captivated me with the same power as it did years ago. I wasn't let down. It seemed like any other book about sex, drugs, loneliness, wealthiness but it was somehow a little bit more than that. First of all, taking a look at the characters, there's nothing exceptional about their behaviour: sadistic, addicted to sex, drugs, with little empathy towards one another and avid for money. They are equally panic-stricken by their lives, by their past with parents that taught them some 'values' and thus they are not so different in madness. Thus, I won't be writing much about the main idea because it is worn out. The ‘over usage’ I am talking about isn't generally a bad thing, after all, the ‘links’ are all that matter and I am afraid that the author couldn't breed remarkable characters (except three that I will mention later on), even their actions are at times terribly dreary (apart from the callous brutality). However, there are sparks here and there on the part of the characters whose in depth knowledge on life is pretty surprising; I was so surprised that I had to check twice if the twists were on the part of the author’s ‘intrusion’. This adds a great value to the book as a whole due to the fact that the characters are awakened; what they experience is like a momentary enlightenment. Therefore, we understand the development of the characters where the rich hate the rich and then they have a moment of brilliance so they can prove that they are more of what they show and as I have stated this is not a 'new idea' but the execution shows the author’s mastery (especially towards the end of the book, on fast forward, when the things get nasty). Now, apart from the cruelty which reflects itself on Skip and Andy and in a lesser extent in others, there is Johnny. The 'bigger center' of the book. For start, I still can't believe that I have mistaken who Johnny was. He was one of my favourite characters (hopefully this happens to be a 'vague hint' not an obvious one) and I believe many readers' favourite and if I try to describe him in three words you will guess who he is. This is because, at the beginning of the book, every character is described and the reader is somehow 'let to decide' who has the characteristics of a cold blood killer. A performer, participant, fuckboy, a drug addict, a normal person, a person without fears but with a dream. And this is how I reveal the reason for which I enjoyed so much this book, Johnny. He is the shadow, he is the shadow with the perfect intuition, with the perfect comprehension of his friends' characters, of who they really are. He is the sadistic that unveils the egotism that resides in the rich, disgusted by their behaviours and hiding everything. He is Johnny and he is the one that will fuck them up, one of the cruelest judges that I had the pleasure to read about. At the end you gonna sit there with your mouth open and you will have a flicker of who Johnny is and be even more startled by his ingenuity. Thank you for making this book worth remembering and reviewing. Highly recommended!
October 30, 2015
Rich narcissistic drugs addicts lounge around, fuck lasciviously, say nasty things to one another, harangue an elderly couple, and shoot crows because it's fun.
In this early novel Amis tries to establish a vague theme by having one of the characters mention dead babies now and again. but really there's nothing worthwhile going on here.
Trite and pretentious, the worst I've read by Amis, whose writing I like quite a lot.
If you're sick of the Rimbaud reading, coke-snorting brats seen in anything by Bret Easton Ellis, you'll hate this novel as much as I did.
Go ahead later towards Money, Night Train, London Fields era Amis, when his work becomes fully formed, hilarious, and ingeniously crafted. This is clunky, MFA grade, an unpleasant weasel of a piece by a writer who has not yet made trying too hard seem natural.
In this early novel Amis tries to establish a vague theme by having one of the characters mention dead babies now and again. but really there's nothing worthwhile going on here.
Trite and pretentious, the worst I've read by Amis, whose writing I like quite a lot.
If you're sick of the Rimbaud reading, coke-snorting brats seen in anything by Bret Easton Ellis, you'll hate this novel as much as I did.
Go ahead later towards Money, Night Train, London Fields era Amis, when his work becomes fully formed, hilarious, and ingeniously crafted. This is clunky, MFA grade, an unpleasant weasel of a piece by a writer who has not yet made trying too hard seem natural.
March 11, 2018
Het bibliotheekboek moest opgevraagd worden uit het depot. De bibliothecaresse belde onmiddellijk naar iemand die daar juist aanwezig was.
