On the Road by Jack Kerouac

I’ve just realised that I’ve only been writing about theatre recently, and haven’t told you about any of the books I’ve been reading.

The most recent one I finished was On the Road by Jack Kerouac. This is an incredibly vivid evocation of a time, a place and an attitude. So much so that you almost feel as if you’re experiencing it yourself.

Except that there are jarring points for a 21^st century reader. You rush along with it up to a certain point and then you think – oh, hang on, that’s not on.

This is especially true, for me, in the depiction of and attitudes towards women. I’d be really interested in reading a Wide Sargasso Sea kind of novel from a female character’s perspective. Maybe one of Dean’s wives, or one of the Mexican prostitutes, or even Sal’s aunt. What are their stories?

But On the Road is about capturing one man’s impressions of his travels and of his friends and of the people he encounters. And what it sets out to do, it does perfectly. You can definitely see why it’s called a classic.

Bleak House - The Pantaloons

Full of fun, full of pathos, full of character. This adaptation of Dickens’ Bleak House by The Pantaloons (performed at Eastbourne’s Underground Theatre on 25^th October 2014) was a treat from start to finish.

In the vein of their comprehensive(ish) The Canterbury Tales, The Pantaloons promised to present all 67 chapters of the novel Bleak House on stage. And, although they sometimes forgot which chapter number they were up to, they did not disappoint. With some scenes lingered over and some chapters dispatched in a sentence, the cast of five swept us through the story and the multitude of characters with charm and flair.

I read Bleak House when I was at university, and I watched the BBC’s rather brilliant 2005 adaptation not long after reading the book, so I inevitably started the evening with that version in mind. But it didn’t take long for me to forget all about it.

Dickens’ larger than life characters suit The Pantaloons’ style perfectly – and we were treated to some classic performances in Bleak House. Ross Drury in the guise of Krook, Hortense or Guppy only had to walk on stage to get a laugh, and the Smallweed family were another characterful highlight.

But it wasn’t just the broader characters who made the evening so memorable. The quieter parts and more poignant moments were equally well played. As the deaths mounted and truths unravelled in the second half, the transitions between comedy and pathos were seamless.

The background music and songs helped build this atmosphere: sometimes haunting, sometimes used to comedic effect, and sometimes with self-referential lyrics telling us how many chapters until the interval. My favourite chapter from the book (the spontaneous combustion scene, obviously) was also a great moment on stage; the tension building – with help from the music and lighting – to a comedy-horror climax that ended the first half.

Finally, I really ought to give a mention to the audience, who – as always in a Pantaloons show – played a big part in making the evening an entertaining one. (It was very sweet of the cast to comment on as much at the end of the performance too – always nice to feel appreciated as an audience!).

The Pantaloons are experts at audience interaction and during the course of this performance of Bleak House they good-naturedly poked fun at two particular audience members: an ‘inebriated actor’ who had also been in the audience at their History of Britain in the summer, and a man called Owen. When the time came in the plot for a murderer to be revealed, a dramatic pause was left. With perfect timing, an unknown audience member called out: “It was Owen!”

I enjoyed that, and The Pantaloons seemed to as well. And the same goes for the whole of Bleak House. A treat from start to finish.


The Pantaloons are currently on tour with Bleak House - visit their website www.thepantaloons.co.uk for more info.

Doctor Scroggy's War - Shakespeare's Globe

Well this was all pretty timely.

2014 is the hundredth anniversary of the outbreak of World War One. I have recently been re-reading Pat Barker’s Regeneration – a novel about shell-shocked patients in a WW1 psychiatric hospital. And the day before I went to see Doctor Scroggy’s War at the Globe (which I saw on 27th September 2014), the Commons voted in favour of military intervention in Iraq.

So let’s take those one by one, shall we?

It’s a century since WW1 started. The Great War looms large in our culture at the best of times, but this year it’s everywhere. I imagine that’s why the Globe put Doctor Scroggy’s War on this summer.

