The Canal [Kindle Edition]

This is an unusual book, very liitle happens yet I could not put it down. The book is full of beautiful descriptions of very ordinary things interspersed with the deep thoughts of the narrator. It feels that he is allowing the reader so far into his mind that it is almost a privilege to be there.
The dialogue is worth a particular mention, it is very engaging and feels very real.
Reading the book gives a very calming sensation. I think this is because the writing is very intense and almost forces you to read it slowly and savour every sentence.
I would recommend that you take your time with this book (it is less than 200 pages long) and enjoy the experience.

Dark, poignant and evocative, The Canal is a terrific short novel set in London. With dark humour, as well as some shocking events, it is gripping and, at times, philosophical in its musings on boredom, depression and obsession. The picture of London presented may not be particularly attractive, but it's gritty and realistic.

One man is drawn to the canal where he sits all day instead of going to work. When he is joined on the bench by a stranger, he develops a need to know more about her, but she's not giving much away. The only witnesses to this are the ever present swans and geese and, at times, the local gang from the housing estate while opposite the bench the trendy office workers carry on without noticing them.

Rourke draws the reader in and we want to know about the mysterious stranger just as much as the main character does.

The writing style is wholly without pretension. There's an almost Pinter-esque sense of threat and danger to the dialogue. Unexpectedly great stuff.

This is Lee Rourke's debut novel and follows his 2007 collection of short stories "Everyday".
It was the joint-winner of the Guardian's "Not the Booker Prize" for 2010 and perhaps deservedly so, because "The Canal" represents the kind of brave, edgy approach to fiction that the Booker Prize seems to so consistently shy away from in favour of the tried and tested, safe bets that come in the shape of established authors treading already-trodden routes.
Rourke's short book clips along at a fair old pace, despite essentially being an existentialist novel full of heavy themes. His prime theme is boredom: "It is the power of everyday boredom that compels people to do things - even if that something is nothing."
In the case of Rourke's narrator it is his boredom with work that causes him to quit and spend his days sitting on a bench by a north London canal.
Here he sits and observes everyday goings-on - people at work; kids being vandals - before eventually being joined by a female companion. Their relationship is the narrative drive behind the book, as the two characters explore their outsider status - this woman too seems to be out of work of her own volition - while a kind of muted love story develops.
The book opens with a quote from German existentialist Martin Heidegger - "We are suspended in dread" - that accurately reflects a lot of the characters observed in the novel by the narrator, and even the narrator himself to an extent.
Everyone is suspended in the dread of becoming bored, forced to while away the time to prevent themselves from becoming bored by working, keeping up with fashion, or "watching TV, for no other reasons than there was nothing else to do, because that's what we are supposed to do."
Consequently, the narrator and his companion are being held up as brave people; people confronting the boredom of the world head on and embracing it my sitting on a bench and doing nothing day after day.
The female companion's violent streak (I won't say more in case people haven't read the book) are where the book excels itself, taking on poignant issues in novel ways, and in their own way expressing a whole generations repressed disgust at the banality of existence - not the banality of nothingness, but the banality of the substitutes for nothingness (work; fashion; etc...)
Even though boredom is ostensibly the key theme here, the book is more about outsiders and owes a great debt to Albert Camus, and particularly to Camus's best-known shot work, "The Outsider". The debt to Camus reaches its most blatant when the narrator recalls his Grandfather's funeral: "It didn't seem real at all. Everyone seemed to be acting out their parts."
However, that is not to say there is no original thinking here. Rourke presents us with two characters who want far more from life than acting out their parts, and "The Canal" does far more than act out the part expected of a contemporary English novel. Rourke is particularly brave when taking on the narrator's companion's sexual thrill at the idea of suicide bombers preparing to kill themselves.
Some parts of the book I read cringingly, notably the cultural references, which felt tacked on - "they were listening to Dizzee Rascal - although it could have been any one of the numerous grime stars of London. Dizzee Rascal is the only one I have heard of, so I presumed it was him" - while other parts felt too deliberate, too much of an attempt to fit a character to prescribed literary type - the narrator's intricate knowledge of plane sizes, names, types and flight paths.
But this is the kind of novel all too rarely produced by an English novelist. It has the guts to attack the big themes of the day (inner city development; poverty; job satisfaction and loss - essentially, Brown and now Cameron's Britain) and the big eternal themes (what it means to exist, and what we should do with our existence).
Some parts feel a bit clunky, but 90% of the book feels slick, thoughtful and challenging. From here Rourke can only get better, and I for one will be picking up his second novel when it appears.