"Ja, ik heb nog een boek dat je zou moeten meenemen."
"..."
"Dead babies, van Martin Amis"
"..."
"Dead babies...Ja, dooie baby's."
Zowel zij als ik gaven geen krimp. Want uiteraard is het supernormaal om een boek over dode baby's op te vragen.
De titel van het boek spreekt tot de verbeelding, en er bestaat geen twijfel over dat dit een uiterst origineel boek is. De humor is zwart, en wordt steeds zwarter, tot het lachen je vergaat. Nu het uit is, heb ik geen idee wat ik ervan moet denken. Drie sterren omdat het zo schitterend geschreven is (echt, Martin Amis schrijft fan-tas-tisch), maar toch niet meer omdat ik de indruk heb dat de schrijver dit eerder voor zijn eigen plezier geschreven heeft dan voor dat van de lezer.
Maar ik lees zeker nog iets van Martin Amis, en termen als 'street sadness' en 'cancelled sex' blijven me zeker bij.
"Ja, ik heb nog een boek dat je zou moeten meenemen."
"..."
"Dead babies, van Martin Amis"
"..."
"Dead babies...Ja, dooie baby's."
Zowel zij als ik gaven geen krimp. Want uiteraard is het supernormaal om een boek over dode baby's op te vragen.
De titel van het boek spreekt tot de verbeelding, en er bestaat geen twijfel over dat dit een uiterst origineel boek is. De humor is zwart, en wordt steeds zwarter, tot het lachen je vergaat. Nu het uit is, heb ik geen idee wat ik ervan moet denken. Drie sterren omdat het zo schitterend geschreven is (echt, Martin Amis schrijft fan-tas-tisch), maar toch niet meer omdat ik de indruk heb dat de schrijver dit eerder voor zijn eigen plezier geschreven heeft dan voor dat van de lezer.
Maar ik lees zeker nog iets van Martin Amis, en termen als 'street sadness' en 'cancelled sex' blijven me zeker bij.
August 13, 2014
And so Appleseed Rectory is a place of shifting outlines and imploded vacuums; it is a place of lagging time and false memory, a place of street sadness, night fatigue and cancelled sex.
And I thought Success ended poorly. Wow, I spoke too soon. Success has an utterly fantastic, awesome ending compared to Dead Babies. Like … seriously. This is a funny book, no doubt. Amis clearly hates humanity and his satirical, dark humour is very clever and engaging. Dead Babies follows a household of various twenty-year-olds who are all completely fucked up. There’s little Keith, the 4”11 dwarf who wants desperately to be tall. Andy, a completely unrealistic, hyper-aggressive and hyper-sexual ape. Lucy, the so called “whore with a heart of gold.” There’s also, my favourite, Giles (is it pronounced Guy-els?), a constantly drunk shut-in who is paranoid about his teeth and anyone mentioning teeth.
The book has very little of an actual story. It really just follows Keith, Diana, Lucy, Andy, Celia and co. as some American friends come over for the weekend, bringing with them drugs, sex, misery and pain. Despite its lack of conventional story there were enough interesting things going for most of the book to hold my interest. It was interesting seeing all the various characters and learning more about them, how they ended up at the house, how fucked up they really are. I mentioned this is a funny book, and it really is.
If you know me, dear reader, you’ll know it takes a certain something for a book/movie to make me laugh out loud. Usually, it takes horribly, horribly dark, twisted humour, shock humour, etc. I’m assuming if you’ve read/are thinking about reading a book titled Dead Babies you have that humour. I can see a lot of the jokes in here not appealing to everyone, though. An example of this is little Keith (the dwarf) who hasn’t been with a girl for years and years. He resolves to kill himself if he doesn’t get some this weekend.
