The Death of Bunny Munro [Paperback]

Celebrity novelists are often easy to mock; one always has a suspicion that their work might not have been published had they not been famous. Usually that's a question of quality.

In the case of The Death Of Bunny Munro, the real issue is probably the subject matter. Bunny Munro is not a rabbit, he's a sex maniac - though presumably the reader is supposed to see a parallel between Munro and the legendary proclivity of the rabbit to breed. This would have been an easy subject to address in a hamfisted way, but instead Nick Cave presents us with a dull man who has an empty, lonely life that is scarred by his insatiable appetite for sex. He even recognizes this; he recognizes the damage it did to his marriage to Libby; the damage it does to his relationships with those around him; the damage it probably does to his career. For all the sex, there seems to be no gratification. It is very matter of fact. And, as it turns out, not even with particularly attractive women. In a telling moment, Bunny Munro is discussing with colleagues who is a breast man and who is a leg man. Bunny declares that he is a vagina man. He's no interest in the person or in the foreplay - just the mechanical act.

The novel particularly focuses on the days immediately following Libby's death. It shows a very disturbing grief reaction as Bunny's life falls apart - the one anchor point in his life is removed and Bunny fails to deal with the situation. He is landed with Bunny Jr to look after; a job that seems to be little more than an entry card into Brighton bedrooms; and a complete inability to look after himself. The result is pitiable for the sake of Bunny, but deeply concerning for the wellbeing of Junior. He's pulled from school, pulled from the family home and expected to keep watch as Bunny goes off on his salesman's rounds. Junior is portrayed as malleable, scared and bewildered but constantly seeking approval from a father who is behaving unpredictably. At times, Junior seems trusting, at other times he seems helplessly terrified.

The reader's perception of Bunny, Junior and their relationship then undergoes a paradigm shift as Bunny Sr is introduced. This turns what might have been ordinary fare into something far more interesting. It offers some insight into who Bunny actually is; why he is like that; and perhaps even where Junior is heading.

If there is a lack in the novel, it is a clear understanding of whether Bunny behaves in quite such a despicable way all the time or whether his bad qualities have been magnified by grief. The sex, we understand, is constant. The other misdemeanours and transgressions seem somewhat out of character and, perhaps, not sustainable over time.

The language is plain, straightforward and deadpan. Not a million miles from a Nick Cave lyric. But for all that, it is a rich, deceptively complex novel which defies being read in long sessions. The plot, for all it is, will not linger long. It's the characterization that is the real strength of The Death Of Bunny Munro.

Bunny Munro is a travelling salesman of cheap beauty products. He makes his living hawking various potions around the doors of Brighton to lonely housewives. He is also a raging sexaholic. He uses his job as a method to work his way into the beds of his customers. He spends his time either having empty sex with anyone who will let him or thinking about having empty sex with anyone who will let him. He cruises Brighton in a bright yellow Punto leering out of his window or fantasising about Kylie Minogue's golden hot pants.

When his wife can take no more and commits suicide Bunny is left to bring up his son Bunny Jr. Unsure of what to do Bunny pulls the boy out of school and takes him on the road- ostensibly to learn the ropes, but increasingly to use as a support against his self destructive urges.

Nick Cave is renowned for his dark, dead pan world view and this book is no different. Bunny is not a nice man, he is in fact hugely unpleasant, but Cave makes him a compelling character. Reading this book is like slowing on a motorway to look at a car crash- you know it's not nice, you know you shouldn't really look, but you just can't help yourself.

Tortured by his wife's death Bunny begins to unravel and seems intent on dragging his son down with him. Bunny Jr idolises his father and wants to be just like him. As a reader you can only pray that he doesn't get his wish.

Lurid, graphic and gleefully horrible as it is, this book has at its centre a touching and poignant study of a father and son relationship. The redemptive power of familial love glows out through the foul language, debauchery and pornographic sex.

