Martin Amis is in the news at the moment: last night, he was even interviewed by Jeremy Paxman. What has he done to get in the news? He's published a book. Ok, the cynicism is probably a little unfair. A new Martin Amis novel has some news value in its own right: it is not as newsworthy as my own first novel will be - no link to that, but you might want another look at this - but that's because Martin Amis has published lots of books before; my first novel will, by definition be unique, at least until the second one comes out.
Martin Amis also, of course, has an efficient publicity machine, which is aided in no small part by his ability to make controversial statements and provoke equally controversial reactions. So far, although the book was only published a week ago, Lionel Asbo has already provoked numerous responses: see, for example, the comments section at the end of the Guardian review I linked to above. How many of these people have read the book, I don't know; to be fair, not many claim to have.
That's the thing, of course, Amis is newsworthy because people talk about him and people talk about him because he's newsworthy. I try not to be too obvious when writing this blog; I haven't read Lionel Asbo yet, although I might, but I do have an opinion about Martin Amis and you're going to read it (unless you click on something more interesting).
I've read a few of Martin Amis's books. The only two I have any time for are Money and Time's Arrow. I admire and (to an extent) enjoy his prose style, which seems to grab the reader by the throat and drag him or her outside for a good kicking. The problem is that, apart from the two books I mention, this seems to be all it does. Halfway through The Rachel Papers - his first novel, but not the first I read - I decided that I'd got the joke, but I wanted to see what he was going to do: the answer turned out to be not a lot.
Time's Arrow I like because it uses a spectacular conceit - the first-person narrator views his own life backwards, from death to birth - to discuss an important topic. To avoid spoiling the plot, the identity of the narrator becomes clear to the narrator at the same time as the reader. The method of the narration raises questions about moral responsibility and defamiliarises an element of twentieth century history so significant (and so horrific) that it is difficult to gain any perspective on it. The only problem with this novel is the ending (the narrator's birth) is clearly predictable.
Money is set in Thatcher's Britain and its aggressive style suits the decade like a ball and chain would suit her son. That isn't its most impressive feature. The novel features a minor character, a local novelist called (hold your sides) 'Martin Amis'. A year before Money was published I wrote a short-story that featured a minor character called 'Jason Jawando'. Far be it from me to suggest that Martin Amis is a dirty plagiarist, but to paraphrase Father Dougal, it is a bit of a coincidence.