Very dark, yet very funny. Another example:
“All right then,” said Keith. “Well, as I told you, it’s quite straightforward. No one likes me – actually most people dislike me instinctively, including my family – I’m not much good at my work, I’ve never had a girl-friend or a friend of any kind, I’ve got very little imagination, nothing makes me laugh, I’m fat, poor, bald, I’ve got a horrible spotty face, constipation, B.O., bad breath, no prick and I’m one inch tall. That’s why I’m mad now. Fair enough?”
“Yes,” said the doctor.
The whole book reads as a satire. Apparently it’s a satire of the 70’s but to me it’s just a satire on people in general. The prose is very, very sharp. It actually surprised me to discover this was written in the 70’s, because it reads like something written now. So, yes, I mostly enjoyed Dead Babies. It rambles a little bit, goes into exposition a little too much (depicting with [by the end of the book, often excruciating] detail exactly how the characters got to the communal house), and doesn’t really have a story, but it’s not bad, not at all. The last act of the book tries to introduce a whodunit-type subplot, where someone from the house is going around and causing mischief to all the characters, calling himself “Johnny” but this just falls completely flat and is not interesting.
We now have to descend into the bad of this book. Despite the many funny moments, the sharp prose, and the quick pacing, the novel does delve into pretension by the end. This was something I noticed throughout the book, but it really became apparent as I approached the last act of Dead Babies. The words. The words. The horribly pretentious, obnoxious, David-Foster Wallace-level annoyingness of some of the words in this book. You may ask me, Isaac, how can mere words ruin an enjoyable reading experience? Allow me to show you. Declension. Aphorism. Vertiginous. Recondite. Adduced. Concertina-ed. Sudary.
And many, many more.
Why do authors do this? I’m an author and I can’t comprehend it. You have a thoroughly enjoyable (though not perfect) story, and you choose to throw in these words, these ten-dollar words that no one could possibly know, that utterly break the immersion of the novel! Far too many times I was pulled out of Dead Babies, quizzical look on my face, wondering what the hell Martin Amis was thinking when he thought these words were okay to use. No, Martin, they’re not okay.
It just comes across as desperate, to be honest. Desperate to be seen as smarter than you actually are. That’s the definition of pretension, folks.
“Actually, Martin,” Giles would say, “those words are kinda shit. What’s happening at the end of Dead Babies? Did you know how to end it? Why am I doing this, Martin? Martin, put the thesaurus down, actually!”
And I thought Success ended poorly. Wow, I spoke too soon. Success has an utterly fantastic, awesome ending compared to Dead Babies. Like … seriously. This is a funny book, no doubt. Amis clearly hates humanity and his satirical, dark humour is very clever and engaging. Dead Babies follows a household of various twenty-year-olds who are all completely fucked up. There’s little Keith, the 4”11 dwarf who wants desperately to be tall. Andy, a completely unrealistic, hyper-aggressive and hyper-sexual ape. Lucy, the so called “whore with a heart of gold.” There’s also, my favourite, Giles (is it pronounced Guy-els?), a constantly drunk shut-in who is paranoid about his teeth and anyone mentioning teeth.
The book has very little of an actual story. It really just follows Keith, Diana, Lucy, Andy, Celia and co. as some American friends come over for the weekend, bringing with them drugs, sex, misery and pain. Despite its lack of conventional story there were enough interesting things going for most of the book to hold my interest. It was interesting seeing all the various characters and learning more about them, how they ended up at the house, how fucked up they really are. I mentioned this is a funny book, and it really is.
If you know me, dear reader, you’ll know it takes a certain something for a book/movie to make me laugh out loud. Usually, it takes horribly, horribly dark, twisted humour, shock humour, etc. I’m assuming if you’ve read/are thinking about reading a book titled Dead Babies you have that humour. I can see a lot of the jokes in here not appealing to everyone, though. An example of this is little Keith (the dwarf) who hasn’t been with a girl for years and years. He resolves to kill himself if he doesn’t get some this weekend.
