By James L Gordon

 

“An extraordinary story powerfully told. I thought it might have been my familiarity with the scene that made it so compelling, but my wife, whose background is quite different,was equally gripped.

 
'The End' it says on the last page, but it can't be true - everything is in mid gallop, the main relationship, the secondary ones, and the burning question of whether the band will break through into the true, the good and the beautiful or crash. Almost certainly the latter, but not quite certainly. And even if it does, and the love affair with it, will the hero survive or crash to his doom with them? And even then, would that be the end of it all? Wouldn't someone or something just have to arise from the ashes? When do we get the sequel?”

Desmond Avery

 

 

 

 

A BOOK OF MANY GENRES

 

This is a book with a number of strands, any one of which could have been pursued and made into an absorbing novel.  I sometimes wondered as I read if the combination of them worked.  As the book galloped on (it is well-paced), I had the growing sense that it did, that the author had pulled it off.  The ending, with the parallel collapse into near tragedy of both his relationship and his musical aspirations, is excellent in terms of group

dynamics, as the band's gathering inner tensions burst out into the open.

In the girl-friend strand, the book starts joyously; yet gradually, one can't say exactly where or why at the time, the text acquires a sense of impending tragedy.  It is a beautiful study in the decline of a relationship, as John comes to see Sarah's fundamentally different and aspirational values, shared with her parents.  For her, Day the band-leader is early identified as the enemy, as a power-struggle develops between her essentially middle-class values and his earthier ones.

 

Another important strand is the clash between the homely and idealistic group and the world of commerce; the pressure towards packaging, fitting a commercial mould; the way in which the band lacks a clear and marketable identity; more generally, them as a symbol of a whole sixties movement's hopes and aspirations, fast being buried by a changing world.  In these chapters the writing becomes especially tight, powerful and convincing.  It

occurred to me this strand might transfer well to TV.  In the present climate of disillusion with capitalism and ecological fear, such a parable might well strike home.

 

The band members embody a weird almost Dickensian mixture, ranging all the way from Middle England homeliness to extremes of eccentricity.  The Bells and Eric Cleary strike one as essentially suburban, while guitarist Messenger apparently comes from a rural town.  Toffs always go down with the British reader, and we have two - hero John Gerard himself and bassist Marcus Cannon - while in Al Day we have a crude city lad, Midlands working-class to his finger-tips.  English reserve in the rest counterbalances the inspired lunacy of Day and Gerard, providing excellent dynamics for a literary work, as well as perhaps explaining why this extraordinary combination seemed to work as long as it did.

 

Finally, the mother, and what she represents.  Her influence is clearly powerful and one that John is still fighting off after her death (indeed for most of the novel) yet one does not feel it results (as it clearly does in

Al and Sarah) from a power struggle - only from an excess of love.

 

She is not alive in the book, at least not physically, though very much so in spirit.  Today it seems strangely acceptable for books/ plays/ films to assume the existence of a spirit world which can interact with our own in a variety of ways.  It works well here.  There are frequent suggestions of a presence, which can even feel ominous, partially resolved in the meeting of Mary at Smaug's.

 

To such mystery the book provides a plausible answer - Mrs Gerard is indeed abroad, a watching and watchful presence, concerned ultimately not with control, but protection of what she loves most; while the embodiments of the true religion, the Chancellors, seem about as aware of such matters as a blind man is of colour.

 

Edward Lee

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© J L Gordon 2009