This isn't a book for the faint of heart. Cave pulls no punches and isn't afraid of visiting the darkest of places. That said, it is written with a restraint that wasn't evident in "And the Ass saw the Angel", the prodigious imagination is still there, but more focused this time round.

Nick Cave novels are rare birds: his last, to my knowledge, was a mud-soaked piece of Southern Gothic depravity from 1989 called And the Ass Saw the Angel, in itself a brilliant, unhinged piece of writing and in its way a perfect companion piece for Cave's music which at that time was exploiting Leadbelly's romantic outlaw legacy and turning out albums' worth of excellent murder ballads, mined from Mississippi earth, and burnishing the reputations of collaborators as unusual as Polly Harvey and Kylie Minogue in doing so.

If it seemed odd that an Australian should be one of the most dogged and purist perpetuators of the American romantic tradition, that was only until you saw Cave's screenplay, The Proposition, which renders his scorched-earth Australia like tones and makes a case for a rival tradition.

So The (lonesome?) Death of Bunny Munro, as a title and yea, even unto about half way down the first page, sounded like it would follow the same furrow: a doomed travelling salesman - so much Arthur Miller - in a washed-up hotel room, in Brighton, eviscerating his distant wife.

But did you see the dissonance there? *Brighton*?

I flipped ahead, before purchasing, just to check this was in fact Brighton, Arkansas, or some other such remote, exotic and God-forsaken place. But no, this is good old Brighton, UK, present day. And Bunny Munro is no Willie Loman. And this is, aside from its wilful and exuberant sordidity, a very different sort of Nick Cave novel from his last one.

As a rock musician, Nick Cave is smarter than your average bear (not hard, admittedly: the playful and extensive vocabulary of his lyrics has always attested to that) and here, Cave's linguistic invention is always on top form. This novel is over written with great zeal: deliberately and enjoyably - a talented writer consciously using a technique for a particular end, as opposed to the more common over-reach of an amateur.

Though its content ranges from icky to downright repulsive, Cave's delivery is witty enough to make it always entertaining and frequently funny. Former collaborator Minogue again makes an appearance, but this time we laugh (gently) at Kylie's expense (literally, she is the butt of the joke), and Cave apologises to her in his afterword, and to Avril Lavigne, who fares far worse at Cave's hands than the Where Are They Now file she's currently inhabiting would say she was entitled to.

So, unless you have a profound respect for Avril Lavigne, form excellent. Not so convinced about the substance, however.

For one thing, Bunny Munro has no plot to speak of: it is a simple downhill slide into oblivion. I fancy Cave might see it as a tragedy (I can't for the life of me work out what other motivation he'd have), but a tragedy requires a flawed hero who refuses a path to redemption at his own cost. There's no such dynamic here. Bunny Munro has no redeeming features; he's irredeemable and (so sayeth the first words of the book), doomed. There's no moral to be heeded here.

Nor are other available characters used to their potential. A murderous sex fiend, dressed as a devil, rampages down the country drawing ever nearer to Brighton, in a clear metaphorical parallel. But, just when it might get interesting (is this Bunny's doppelganger? Is this Bunny's fate? Will they confront each other?) the devil figure drops out of the story.

Bunny's son, Bunny junior, has an eye condition which Bunny wilfully ignores despite the boy's gentle reminders - I guess something statically figurative about that - but the condition gets no worse over the course of the novel. Bunny is dogged by constant interaction with a particular fleet of well-named lorries, but short of making the obvious point that Bunny is destined to be a "Dudman", it isn't clear what the point of these was either.

Basically, this isn't a story, as such. It's an expiration; a ghastly but meaningless descent into oblivion which happens to be queasily enjoyable.

There is some significance to be drawn from the fact that Irvine Welsh, whose novels tend to be of a piece (Filth particularly), was impressed. If that sort of thing floats your boat (it doesn't mine) you might be also. Otherwise, outside Cave's core fan base, Bunny Munro is likely to be of passing interest only.

Olly Buxton