Valentine's day is gone, I'm always late, but the post is so interesting...
FROM THE GUARDIAN
Verbal Valentines: books that make perfect couples
Certain books have an almost romantic affinity with each other. Today seems like a good day to put them together
"I think I'll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I'll sort of – oh – fling you together. You know – lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing – "
F Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Some books are meant to be together. Oh, they may come across all coy, or act as if they can't stand the sight of each other – but deep in their heart of hearts they know that it's only a matter of time before they're pressed up against each other on some heaving bookshelf, shamelessly comparing marginalia.
What is the attraction between these books? To the casual observer they may well appear the most unlikely of couples, but there's something that gets these books circling each other warily before giving a cautious sniff. Maybe it's a shared style or technique (such as the use of diaries to change narrative perspective halfway through the twin tales of obsessive love of John Fowles's The Collector and Graham Greene's The End of the Affair). Or it could be common themes or settings (for example, The Great Gatsby and Breakfast at Tiffany's depictions of New York-based dreamers intent on reinventing themselves and transcending their humble beginnings).
Whatever it is, the chemistry does its work: the sparks fly, the sap rises, and books get together, to give a richer reading experience by bringing out the best in each other. Seeing them as a couple, they can help remind us of the inexhaustibility of literature; that no book is an island. They call into question the idea that a single work can ever be deemed the Definitive Text on any given subject, that there are always going to be new ways of seeing and interpreting the world.
And so, with high-concept wooden horse duly established, let me elaborate on the laborious conceit concealed within: this Valentine's Day, I thought it might be interesting to play literary matchmaker and – oh – fling a few titles together. Please feel free to disagree and point out that no, no, no, The Catcher in the Rye should ditch The Bell Jar and try shacking up with A Clockwork Orange instead – the change may raise a few eyebrows, but you never know, it might do all parties some good …
Here then are a handful of books I've locked together in linen closets for the weekend. I'm sure there are many more who wouldn't mind be pushed out to sea in a boat given half a chance …
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (James Joyce) & Ask the Dust (John Fante)
Two very different approaches to the old chestnuts of self-loathing, Catholic guilt, the artistic temperament, juvenile arrogance, and unrequited love. Ah, the folly of youth ...
Wise Children (Angela Carter) & London Fields (Martin Amis)
Two master stylists writing at the top of their game, with hyper-real depictions of alternative Londons. The comic novel as high art. Innit.
The Magic Mountain (Thomas Mann) & One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest (Ken Kesey)
Callow youth, meet prick-kicking rebel. Neither Hans Castorp nor Randall McMurphy really belong in their respective medical institutions, but each would almost certainly benefit from taking a leaf out of the other's book.
Mrs Dalloway (Virginia Woolf) & If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things (Jon McGregor)
It's debatable as to whether we would have If Nobody... without Mrs Dalloway, but Jon McGregor's debut novel is a lovely illustration of how, though times may change, human nature remains as varied and as fascinating as ever.
Lucky Jim (Kingsley Amis) & Billy Liar (Keith Waterhouse)
London as The Great Escape – though only one of these Disgruntled Young Men makes it down south.
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (Muriel Spark) & A Disaffection (James Kelman)
Hmmm. Opposites attract, anyone?
FROM THE GUARDIAN
Verbal Valentines: books that make perfect couples
Certain books have an almost romantic affinity with each other. Today seems like a good day to put them together
"I think I'll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I'll sort of – oh – fling you together. You know – lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing – "
F Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Some books are meant to be together. Oh, they may come across all coy, or act as if they can't stand the sight of each other – but deep in their heart of hearts they know that it's only a matter of time before they're pressed up against each other on some heaving bookshelf, shamelessly comparing marginalia.
What is the attraction between these books? To the casual observer they may well appear the most unlikely of couples, but there's something that gets these books circling each other warily before giving a cautious sniff. Maybe it's a shared style or technique (such as the use of diaries to change narrative perspective halfway through the twin tales of obsessive love of John Fowles's The Collector and Graham Greene's The End of the Affair). Or it could be common themes or settings (for example, The Great Gatsby and Breakfast at Tiffany's depictions of New York-based dreamers intent on reinventing themselves and transcending their humble beginnings).
Whatever it is, the chemistry does its work: the sparks fly, the sap rises, and books get together, to give a richer reading experience by bringing out the best in each other. Seeing them as a couple, they can help remind us of the inexhaustibility of literature; that no book is an island. They call into question the idea that a single work can ever be deemed the Definitive Text on any given subject, that there are always going to be new ways of seeing and interpreting the world.
And so, with high-concept wooden horse duly established, let me elaborate on the laborious conceit concealed within: this Valentine's Day, I thought it might be interesting to play literary matchmaker and – oh – fling a few titles together. Please feel free to disagree and point out that no, no, no, The Catcher in the Rye should ditch The Bell Jar and try shacking up with A Clockwork Orange instead – the change may raise a few eyebrows, but you never know, it might do all parties some good …
Here then are a handful of books I've locked together in linen closets for the weekend. I'm sure there are many more who wouldn't mind be pushed out to sea in a boat given half a chance …
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (James Joyce) & Ask the Dust (John Fante)
Two very different approaches to the old chestnuts of self-loathing, Catholic guilt, the artistic temperament, juvenile arrogance, and unrequited love. Ah, the folly of youth ...
Wise Children (Angela Carter) & London Fields (Martin Amis)
Two master stylists writing at the top of their game, with hyper-real depictions of alternative Londons. The comic novel as high art. Innit.
The Magic Mountain (Thomas Mann) & One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest (Ken Kesey)
Callow youth, meet prick-kicking rebel. Neither Hans Castorp nor Randall McMurphy really belong in their respective medical institutions, but each would almost certainly benefit from taking a leaf out of the other's book.
Mrs Dalloway (Virginia Woolf) & If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things (Jon McGregor)
It's debatable as to whether we would have If Nobody... without Mrs Dalloway, but Jon McGregor's debut novel is a lovely illustration of how, though times may change, human nature remains as varied and as fascinating as ever.
Lucky Jim (Kingsley Amis) & Billy Liar (Keith Waterhouse)
London as The Great Escape – though only one of these Disgruntled Young Men makes it down south.
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (Muriel Spark) & A Disaffection (James Kelman)
Hmmm. Opposites attract, anyone?