The anniversary also means that we’re looking back and evaluating the events of a hundred years ago. There’s recently been a backlash in certain quarters against the widely held view of the war as a futile tragedy of epic proportions. Some are trying to claim it as a shining example of what makes Britain great. (And this is when I can’t help turning into one of the History Boys: “You can’t explain away the poetry”, I cry!).

Doctor Scroggy’s War recognises both perspectives. One of the play’s main characters, a soldier named Twigg, wants to return to the war after being injured – he enjoys the frontline action. And though other characters disagree with him and find it incomprehensible, his attitude is recognised as existing, alongside other responses.

That’s something the play has in common with Regeneration. A complex look at the motivations and responses of those involved in war – and, especially, those injured in war.

Doctor Scroggy’s War is concerned with physical injury, but emphasises the role of psychological healing as well. It looks at the real-life Dr Gillies’ pioneering facial reconstruction techniques alongside his alter ego Dr Scroggy’s important sense of fun. Regeneration, meanwhile, looks at the pioneering psychological therapy of the real-life Dr Rivers, and examines how psychological scarring can produce physical symptoms. Both pieces deal with the crossover between the psychological and the physical.

Both Doctor Scroggy’s War and Regeneration also mix fact and fiction in their storytelling, with real-life characters interacting with fictional ones. It’s a thought-provoking mix when you’re navigating your way through competing narratives about the war. That blur between ‘true’ and ‘made up’ and whether things are any less true for being made up.

And that brings us to current world events, where it sometimes feels like WW3 is happening on the sly. The competing narratives, the debate over what is true or not – these don’t ever go away. We might wonder how we can learn from the past (and there were certainly some mutterings amongst the Globe audience about how we don’t seem to).

But what I feel I’ve learnt from these plays, books, poems and other recollections of the First World War is that there is no single past. There is no standalone truth or one story that makes sense of it all.

In Doctor Scroggy’s War, themes of national identity, class politics, and gender inequality were also touched upon. More viewpoints to consider; more clashes and crossovers between different truths. And, as befits the Globe space, various characters addressed the audience directly at times, giving their individual perspective on events.

My favourite moment was when Twigg said to the audience: “You all know what’s going to happen to me.” It was a brave recognition that we all know the drill – we’ve seen the films and read the stories – and we, as an audience, know how these narratives play out.

But just acknowledging that challenged us to recognise the very ‘story-ness’ that most stories want you to ignore.

We were in a theatre, watching a play. There was a jig at the end. The play may have featured real people and real events, but it was a story nonetheless. One story amongst many. A narrative. A response. A truth?

The Outsider by Albert Camus

This is going to be a short one - but then, I suppose it is quite a short book.

I recently read The Outsider by Camus (L'Etranger in the original French, sometimes translated as The Stranger). The original book, first published in 1942, was clearly written as a demonstration of a philosophical viewpoint - existentialism or a variation on it - but I couldn't help thinking that, looked at today, the hero of the book would probably be diagnosed with Asperger's or something along those lines.

I was talking with a friend who had also recently read The Outsider, and we both agreed that it reminded us slightly of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.

An interesting thought, that's all.

Persepolis - Marjane Satrapi

This was something of an enlightening read for me – for two main reasons. I’ve never read a graphic novel before. And I know next to nothing about the culture and history of Iran.

So Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi was educational on both counts.

First off, let’s deal with the graphic novel thing. Being a literature sort of person, I’d probably been guilty of an unconscious snootiness regarding graphic novels. Having read comic books as a kid (mainly Asterix and Tintin – sometimes in the original French as my dad thought this would help us learn the language!), I associated the form with light-hearted fiction for children.

Nothing wrong with light-hearted fiction for children – I read quite a lot of children’s books – but I think I may have been a bit suspicious of the comic-style form being used for adults. I certainly didn’t approach Persepolis expecting to be challenged by it intellectually.

But I was challenged by it. Not in terms of the words or syntax used, but by the ideas expressed and the themes explored. This is not a light-hearted ‘comic’. It graphically depicts violence, murder and suicide. The characters swear. They talk about sex, politics, religion. And through the words and pictures that Marjane Satrapi uses to tell her story, we are guided through a turbulent time in Iran’s history.

