Holiday by Stanley Middleton

And so after two years and nine months we come to the final book of the Bookers so far…but not for long as the 2013 winner will be announced later this week!

I do feel a sense of achievement to have accomplished my goal, but it has sadly ended with a sense of anti-climax as ‘Holiday’ was rather a damp squib of a book.

For me 1974 wasn’t the best of years in terms of the Booker as neither of the joint winners (Holiday shared the prize with ‘The Conservationist’ by Nadine Gordimer) were my cup of tea.  I have come to realise why this novel may have remained so elusive during my search – its popularity has not been able to be sustained due to its inherent weaknesses.

The novel recounts a week’s holiday of a middle aged man who has just left his wife, at the seaside resort he frequented with his family as a child.  The story details his excursions and the people (including his in-laws – what a coincidence!) he encounters, in addition to casting back to memories of his life with his wife and attempting to reflect upon what went wrong. It’s definitely not a plot-driven novel and its emphasis on the inner thoughts of the protagonist could have been pretty interesting but something was missing from his ponderings that left me decidedly unsatisfied – I just didn’t care whether or not he did return to his wife!

I’m sorry to say that it was just so dull, the story is dull, the characters are dull and I was glad when it ended.  The writing was adequate, but the novel did nothing but slightly irritate me due to its pompous characters and insignificance.  However it wasn’t even bad enough to inspire much of a reaction other than indifference. 

So there we go…I am tempted to envy my Dad, who has been partaking of the Booker experience along with me, who has kept ‘Midnight’s Children’ until the end.  That would definitely feel like a more fitting end to this literary journey.  Although, I guess that it’s not really the end as the prize continues and I look forward to finding out where the Booker will take me next…

Saville by David Storey

This Booker has taken a little while to read due to the enormous size of the 25^th Anniversary edition, which I managed to obtain from a charity shop.  It meant that it was impossible to take out of my flat to read anywhere, so instead I have read it in installments, and it turned out to be well suited to a ten minute read before going to sleep at night.  Part of the reason for its suitability was its gentle pace, the simple chronicling of the daily life the Saville family.  

The story follows the second son, Colin, of a miner and his wife, as the scope of  his experience and existence expands from the family house, to the mining village, to the grammar school in a neighbouring town, to becoming a teacher, until he decides to leave the area and explore other possibilities.  The story is written in the third person with Colin, being referred to throughout as ‘he’ and for the majority of the novel purely being an inexpressive observer to the events of his life, with no internal monologue or explanation of his emotions.  On reflection, I found much of the book’s gentleness that I perceived, was due to this impassive nature of the protagonist, although his impartiality was lost in the latter stages of the book as he became increasingly worldly and tried to formulate his place in the world.  

As he became more educated, this isolated him from his family, childhood surroundings and friends, leading to a dissatisfaction with his life which in turn made him feel guilty and displaced.  Within the pages of this novel, there is much discussion about class, a sense of place and belonging and roles played in life, whether voluntary or dictated.  This discussion is not always in the direct way that develops towards the end, but more subtly in the attitudes and actions of the characters.

This is most definitely not a plot-driven novel or trying to deliver any kind of message as Colin’s inconclusive ponderings effectively demonstrate.  It’s just a simple recounting of daily goings on and yet it is a surprisingly compelling read.  In fact when I got to the end I felt loathed to let Saville disappear from my consciousness, which is testament to the skill of David Storey, I was left wanting more.