Novel – 250 pages – my copy (hardback) bought for 50p from Plymouth Library
- 2 nods out of 5 -
A Long Way Down is a novel about the coming together of four characters who accidently meet on top of a noted London suicide spot on New Year’s Eve. Rather than kill themselves they decide to share their thoughts and feelings with one another, becoming a tightly bond gang, there to help one another though the tough times.
So far it has the makings of typical Hollywood trash (though perhaps substitute suicide with the threat of not being able to go the prom). But fear not, as Hornby, being British, makes them squabble throughout all the book’s pages in suitable fashion fitting for this rain-soaked island. The characters consist of Martin (disgraced TV presenter, jailed for having sex with a fifteen year old); JJ (an American who has endured the breakup of his band and his girlfriend walking out on him); Jesse (a disturbed teenager girl whose elder sister went missing); and Maureen (a fifty-something woman who can no longer cope being the sole carer for his mentally disabled son).
The book is told via the four perspectives, flicking from one to the other every four or five pages; and whilst it starts strongly (particularly Maureen’s opening narration) this tactic ultimately confuses reader and author alike. The chief problem here is that despite which character is talking, Hornby’s voice is undisputedly heard behind them. Take, for instance, Hornby’s favourite past-time of pointless analogies:
‘But it isn’t like that. I’m sure it must have been an ingredient, sort of thing, but it wasn’t the whole recipe. Say I’m spaghetti Bolognese, well I reckon Jen is the tomatoes. Maybe the onions. Or even just the garlic. But she’s not the meat or the pasta.’ (p.107).
If it’s not pasta, then it’s a sponge, or not that then a TV show, or if not that some other trifling matter. My gripe is not with the analogies per se, but rather that every character repeatedly uses them; thus committing the crime of authorial intrusion, or worst, sloppy writing.
This would be forgivable if the book contained the humour of Hornby’s earlier books, Fever Pitch and High Fidelity particularly. Yet the fountain here appears to have run dry, giving more credence to the critical finger waving at Hornby’s recent output.
The book has one similarity to his previous outings: Hornby’s complete inability to comprehensively finish a novel. High Fidelity’s climax occurred forty pages before its end; whilst the ending to About A Boy was so misguided that the film tried rectifying it with another. A Long Way Down is the worst yet, attempting a climax with a meeting of all the central character’s close relations, it goes off the boil, Hornby seemingly typing away until feeling tired, bunching the foursome together over a coffee at the book’s end.
Has Nick Hornby – one of our most celebrated British writers of recent times – gone off the boil for good? A Long Way Down continues in the un-thrilling vein of previous novel How To Be Good. The energy of High Fidelity has fizzled. It is the Worm’s sincere hope it will return.
