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The novel seems to have eclipsed other fiction forms in recent times, but there is a still a roll for the short story. I certainly enjoy many short stories, they can distil a story to its central elements more effectively than longer forms. A certain form of short story is the ‘weird’ story, such as those of Franz Kafka or J G Ballard. One I found recently is the ‘imaginary tribe story; try it on:
I have a rating system that I use for novels, where I classify them into five categories. In ascending order they are:
level 1: Dreck, airport fiction, books with no literary merit. They have no good prose, no interesting ideas and basic plots. Vast quantities of these books seemed to be sold.
level 2: Dreck with redeeming features: these are books that would otherwise be assigned to level one, but have some aspect that raises them above the rest. They have a compelling story (despite being poorly written) or they cover some interesting issue. I tend to put Dan Brown in here, his books are poorly written, but at least they can cover interesting issues.
level 3: Books That Women Read on Trams. This is the category that started me really putting this scale together. It came from an observation of the types of books that you see women reading on the Tram on the way to work. I would put in this category novels such as “Perfume” by Patrick Susskind. This is the solid core of literature, good well written books. Female friends some times criticise me for having this category: it is derogatory to women. But I tend to see it as generally a positive description, a description of the good quality books that women read, above the general books you tend to see men read (if they are reading at all).
level 4: These are the standout novels that rise above the herd, that have some really standout characteristics. My archetypal level four novel is “The Name of the Rose” by Umberto Eco which manages to tell a compelling murder mystery story while delving into the rich detail of religious and political disputes of the 12th century.
level 5: The top shelf. The great novels that only come along occiasionally. They win the nobel prize for literature. Of course in here we have “Remembrance of Things Past” by Proust and “Ulysses” by James Joyce. We also have “Infinite Jest” by David Foster Wallace.
George Orwell wrote “Homage to Catalonia” in 1937, when the outcome of the Spanish Civil War was still unknown. It recounts his time living in Spain and fighting with the independent Marxist group, the POUM, against the Spanish fascists, a fight where he was wounded and eventually managed to escape with life (and his wife).
The novel is a matter of fact telling of his short time in Spain, highlighting all the characteristics of this particularly Spanish war: “Fortunately this was Spain not Germany. The Spanish secret police had some of the spirit of the Gestapo, but not much of its competence”. It is told in his own low key, and particularly English middle class style:
“During the May trouble, as I had seen for myself, he had prevented fighting locally and probably saved ten or twenty lives. And all they could do in return was to fling him into jail. It was a waste of time to be angry, but the stupid malignity of this kind of thing does try one’s patience”.
It is of course an “of the time” telling of the war, between the Fascists under Franco, and the democratic Republicans, a hodge-podge of anarchists, social democrat, independent Marxists and Russian controlled Communists. As the war progressed the republic came more and more under the sway of the Communists; the anarchists and independent Marxists were increasingly maligned and suppressed. In the geo-political thinking of the Russians, this made sense; they did not want an independent socialist country upsetting the balance of power in Europe.
It is disturbing, even now, to read of the fighting spirit of the trade union members who had spontaneously rushed to the front line, with antique weapons, to defend the Republic, while the communists fought, but also conspired, behind the lines to defeat independent thought and action. Orwell only just escaped with his life when the communist controlled Government banned the independent POUM, arresting their members when they were on leave from the front fighting the Fascists.
And it is in this period that Orwell sees his first distortions of the truth. The papers describe heroic battles that never occurred, failing to mention those that had, describing the loyal POUM as a Fascist fifth column and distorting the truth as required by the masters in Moscow. It is here that the first stirrings of the world of ’1984′ become apparent as the truth, or even basic facts, become slaves to ideology.Despite being written nearly a decade before 1984, the power of propaganda (telling outright lies to support a political motive) becomes apparent. His disillusionment with the mainstream left, and his independent clear thinking mind shines through.
Orwell has been overblown recently as some kind of prophet. Yet the power of his writing, his insistence on writing what he sees, on thinking about issues and keeping an open mind, not to be drawn into ideology or dogma, shines through. This was a period of the clash of the greatest forces in the 20th Century, Fascism and Communism, and this is a view of them up front and personal. At 220 pages, a must read for anyone interested in politics and history.