Collage: Slaves of the book / 'A superior commercial thriller' / The Plastic People of the Universe

 

RTomens, 2023

This a page from an altered book that I've just completed. I'm in the process of scanning every page and when that's done I'll be providing the link here on the blog.

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Unusually, my TBR pile is promising enough to prevent me from being tempted to buy another novel for a while.

That's a lie, the kind us book-lovers tell ourselves. 'I've got enough to be going on with.' - yeah, right.

On the bus this morning, heading for shops containing books that I will not buy, I had the mad idea of reading everything by Agatha Christie. God know where it came from, except possibly the fact that I'm currently reading a crime novel, although that's were the similarity ends. I doubt that one line in Tom Rob Smith's Child 44 is similar to anything written by Christie, but then again, I may be wrong. 

'That's not what you normally read,' said a friend, spotting the book by my bed. True, it isn't. I likened it to him watching a Tom Cruise action film as opposed to his normal 'tasteful' fare of film noir, Westerns, cult classic etc. I fancied a change, you know? Not that I'm a 'highbrow' reader. The last one I finished was Shane by Jack Schaefer and a more plainly written novel you could not find, which does nothing to lessen the effect of the story.

Meanwhile, it was the mid-20th century Russian setting of Child 44 which made me interested, that and the fact that it was in a £2 sale. It's back and inner front pages are packed with positive blurb, although one almost had the opposite effect to the one desired. 'A superior commercial thriller' Telegraph' it reads. 'Commercial'? Me, engaging in 'commercial' culture? Surely not? I shun commerciality! I'm...I'm above anything that smacks of being 'commercial'! 

So, OK. I get to around page 70 and, being underwhelmed, contemplate giving it the elbow. I was wasting my time on a 'commercial' thriller, wasn't I? But then the true nature of an evil regime's idea of 'justice' begins to be explored and described more deeply and Smith does a good job of depicting the terror of being convicted in the name of communism. Suffice to say, I'm hooked.

Coincidentally, last week I discovered, The Plastic People of the Universe, a band operating underground (where else?) in communist Czechoslovakia. As is often the case, severe social constraints conspire to spark wild creations in the name of free expression and The Plastic people were very 'free'. I loosely liken their range of style to Trout Mask-era Beefheart but in case that puts you off, give them a listen anyway. 

For now, ta-ta.