William is a young keyboardist in London trying to make it in the music biz. But on the night of his first rehearsal with a new punk band (it’s the ‘80s), he witnesses the lead singer getting murderized by two dwarves. Could William be next - and whydunit?!
The Dwarves of Death is my least favourite Jonathan Coe novel that I’ve read so far. It starts well - the premise is intriguing - and ends sorta ok, but, despite it being relatively short at just over 200 pages, barely anything happens in between to justify its length.
William has a crap relationship with his girlfriend Madeline, he tries to write music, he writes notes to his flatmate Tina, and that’s about it. Thinking about it, I’m amazed Coe was able to write so much about so little. The ending is rushed and hella contrived with the motives appearing out of nowhere in a failed attempt to give the largely directionless story some kind of narrative cohesiveness.
The dialogue was good and some lines made me chuckle:
“And if we leave this life with dignity, what is there to regret?”
“That’s very true,” said Tony.
“How did your father die?”
“Gangrene of the scrotum.”
(p.42)
And Coe’s prose is smooth, even though this is only his third published novel. But as a novel, it’s much too long and lacking in substance for me - too much of not enough. Cut out most of the waffle, leaving the beginning and end, and you’ve got a decent short story. As it is, The Dwarves of Death isn’t worth bothering with, even for fans of the author.
No comments:
Post a Comment