Very dark, yet very funny. Another example:
“All right then,” said Keith. “Well, as I told you, it’s quite straightforward. No one likes me – actually most people dislike me instinctively, including my family – I’m not much good at my work, I’ve never had a girl-friend or a friend of any kind, I’ve got very little imagination, nothing makes me laugh, I’m fat, poor, bald, I’ve got a horrible spotty face, constipation, B.O., bad breath, no prick and I’m one inch tall. That’s why I’m mad now. Fair enough?”
“Yes,” said the doctor.
The whole book reads as a satire. Apparently it’s a satire of the 70’s but to me it’s just a satire on people in general. The prose is very, very sharp. It actually surprised me to discover this was written in the 70’s, because it reads like something written now. So, yes, I mostly enjoyed Dead Babies. It rambles a little bit, goes into exposition a little too much (depicting with [by the end of the book, often excruciating] detail exactly how the characters got to the communal house), and doesn’t really have a story, but it’s not bad, not at all. The last act of the book tries to introduce a whodunit-type subplot, where someone from the house is going around and causing mischief to all the characters, calling himself “Johnny” but this just falls completely flat and is not interesting.
We now have to descend into the bad of this book. Despite the many funny moments, the sharp prose, and the quick pacing, the novel does delve into pretension by the end. This was something I noticed throughout the book, but it really became apparent as I approached the last act of Dead Babies. The words. The words. The horribly pretentious, obnoxious, David-Foster Wallace-level annoyingness of some of the words in this book. You may ask me, Isaac, how can mere words ruin an enjoyable reading experience? Allow me to show you. Declension. Aphorism. Vertiginous. Recondite. Adduced. Concertina-ed. Sudary.
And many, many more.
Why do authors do this? I’m an author and I can’t comprehend it. You have a thoroughly enjoyable (though not perfect) story, and you choose to throw in these words, these ten-dollar words that no one could possibly know, that utterly break the immersion of the novel! Far too many times I was pulled out of Dead Babies, quizzical look on my face, wondering what the hell Martin Amis was thinking when he thought these words were okay to use. No, Martin, they’re not okay.
It just comes across as desperate, to be honest. Desperate to be seen as smarter than you actually are. That’s the definition of pretension, folks.
“Actually, Martin,” Giles would say, “those words are kinda shit. What’s happening at the end of Dead Babies? Did you know how to end it? Why am I doing this, Martin? Martin, put the thesaurus down, actually!”
August 24, 2011
Those books.
Martin Amis is a master of debauchery, depravity and douchebaggery. Amis’ second novel, Dead Babies, is well-written, dark and hysterical at times. That being said, his novels often contain characters that though wildly entertaining, elicit little or no sympathy from the reader. Dead Babies is no exception.
Perhaps Lucy Littlejohn, the “golden-hearted whore” as we are told even before the novel starts, is sympathetic. She at least has a heart as evidenced by her staying with Keith at the novel’s end. One could also make the argument that Keith is a sympathetic character because of how hideous and pathetic he is, but then he treats the Tuckles terribly (albeit not as bad as awful Andy and Quentin). The Tuckles, who happen to be the most incidental characters in the story, may be the only characters to really sympathize with—what with their being subjected to frequent death threats, sprays of bullets on the front door, point blank fire-hose showers and drugged-up jailers.
Amis’ treatment of relative youth (i.e. 20 somethings) is both hilarious and terrifying. Dead Babies follows a non-stop, almost apocalyptic party weekend in a house full of jerks. The novel is chockfull of drugs, sex and violence. The drug use far surpasses severe; these characters are drinking by the liter, smoking nine-paper joints, gobbling heroic amounts of pills, shooting in two arms. The sex, though omnipresent, is tragic. Outside of Quentin and Celia, nobody enjoys the act. Nearly all of the men are literally and/or emotionally flaccid. The girls are oversexed and detached. The violence between characters, often with Keith on the receiving end (or those poor Tuckels), is astounding. These characters are dangerous, antisocial and morally AWOL. Amis shows that this kind of “living” ultimately leads to street sadness, false memories and suicide.
