When I finished Notebooks I felt like I just walked away from my window seat of a plane who's engines burst into flames and landed nose first into a rock quarry. This book taps into the power and anger and self-loathing that is only found in underground punk-rock. Anyone who is familiar with Billy Childish will now of his extensive punk rock background - he's pretty much defined it in post 70's Britain. For anyone who isn't familiar with Mr. Childish he's self published/produced over 30 collections of poetry, over 70 full length LP's and over a thousand paintings in the past twenty years. This is his second novel.
In just under two-hundred pages we witness one man's quest into the underground. This happens on all levels, and the obvious connections to Dostoyevsky's anti-hero of Notes From the Underground need not be expounded upon. He physically moves more and more towards the earth. He keeps resting his head to the pavement. He searches caves for monsters. He's obsessed with an ice-aged man found in the bog - so much so he names his band The Bogmen. This is the journal of a man living in the area which mainstream culture and society deems non-existent. He is trying to come to terms with the natural paradox of his situation and every sentence, paragraph, page, and chapter exhumes the corpse of this underlying dilemma. One chapter negates the last, as every sentence uttered by the narrator or every action performed out of self-loathing. Yet he is supremely proud and vain. He's an author that has never written or been published.
The action is a descent from an concrete version of hell-on-earth to the burlesque pandemonium of the Hamburg sex clubs tracing the footsteps of John Lennon. The narrator becomes surrounded by ghosts more and more he becomes one himself. He's been non-existent for a while by living in the underground, but he's still growing and self conscious of his position. "Of course there is nothing funny about death or ghosts. And children's ghosts, I should imagine, are far more frightening than their grown up counterparts, especially the ghosts of murdered children." The narrator shows us that he hasn't chosen his position but he does go to every length to ensure he stays there.
I really believe this is one of the truly "underground" books of our time. It truly is a challenge on most levels as the borders between narrator and author are blurred with Billy Childish using aspects from his life in the fiction even up to the point of calling the narrator William Loveday. I think this is the first time since Kerouac, that the fictional "I" can be mistaken for the author as happens quite frequently in poetry. Again the metaphors of ghosts and underground come back to haunt us. And I am left wondering if this purchase is just like the narrator who pays for someone to love him?