Persepolis is autobiographical, and through seeing how our main character’s life changes, we are given a glimpse into the political and religious upheavals in Iran in the late 20^th century. It’s pretty hard going sometimes. Some moments are powerfully moving and some are ideologically challenging.

I know very little about Iran’s history, and of its culture I only really know what I see on the TV news or what I’ve read about in books like Reading Lolita in Tehran. Most of what I know is about the oppression of women. And while this is undeniably a big deal in Persepolis, it’s made clear that it’s all part of a larger tapestry.

So this book opened a window. I learnt something about the revolution and the unrest that came before and after it. I couldn’t help reflecting on the situation in Egypt at the moment as I read it. I also learnt a bit about Iran’s war with Iraq (I was just about being born when this was actually happening), and it made me wonder about all the subsequent conflicts in and around the area.

What struck me most was how complicated it all is. The drawings in this book may all be in black and white, but the narrative itself doesn’t fall into black and white morality. I think I’ve come away from reading Persepolis feeling even more confused about Iran as a country. But then, perhaps that’s what happens when you have a little more knowledge. It’s easier to be certain when you’re ignorant.

So there are books that come and go and don’t leave much impression, and there are books that leave you thinking. I know that next time Iran is mentioned on the news I’ll be thinking about this book. And I know that next time someone recommends a graphic novel to me, I won’t be so slow to read it. Persepolis has left me just that little bit more knowledgeable, and just that little bit more open-minded.

Always good things for a book to do.

Bright Young Things - Scarlett Thomas

Branching out into books this time, I’ve been reading Bright Young Things by Scarlett Thomas. Originally published in 2001, it’s stuffed full of pop culture references from the nineties / early noughties – some of which I can remember, some of which (namely the video game references) are entirely lost on me.

With not a great deal of action in the story, the book is basically about a group of twenty-somethings sitting around talking about not very much. In each chapter, the focus is on one particular character’s thoughts and perspective. There is no consistent overarching or omniscient narrative, as we spend time with each of the 6 characters and we only ever know what at least one of the characters knows. This means that the central mystery in the book is subject to a lot of speculation but never resolved to a certainty.

I guess this is what Scarlett Thomas means in her preface to this 2012 edition, when she claims that it’s a postmodern novel. Lots of individual perspectives give us lots of stories but no central ‘truth’, and the characters discuss their own predicament with about the same degree of attention they give to discussing Neighbours.

We’ve all been there, I suppose.

The other comparison the author draws in her preface is to the turn of the century reality shows, such as Big Brother and Castaway. Inevitably, seeing a group of characters removed from their own environment and put in a house together on a remote island will conjure up certain associations for those of us who watched TV in 2000. And that the characters argue, pair up, talk rubbish, and worry about their supply of cigarettes, makes it all the more familiar.

This must have been a very zeitgeist-y book at the time. Now, just over a decade later, it definitely feels like it’s from another era. What’s the latest thing? Is there a post-postmodernism? Is there a novel being written now that captures 2013 in the way that Bright Young Things captures the turn of the millennium?

A quick word on the book’s cover, because it’s always fun to analyse a cover. It’s clearly been re-done to resemble the author’s other, later, works and to fit in with their distinctive visual branding. But there are palm trees on the cover, and compass motifs. Did they not read the book? It’s not a desert island the characters are on – in the book they guess at Scotland!

I must admit I was expecting something quite different having only seen the cover – something more Robinson Crusoe-ish, possibly.

And the blurb on the back of the book, too, makes it sound like there’s more plot than there actually is, as if the characters might try to escape rather than just sit around talking. I’m not saying that that’s what the book ought to have been like; just that the cover suggested something different from what was inside.

This is essentially a book about flawed, not always particularly pleasant people talking to each other. And while it sometimes felt too much like a writing exercise in character and perspective, I still found it an engaging read. Not as page-turning as The End of Mr Y, but an interesting time capsule from the turn of the millennium all the same.