This is the seventh in a regular weekly series (every Wednesday) of Audible reviews, broken down into the categories, which I selected for my first Audible blog (Dan’s Top 5 Reasons to Start Listening to Audible.co.uk) and subdivided, where helpful.
This week’s is the second one covering ‘Brilliant Narration’, subdivided into ‘Modern Fiction’. Links to where you can purchase each of the titles for yourself (via Audible) are available by clicking the relevant title or photograph. Enjoy!
‘Days Without End’ by Sebastian Barry
I find it astonishing that neither the blurb on the back of the book of Days Without End, nor the ‘Publisher’s Summary’ on its Audible page make any reference to the fact that the two protagonists are in love and that this is, for want of a better description, a ‘gay’ novel. I cannot understand what this reticence is, considering the author, Sebastian Barry, publicly stated that he had written the novel to show the beauty of two men falling in love, after his son had been the subject of homophobic abuse. If Barry wanted to reassure his son, why are his publishers seemingly so coy about the subject matter? They might argue that they wanted the men’s relationship to come as a surprise, or to transcend such ‘pigeon-holing’, but my fear is that they thought it might sell more copies if the truth of the novel was expunged from its description. This is more than a little disappointing for what turns out to be an extraordinary book and one that deserves a wider readership.
Days Without End tells the story of Thomas McNulty and John Cole, who sign up to the US Army in the 1850’s and fight in the Indian and Civil Wars. The intense descriptions of battle are juxtaposed with the complex, tender relationship of the two young soldiers. There is no deep philosophical discussion of the legitimacy of the Indian wars or the reasons for supporting the North in the civil war- the boys simply go where their commanding officers tell them and, had they been Secessionists, the suggestion is that they might have fought for the South no less readily. In some ways, it is quite refreshing to read a novel, which distances itself from the politics of the time and which takes what must have been the average soldier’s viewpoint
On the written page, the narration can be quite difficult to read, mirroring as it does, an uneducated nineteenth century Irishman, with its odd grammar and unusual punctuation. This, however, is where Audible, once again, flourishes. Aiden Kelly’s Irish accent is beautiful and sensitive, allowing the writing to rise above pastiche and to capture the strength of the emotions of the central character
‘The Boy on the Bridge’ by M R Carey
I remember watching the film of The Girl With All the Gifts and being astonished that anyone could put a new and intriguing spin on the zombie genre. This book is a prequel to the novel, which inspired the film, but to read it before the earlier novel would rob the reader of the revelation of its central character’s role in the apocalypse, so my advice is to read Gifts first! In this particular regard, I do not think this novel has quite the same emotional gut-punch as the first novel but it’s still an extremely enjoyable foray into a truly nightmarish world.
The Boy on the Bridge follows a crew of soldiers and scientists on board a heavily armed, mobile laboratory. A significant problem is that, if you’ve seen the film or read the first book, you know exactly where this prequel is heading and, to be honest, M R Carey struggles to deal with this key issue. Even the characters appear to echo those in the first novel, both centring in, as they do, on an enigmatic child, who is generally misunderstood by the desperate adults around them.
Finty Williams does a sterling job with the narration and there are definitely moments which send a shiver up the spine. Don’t expect too much from it and you’re in for a scary thrill ride of a novel.
‘Printer’s Devil Court’ by Susan Hill
I should confess that I have long been a fan of Susan Hill. I first encountered her at GCSE, with her creepy, ‘evil child’ novel, I’m the King of the Castle, which captured my imagination far more than any of my other set texts. I went on to act in what I believe was the first amateur production of the play of her novel back The Woman in Black in 1992, whilst at Wellington College (the West End version, which I urge you to see, is in it’s 28th year at the time of writing), and to assess a number of her books in a key dissertation for my first degree. It is her short ghost novellas, however, which, currently, I most look forward to reading.
Quite frankly, Susan Hill is the greatest living writer of ghost stories and I am happy to usurp my favourite contemporary horror writers to offer her that accolade. She knows every trope of the genre and merrily employs or subverts them as she sees fit. Who would have thought, for instance, that the standard ghost story motif, a locked door, could evoke such terror? But go and see The Woman in Black and you will be flinging ever door in your house wide!
Printer’s Devil Court is not my favourite of these miniature masterpieces (if you twisted my arm to declare which one is and, if I had to exclude The Woman in Black and The Mist in the Mirror for their longer length, I would have to plumb for The Small Hand) but it is an eerie journey. It begins with a conversation between four medical students and its catalyst is a dark revelation. With shades of a Victorian Flatliners, Printer’s Devil Court follows its poor protagonist, Hugh, as he returns to the source of the morally dubious experiments, which he has tried so very hard to forget. Short, creepy, fun!
One of the very first audiobooks, which I listened to (I’m old enough that it was on cassette on my beloved Sony ‘Walkman’), was Orwell’s 1984, as read by Derek Jacobi. Rather like the first time I heard Judi Dench read fairy stories on a favourite childhood gramophone record, I quickly fell in love with the narrator’s voice and became an ardent fan. I’m pleased to report that Sir Derek has grown no less compelling in his old age. An admittedly complex novel is rendered simply mesmerising by his sublime performance.
First published in 1985, Hawksmoor alternates between the 1980’s and London detective Nicholas Hawksmoor’s investigation of a series of gruesome murders and the eighteenth century London of Nicholas Dyer, principal assistant to Christopher Wren, as he builds seven London churches with dark secrets. Almost imperceptibly, the two lives begin to mirror each other and, finally, to merge.
Dyer is a cipher for the real Hawksmoor, a fascinating historical figure, with whom I have long been obsessed. Hawksmoor’s churches take the breath away with their alien grandeur and have long fascinated literary folk. Indeed, Ackroyd acknowledges a particular debt to the great London chronicler, Iain Sinclair, who first noted Hawksmoor’s peculiarities in his collection of poems, Lud Heat (1975). You’ll also find references in Alan Moore & Eddie Campbell’s awesome graphic novel, From Hell, and the subsequent Hughes Brothers’ 2001 film adaptation, in which Jack the Ripper references Hawksmoor’s supposed dark motives.
Hawksmoor is a difficult but beautiful book. Strange and compelling, if you’re willing to put in some effort as a listener, then it will richly reward you.