As much as the novel is very funny and sometimes poignant in its vivid descriptions, the fact that these characters are such a- -holes is ultimately a turn off. Whereas Amis’ London Fields was able to find a bit of balance in its 3:1 a- -hole to sympathetic character ratio (thanks, Guy Clinch!). Four main characters in London Fields was also a lot more palatable than the over-ambitious ten Appleseeders presented in Dead Babies.
I would recommend this book, but only for those who have read at least a handful of Amis’ other works and enjoyed them. It certainly has its merits, but it is not his best work.
Martin Amis is a master of debauchery, depravity and douchebaggery. Amis’ second novel, Dead Babies, is well-written, dark and hysterical at times. That being said, his novels often contain characters that though wildly entertaining, elicit little or no sympathy from the reader. Dead Babies is no exception.
Perhaps Lucy Littlejohn, the “golden-hearted whore” as we are told even before the novel starts, is sympathetic. She at least has a heart as evidenced by her staying with Keith at the novel’s end. One could also make the argument that Keith is a sympathetic character because of how hideous and pathetic he is, but then he treats the Tuckles terribly (albeit not as bad as awful Andy and Quentin). The Tuckles, who happen to be the most incidental characters in the story, may be the only characters to really sympathize with—what with their being subjected to frequent death threats, sprays of bullets on the front door, point blank fire-hose showers and drugged-up jailers.
Amis’ treatment of relative youth (i.e. 20 somethings) is both hilarious and terrifying. Dead Babies follows a non-stop, almost apocalyptic party weekend in a house full of jerks. The novel is chockfull of drugs, sex and violence. The drug use far surpasses severe; these characters are drinking by the liter, smoking nine-paper joints, gobbling heroic amounts of pills, shooting in two arms. The sex, though omnipresent, is tragic. Outside of Quentin and Celia, nobody enjoys the act. Nearly all of the men are literally and/or emotionally flaccid. The girls are oversexed and detached. The violence between characters, often with Keith on the receiving end (or those poor Tuckels), is astounding. These characters are dangerous, antisocial and morally AWOL. Amis shows that this kind of “living” ultimately leads to street sadness, false memories and suicide.
As much as the novel is very funny and sometimes poignant in its vivid descriptions, the fact that these characters are such a- -holes is ultimately a turn off. Whereas Amis’ London Fields was able to find a bit of balance in its 3:1 a- -hole to sympathetic character ratio (thanks, Guy Clinch!). Four main characters in London Fields was also a lot more palatable than the over-ambitious ten Appleseeders presented in Dead Babies.
I would recommend this book, but only for those who have read at least a handful of Amis’ other works and enjoyed them. It certainly has its merits, but it is not his best work.
November 13, 2016
la liberazione sessuale non equivale a liberazione psicologica...
un fine settimana tra amici, un trio di ospiti americani, un guastatore segreto che intrallazza nell'ombra, sesso e droga come se non ci potessero essere mai conseguenze, sbarellamenti vari, storia e preistoria di ciascuno, epilogo postmoderno...
questo vecchio libro di Amis, ripescato ora che lui è saldamente famoso e Einaudi non sa più come tirare su soldi dalla passione dei lettori spiazzati dall'eccessivo costo dei cartonati, nonostante l'ovvia datazione al periodo mesozoico, ha ancora un paio di cosette da dare al lettore: la fresca prosa compiaciuta e barocca, antenata di quella pur sempre compiaciuta ma assai più matura dell'Amis odierno, e un finale di una cattiveria abbagliante, come pochi nella produzione seppur non certo buonista di un autore che ancora oggi riesce a farci interessare al destino dei suoi personaggi più odiosi o semplicemente più inutili sul pianeta...
