The fifth and last installment of the Patrick Melrose novels by Edward St. Aubyn has just been publish to great acclaim. Never read any of them, so I decided to start at the beginning. 'Never Mind' is the first in the series. An English doctor is living with his American wife and five-year-old son in the south of France. The doctor has aristocratic credentials. The wife has money. Both are raging alcoholics. The son is a victim in countless many ways.
What a brilliant portrayal of sophistication, intelligence, cruelty, and depravity. It's both funny and heartbreaking at the same time. Here are some examples:
About the doctor and his wife: "At the beginning, there had been talk of using some of her money to start a home for alcoholics. In a sense they had succeeded."
The doctor about his wife: " 'I'm not a magician,' said David, 'I couldn't make her amusing, but I did at least keep her quiet. I was dreading having another talk about the agonies of being rich. I know so little about them, and she knows so little about anything else.' "
Anne, a secondary character, on the English aristocracy: ". . . she knew that nothing put the English more on edge than a woman having definite opinions, except a woman who went on to defend them. It was as if every time she played the ace of spades, it was beaten by a small trump. Trumps could be pieces of gossip, or insincere remarks, or irrelevant puns, or anything that dispelled the possibility of seriousness. She was tired of the deadly smile on the faces of people whose victory was assured by their silliness."
Some typical cynicism: "They arrived at the open door of the plane, pale and overdressed, and started to clank their way down a flight of metal stepls, caught between the air crew who pretended to be sorry at their departure and the ground crew who pretended to be pleased by their arrival."
The doctor on his alcoholic wife: " 'Pink suits her so well, don't you think?' said David to Bridget. 'It matches the colour of her eyes.' "
On funerals: " 'I'm afraid I don't approve of memorial services,' said David, taking another puff on his cigar. 'Not merely because I cannot imagine anything in most men's lives that deserves to be celebrated, but also because the delay between the funeral and the memorial service is usually so long that, far from rekindling the spirit of a lost friend, it only shows how easily one can live without him.' ... 'The dead are dead,' he went on, 'and the truth is that one forgets about people when they stop coming to dinner. There are exceptions, of course - namely, the people one forgets during dinner.' "
A nice line about writing: "I have written books which I have had to write, but I have not yet written a book which others have to read."
Love this: "I know you'll think it's very primitive and American of me, but why do people spend the evening with people they've spent the day insulting?' 'So as to have something insulting to say about them tomorrow."
The writing is gorgeous in places. I was truly impressed. He really can write. Will eventually read all five novels.
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| Jacque-Louis David's 'Death of Marat' |
St. Aubyn is just brilliant in portraying the kind of putrification that occurs when the aristocracy become irrelevant. Over centuries they have acquired wealth, patronized great artistic achievements, cultivated sophistication in countless areas, and pushed the limits of knowledge forward. But now they are left behind without final resources, without meaningful privilege, and without superiour intelligence. Nonetheless they cling to their sophistication with a bitterness and cruelty that is both amusing and repulsive. Leave the most sophisticated food in the fridge too long and it goes rancid. We can sense its former greatness, but rancid is rancid. Every so often you have to clean out the fridge.
It's enough to make me sympathize with the worst abuses of the French Revolution. Perhaps Marat was right. Off with their heads!
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