I've never been a huge fan of short stories, certainly not collections of them. Will Self is, however, an exception to this. The complexity of his prose and his verbal gymnastics have always been easier to consume in smaller chunks, often feeling oppressive over the length of a novel.
"Liver", subtitled 'a fictional organ with a surface anatomy of four lobes' comprises 4 short stories, loosely held together by the idea of the organ and what it means to us as humans. Of course, this being Will Self, this has a lot to do with spiralling addiction, the abasement of the soul and the dirty underbelly of London.
The first story, "Foie Humain", concerns itself with the revolting, alcoholic inhabitants of the Plantation Club, a private members club in Soho of the eighties. They bicker, abuse each other, abuse new comers and gradually drink themselves to death. This is what Will Self does best- the characters are as close to parody as you can get without becoming farce, but they are a gleefully drawn bunch of grotesques. The story is worth reading for their names alone, 'Her Ladyship', 'The Extra', 'His Nibs' and 'The Martian' and it is laugh out loud funny in parts.
The second, "Leberknodel", is a surprisingly sensitive and thoughtful piece about a terminally ill cancer patient on her way to Switzerland to commit assisted suicide. I had the pleasure of hearing Will Self read an extract from this at a literary festival, so when reading it I could hear every word in his rich and distinctive voice.
The third is a straight retelling of the "Prometheus" myth set in the world of advertising, which is effective, if a little obvious.
The final story, "Birdy Num Num" is about a party of drug users as seen by the HIV virus that passes between them in dirty syringes.
When you pick up a Will Self book you know exactly what you are getting and "Liver" is no exception. There is more imagination and beautiful writing in these short stories than there are in most authors entire catalogue.
And this is where the collection fails as well as succeeds. "Foie Humain" is spoiled by a twist which reveals that the whole story to be nothing more than a clever pun and "Birdy Num Num" is muddled by the multiple layers of reality that Self plays with. It's all very clever, but it doesn't always work as a story. The way in which the Plantation Club weaves through the stories seems, in parts, little more than a trick to link them together, where they could easily have been stand alone.
That said, there are very few novelists who can write as well as Will Self and when it is good, like in "Leberknodel", then this book is stunning. Challenging and full of experimentation, but never less than fun to read.