un fine settimana tra amici, un trio di ospiti americani, un guastatore segreto che intrallazza nell'ombra, sesso e droga come se non ci potessero essere mai conseguenze, sbarellamenti vari, storia e preistoria di ciascuno, epilogo postmoderno...
questo vecchio libro di Amis, ripescato ora che lui è saldamente famoso e Einaudi non sa più come tirare su soldi dalla passione dei lettori spiazzati dall'eccessivo costo dei cartonati, nonostante l'ovvia datazione al periodo mesozoico, ha ancora un paio di cosette da dare al lettore: la fresca prosa compiaciuta e barocca, antenata di quella pur sempre compiaciuta ma assai più matura dell'Amis odierno, e un finale di una cattiveria abbagliante, come pochi nella produzione seppur non certo buonista di un autore che ancora oggi riesce a farci interessare al destino dei suoi personaggi più odiosi o semplicemente più inutili sul pianeta...
November 19, 2018
Some mixed feelings on this one, but that it took me four weeks to get through these 206 pages says enough.
All the cynicism and ugliness I expected was delivered in a story too meandering and aimless for it to carry, with characters too hollowly misanthropic to ever truly galvanize interest in whatever broad statement Amis seems to be trying to make.
The action that finally ramps up in the final pages poses as satisfaction, but feels tacked on by how little the first 195 pages earn it.
My only concession is that maybe at the time Dead Babies was written, these characters and this tone felt fresh enough to come across as more than the self-satisfied spouting-off of an angry young writer.
All the cynicism and ugliness I expected was delivered in a story too meandering and aimless for it to carry, with characters too hollowly misanthropic to ever truly galvanize interest in whatever broad statement Amis seems to be trying to make.
The action that finally ramps up in the final pages poses as satisfaction, but feels tacked on by how little the first 195 pages earn it.
My only concession is that maybe at the time Dead Babies was written, these characters and this tone felt fresh enough to come across as more than the self-satisfied spouting-off of an angry young writer.
September 26, 2007
This book is so disgusting and unfunny, I could not read it.
March 10, 2014
I find it very hard to review this book in any other way than to look at its moral credentials. If the school bully was to write a book it might be something like this. Starting with the title, this book "Dead Babies" asks us to consider the seamier side of life, the one well off the straight and narrow. We are slowly and meanderingly introduced to a group of people mainly living for no real purpose other than to experiment with recreational drugs and loveless sex.
"Dead babies" refers both to the child victims of the Vietnam war and also this lost generation. They are the dead generation, whose lives have been squandered by their dissolute parents. " But pity the dead babies. Now, before it starts. They couldn't know what was behind them, nor what was to come. The past? They had none. Like children after a long day's journey, their lives arranged themselves in a patchwork of vanished mornings, lost afternoons and probable yesterdays."
Amis wisely allows the reader to draw their own conclusions, as with any truly wicked sick joke, it is when the penny drops that the laugh kicks in, and this may come days after reading a particular passage.
I know Amis is a very clever writer, but I find that I have to look for the moral high ground in order to excuse the obscene language and scenarios in this book. I am put in mind of the bitter and twisted remarks made by sour and unhappy children stuck in boarding school. Amis's apparent dislike of his parent's generation seems to carry on in this book, from "The Rachel Papers".
Humour is distilled from the misfortunes of others. The funniest bits are when you are introduced to somebody: you are offered a potted version of their sex life, or the way they appear to their significant other, such as Celia and Andy's courtship in the Med. The most damming descriptions are of the parents, Amis lays the blame at their door for the moral decrepitude of their children. Some passages show Amis's poetic mastery of English, he seems well versed and passionate. This generation use drugs and anti-social behaviour (a cat is given drugs), and pornography (paedophiliac/bestiality film which fails to impress our crowd of jaded party goers) to test their boundaries. Anyone who has ever wondered what "Free Love" is all about should read this book.
