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How the Dead Live Paperback – 19 Jun 2000

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Product details

  • Paperback: 416 pages
  • Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing PLC; First Edition edition (19 Jun 2000)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0747548951
  • ISBN-13: 978-0747548959
  • Product Dimensions: 15.2 x 4.1 x 21.3 cm
  • Average Customer Review: 3.5 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (29 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Bestsellers Rank: 706,113 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Product Description

Amazon Review

In 1988, sixty-five-year old Lily Bloom quickly succumbs to cancer in London. But after life there's death. Guided by an Aborigine named Phar Lap Jones, Lily is transported by a Greek Cypriot minicab driver to the North London dead neighbourhood of Dulston. There, accompanied by her lithopedion Lithy and her dead son Rude Boy, she's introduced to the twelve-step Personally Dead meetings, and watches over her living daughters--the cold, ambitious Charlotte, and her favourite, the heroin-addicted Natasha.

Since Self's face, voice and, notoriously, his life story are familiar to millions who will never pick up his book, there's always the risk of over-reading his work biographically. Read this way, Lily is clearly based on his New York-born Jewish mother; large chunks of Self's much-publicised addictions are wittily retooled; and Self himself is sexily transmuted into the beautiful and glamorously doomed Natasha. But Lily is a feisty, articulate woman, with a complex history spanning two continents, two husbands, and a constantly recreated personality--a great literary creation. Self's longterm obsession with London provides us with the utterly convincing Dulston; his treatment of modern Jewish life in North London (versus New York) will find its fans and critics; and his sympathetic account of Lily's decline into her morphine-laden deathbed is deeply affecting. But ultimately How The Dead Live grows beyond such local concerns. Ultimately, this novel is about the vexed relationship between the local worries of contemporary Western life and a more transcendent non-Western spirituality--signalled by Self's opening gesture to The Tibetan Book of the Dead and by the all-seeing Aborigine Phar Lap Jones. Readers familiar with his satire and pyrotechnic wordplay--both still well in place--may initially be thrown by the book's unexpected lurches of narrative voice and locale and its mysticism--but they'd be well advised to give it a chance. How The Dead Live is a big book with big ideas, and quite definitely Will Self's most ambitious and mature work to date.--Alan Stewart

About the Author

Will Self is the author of THE QUANTITY THEORY OF INSANITY, shortlisted for the 1992 John Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize and winner of the 1993 Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize, GREY AREA, COCK & BULL, MY IDEA OF FUN, JUNK MAIL, THE SWEET SMELL OF PSYCHOSIS, GREAT APES, TOUGH, TOUGH TOYS FOR TOUGH, TOUGH BOYS, DORIAN, and HOW THE DEAD LIVE, which was shortlisted for the Whitbread Novel of the Year 2002. He lives in London.

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Customer Reviews

3.5 out of 5 stars

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

16 of 16 people found the following review helpful By A Customer on 12 Oct 2002
Format: Paperback
I feel I have to write this review as a corrective to all these reviewers who seem to think that Self writes nothing but commuter fodder (chuck-lit?) and has a bit of a nerve expecting much of an effort from his readers.
Now, it is true that the writing wavers in the opening chapters of How the Dead Live, and that is why I only feel able to give it 4 stars. But Self gets into his stride with Lily's death and the writing intensifies steadily from that point on. The death itself is handled beautifully, eerily, like a dream filtering and modifying external events. Lily remembers a bike ride near Snape. She stops to eat her chocolate in guilty isolation. Climbing a gate, she grazes her shin and feels a warm trickle of blood as she finds a quiet place to sit. She feels cold and alone. And so she dies. The scene is highly charged and if, as has been said in the press, Lily bears more than a passing resemblance to Self's own mother, this must have been a painful one to write.
To this intensification of the writing, Self adds a stylistic device that creates the impression of steadily increasing momentum, even though the pace of events hardly changes. Each chapter ends with a coda looking forward to the ending which can be guessed before it is reached (I shan't spoil it for you!). These previews get progressively longer, and the effect is a sort of telescoping of time so that the reader almost feels like s/he is being accelerated into the brick wall of the ending.
This is also a book with some big ideas and, as usual, Self is using plot as a way of undermining the categories that structure the reader's everyday understanding. How do the dead live? They live like the poor (the socially dead?). When you die, do your misdeeds come back to haunt you? Yes -- in fact they come to live (die?
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful By Room for a View VINE VOICE on 6 Nov 2008
Format: Paperback
Disturbingly dark, uncomfortably ulterior and grotesquely Gothic - this is a novel about what lies either side of living. An imaginary world of ennui, dullness and repitition, osmotically conveyed through the principle character of Lily, a self absorbed caricature of suburban mediocrity, self hate and hopelessness. No surprise that Self constantly refers to negative historical events, unrestrained materialism and the deceptive allure of drug misuse. I felt that the story was less about how the dead live but how the living are dead. A moribund existence of destructive competition, agression, hate and intolerance. Take for example, Lily's daughters who inhabit lives at opposite ends of the social spectrum: Charlotte is the archetypal middle-class wifey, soaked in opulence and drowning in convention, whereas Natasha craves heroin and emotionally inept relationships. Although the content is bleak, Self's acute portrait of society's ills, is humourously conveyed. There is an incisive satire at play here, perhaps jaundiced by death but, nevertheless, a lesson in objective analysis that left me feeling upbeat and entertained. After all this is just a fictional story about a pre/post life consciousness that is often the domain of religion. To what extent Self is teasing himself and/or the reader is an interesting question.
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10 of 11 people found the following review helpful By A Customer on 20 Aug 2001
Format: Paperback
Firstly, I'd advise anyone against ever reading any book with a dictionary or a thesaurus in hand, what a total waste of time. If you find you are looking up a number of words in the first few pages, and cannot use their context to illuminate the meaning, put the book down.
This is satire, the satire of Chris Morris, and indeed Self has recently taken time to defend Brass Eye. It is easy to see where the two men coincide intellectually; they are relentlessly embittered by the mores of society, they want to hit back at the comfortable, and are driven to vent their frustrations through artistic expression at the very boundaries of taste. As such, How the Dead Live is a car crash of a novel - you don't want to look because you'll hate what you see, but you crane your neck anyway. The relentless, loveless prose is amazing, energetic, high and low brow, funny and scandalous.
But the narrator proves herself to be a one-trick pony, and I was tired of her negative voice long before the end of the book. There are some great ideas - the Nowhere bars where business men sweat underneath video screens of Australian skies, sitting on tyres and drinking home brew beer for example, or the day-to-day life of dead Lily in Dulston proves to be inventive and funny (although recycled from an earlier idea). Her death is moving, precise, and horrible, the main story of the second half of the novel, the story of Natasha, Lily's desperate, beautiful but unlovely junky daughter, is focussed and written with assurance.
But the trajectory of the book, its height however high, sees it fall back down to the ground, a kind of pizzling out of momentum. Self himself says that at a specific point (around 80,000 words) he lets the story tell itself.
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Format: Paperback
...definitely Self's worst book.

The aborigine ruined the whole book for me. He seemed out of place and there just so the author could have fun writing an aborigine accent. Though maybe it was worth all that just for the line lamenting how Fish and Chip shops have been replaced by Kebab Houses. It's a classic, so I won't ruin it by typing it out here.

As for best book ever written - try Great Apes instead.
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