By John Boyne
Now another, except a change in style: an edgy sharply-observed parody of our celebrity and media-driven culture.
Boyne tells you right up front that this lead character, Maurice Swift, whose name is scribbled over the author’s name on the title page, is of dubious intent.
You’ve heard the old proverb about ambition, haven’t you? That it’s like setting a ladder to the sky. It can lead to a long and painful fall. This is a tale about ambition.
This novel is about ambition in a Machiavellian way. Ambition at all costs.
In alternating narratives by key players – a writer who’s life is destroyed, a brilliant writing-wife, a biographer, and Mr. Swift’ himself, we discover this talented wordsmith is a manipulator without a story of his own to tell, who nonetheless becomes a celebrated author. He also starts and serves as editor of a magazine cleverly named Stori. Over a lifetime, he manages to seduce men and women willing to pave his path and none, except the great writer Gore Vidal, in a razor-sharp scene set in a fabulous villa, of course, are wise to his dark secrets. Boyne does an excellent job capturing Vidal’s perspective when he comments on the public humiliation of a great writer Swift has decimated.
And as far as I can tell, half the world’s novelists have chimed in with their opinions, which has provided each one with their intended few minutes of publicity. How competitive everyone is in expressing their outrage! As far as I can tell, Bellow is the only one who’s said anything sensible on the subject.
Secrets are Boyne’s literary concern – all his books are centered around what people hide, for the sake of salvation as well as opportunism. In a review of an earlier novel, THE ABSOLUTIST, John Irving said, Boyne is very, very good at portraying the destructive power of a painfully kept secret — not to mention the damage done by the self-recriminations (and other condemnations) that are released when that secret is revealed.
Maurice Swift is ruthless to the point of unscrupulous. In fact, diabolical. We slowly, with that pit in the stomach, recognize he is a sociopath. Rare to discover this depth of amorality in a lead character that does not diminish the reading. I imagine my jaw was in permanent drop position through the last third of the novel. He is a fascination. A direct descendant of Raskolnikov, of CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, one of my personal favorites, and another of the road-kill genre of literature: you simply cannot turn your eyes away.