It left me feeling curious, puzzled, as the repercussions of bad behaviour do not just affect those immediately present but leave an echo in society as a whole. How did I feel after reading this book? As though I had seen a picture of Hell: the degradation meted out to some of the characters; the self inflicted nihilistic view of life; the sick society that created these individuals, eg. Andy one of the most dominant characters, who had been a baby of a druggy commune and pretty much left to bring himself up. Diane, a poor little rich girl, with no need to work. No strong moral compasses, how low can you go?
Amis toys with us, presenting moral turpitude, street sadness, the monologue of Celia's step father says it all: "our sexual natures were formed, so we could never suffer from anything worse than ennui. I think that's why we let you do this to yourselves. To liberate us. But you lot, lovey, you free-libbers ... You thought you'd get free. You didn't get free." Free of all moral questioning? I don't think so.
"Dead babies" refers both to the child victims of the Vietnam war and also this lost generation. They are the dead generation, whose lives have been squandered by their dissolute parents. " But pity the dead babies. Now, before it starts. They couldn't know what was behind them, nor what was to come. The past? They had none. Like children after a long day's journey, their lives arranged themselves in a patchwork of vanished mornings, lost afternoons and probable yesterdays."
Amis wisely allows the reader to draw their own conclusions, as with any truly wicked sick joke, it is when the penny drops that the laugh kicks in, and this may come days after reading a particular passage.
I know Amis is a very clever writer, but I find that I have to look for the moral high ground in order to excuse the obscene language and scenarios in this book. I am put in mind of the bitter and twisted remarks made by sour and unhappy children stuck in boarding school. Amis's apparent dislike of his parent's generation seems to carry on in this book, from "The Rachel Papers".
Humour is distilled from the misfortunes of others. The funniest bits are when you are introduced to somebody: you are offered a potted version of their sex life, or the way they appear to their significant other, such as Celia and Andy's courtship in the Med. The most damming descriptions are of the parents, Amis lays the blame at their door for the moral decrepitude of their children. Some passages show Amis's poetic mastery of English, he seems well versed and passionate. This generation use drugs and anti-social behaviour (a cat is given drugs), and pornography (paedophiliac/bestiality film which fails to impress our crowd of jaded party goers) to test their boundaries. Anyone who has ever wondered what "Free Love" is all about should read this book.
It left me feeling curious, puzzled, as the repercussions of bad behaviour do not just affect those immediately present but leave an echo in society as a whole. How did I feel after reading this book? As though I had seen a picture of Hell: the degradation meted out to some of the characters; the self inflicted nihilistic view of life; the sick society that created these individuals, eg. Andy one of the most dominant characters, who had been a baby of a druggy commune and pretty much left to bring himself up. Diane, a poor little rich girl, with no need to work. No strong moral compasses, how low can you go?
Amis toys with us, presenting moral turpitude, street sadness, the monologue of Celia's step father says it all: "our sexual natures were formed, so we could never suffer from anything worse than ennui. I think that's why we let you do this to yourselves. To liberate us. But you lot, lovey, you free-libbers ... You thought you'd get free. You didn't get free." Free of all moral questioning? I don't think so.
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March 9, 2018How can a satire be at once horrifyingly unpleasant and utterly toothless? Ask Martin Amis, I guess. About a bunch of really nasty, loosely drawn Anglo-American debauchees on a weekend long orgy/bender. Its disgusting, and disturbing, but it's not really much more than that. I guess this is supposed to be a critique of post 60's moral anarchy, but it doesn't bear the faintest resemblance to how society actually developed, just an endless stew of grotesqueries trotted on page in the presumable hope that shock will be mistaken for insight, which, judging by the reviews on the back of this book, I guess worked? I don't know why though, if you want to delve into the horrific moral collapse of modern Britain, just read Highrise. Awful, just awful. Drop, obviously.
February 3, 2019
Well. Thank God that's over.
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March 26, 2023Nie wiem co myslec.
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