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64 of 76 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A phenomenal book, 27 May 2008
A fascinating and absolutely rivetting novel.
I finished The Northern Clemency 4 weeks ago and have been letting it sink in. It is a wonderfully resonant novel, and the people and places still live within my head. It is, for want of a better word, a 'family saga', following the lives of two Sheffield families from the 1970s to today but it is also much more than that. It creates an entire world with a 'cast of dozens', with some marvellous cameo chapters devoted to secondary figures who make the world come alive. It is terribly emotionally involving; it made me weep twice, and this is _because_ of its sparse language that allows the reader to fill in the gaps. The book threw me in and tumbled me about, lulled me into complacency and then hurled something unexpected at me.
I loved the way we weave in and out of different people's consciousnesses, and i never quite knew where I was going to end up.
The prose in this novel is to die for. Some favourite images include the phrase ' She looked at him, sharpening a pencil in her head' and, 'He danced, moving from one foot to the other and making vague clay-shaping motions with his hands.' I hope this gives you a tiny idea of the wonderfully assured mastery of this author. I knew I was in good hands from page 1, and I wasn't let down.
I loved the build-up and the way people get mentioned on p.2 and then disappear from view until they unexpectedly reappear on p.64 in new, delightful combinations. I was entranced by the insight that suspense and surprise needn't come from the story itself but can come entirely from the plot, that is, from the way the story is presented. Unexpected revelations sneak up on you and give you delicious shivers of recognition.
I absolutely loved it. I only wish there were additional amazon stars to mete out because this deserves 7 of them. It is truly outstanding.
One of the best novels I have read ever. And I don't say this lightly. (I read a lot, and mostly so-called 'literary fiction'. To give you an idea of my taste: I love Jane Austen, Vikram Seth's 'A Suitable Boy', Italo Calvino and David Mitchell.)
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22 of 28 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Exercise your reading muscles. And your book-holding-up muscles as well. , 11 Sep 2008
Let me start with a warning: DO NOT read this book if you have loads of work on. It is completely addictive and seriously difficult to put down. You find yourself longing to know what happens next. And before you know it, your hand is creeping involuntarily back towards that bright blue cover...
The Northern Clemency deals with two families who live on opposite sides of the street in Sheffield, running from 1974 to about 1998 I think, going from Formica storage units and Why Don't You? to Clerkenwell gastropubs via the Battle of Orgreave during the miners' strike. I particularly loved the details of the story: the removal men who bring the Sellars family's possessions up from London, and their strange "standards" about other people's stuff; Jane's minute observations of her mother's hopeless, unsilenceable crush on a work colleague.
However, I didn't like the book as much as Nina, reviewing above, who wanted to give it seven stars. She was a big fan of the sparse writing style, but for me it was just too plain, I longed for some real flights of the imagination. The book's been compared in reviews to great Russian literature but I thought that was inaccurate and that the plainness of style meant it was much more like 19th century English writing such as Mrs Gaskell.
The book contained many conversations where I was like "could I not have had a teeeny weeny bit less of this conversation, and still understood what was going on?". I also had trouble because I have never had a book where I had such trouble remembering who the characters were: and I found "Mardy", the first section, had such a dramatic and brilliant denoument, that the book never achieved that greatness again. Finally the last pages created for me many questions, and an odd sensation of having been left in the lurch.
For me, a good read, but not five stars because that aesthetic thing about the plain style just didn't quite do it for me. However for other readers that simplicity of story-telling might be just what they are looking for. The story certainly doesn't mess about, plunging you into those lives and those moments in time.
A last caveat to end on: for those with weak wrists- wait for the paperback. It's 738 pages and it weighs a ton. My wrist is aching, after the compulsive reading bender I've just been on to get to the finale.
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6 of 7 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
State of the kitchen, 6 Jan 2009
`So the garden of number eighty-four is nothing more than a sort of playground for all the kids of the neighbourhood?'
Hensher's book starts with the neighbouring adults discussing the adolescent children of the Glovers at a party which could have been thrown by Abigail herself - down to the party menu of coronation chicken and vol-au-vents. Hensher uses food rather than music to provide his date signposts. At the end of the novel Daniel, who is portrayed at the start lolling on a chair fantasising about swingers' parties with swapped car keys, spends three hours reading a novel in his trendy restaurant. It begins `So the garden....' What the ? 738 pages, hours of reading investment, and that's how the book ends? With a postmodern loop?
Some of this novel is very engaging and the years from 1974 to 1996 are fascinating for me as that's when I was growing up - so there are those recognition moments that Jonathan Coe's The Rotters' Club nailed so well. Hensher is excellent on adolescents and on the minutiae of family life in the three bedroom / one bathroom house that these two families grow up in. I don't find his 'grown ups' so convincing. And then, Hensher can't seem to make up his mind whether these adolescents and children have been shaped and haunted by their formative years or whether it has all faded. You don't forget people, or the names of those people who lived across the road from you, whose parents still live opposite your parents and about whom you'll have been hearing for years because your mothers are still very close friends. For me, it's silly that Daniel can't remember Francis's name, that Jane vaguely remembers that Francis lives in London and unconvincingly decides to phone him after 10 years' silence to tell him a funny story. This turns out to be a heavy handed link to finding out that one of the matriarchs is seriously ill.
This is a novel with pretensions for the macro as well as the micro and the social commentary and political aspects are much less successful for me. Tim is a cipher Socialist Worker type and so his violent scene involving police and miners and even Scargill just doesn't have the full tension that it should have. Nobody else seems very touched by the miners' strike despite where they are living and Bernie's job with the Electric!
Hensher's women are rather stereotypical too: purposeless housewives drinking wine before their husbands get home, hardfaced career or socialist women, hedonists or slags. Daniel and Sandra have an early conversation where he tells her how he always knows when his girlfriends have their period because of their spots and increased ardour...his brother, Tim, notices a few hundred pages later that his students make appointments with him a four weekly intervals, spotty and emotional and driven by their hormones. Hmmmm.
So, much of this novel I enjoyed, carried on through the 700+ page sprawl and genuinely wanting to know what was going to happen to the characters. Much was `clunky' to use his own criticism of various `state of the nation' novels in an essay in Prospect magazine (look it up online, much of his criticism applies to his own work).
I can't help feeling that good editing out of 200 or so pages would have made for a tighter, more coherent novel.
`What's it about?' Helen said. `Oh, I don't know,' Daniel said 'It's sort of about people like us, I think.' Hmmmm I don't know either....
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