8 of 11 people found the following review helpful
By A Customer
This review is from: The Colour of Memory (Paperback)
The Colour of memory is a nostalgic drench in those balmy happy-go-lucky days of 1980s unemployment, a sort of Dolequeue Revisited. Its cast of urbane, witty, 20-something Brixton-dwellers coast serenely from park to pub to party in a haze of soft drugs, beer, and sparkling conversation. This is the Dandy Aristocracy of the DHSS, critics and artists all, cunningly staying clear of the squalor of a dull job, biding their time on housing benefit until their genius is recognised. They are only occasionally menaced by the more brutal elements of the society around them, elements never as thin, beautiful, or musically-sophisticated as themselves, often identifiable by the noun+faced adjectives applied to them: lard-faced, lager-faced, pavement-faced etc. The story is told in short, episodic passages, each rising to a final poetic epiphany - ah, so many epiphanies in those blissful days of Thatcherite largesse! The writing is crafted in strong equiAmisian contours, marked by the play and reversal of cliche, the sharp decoding of metropolitan debris, the random danger of proletarian violence. It ends with a thin ooze of vague, unearned tragedy, and, rather strangely, warms one to the memory of Norman Tebbit.
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Initial post: 25 Mar 2014 22:31:28 GMT
Amusing review. Almost as amusing as Geoff Dyer. You should write a book.
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