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So far I'm enjoying the book, revolving around two couples who have been friends for years. Vic and Tess, he's a musician with all the moral fortitude of the average Tom cat and she's the Tom-boyish laddette with whom he has finally made a connection; Joe and Emma, who met and fell in love at first sight over iron sofas and who now are the picture of post-yuppie coupledom with their baby boy named Jackson. Everything is cozy, the men bond over philosophy and curry, though the women have little in common. And then Princess Di died. Emma seeks solace in Vic's arms, mistaking his teary eyes for the same distress she's feeling, rather than the hay fever he's actually suffering. So begins their elicit liaison. I'm a little torn as I read, wondering how much of
this is David trying to prove he's a grown-up writer, tackling
relationships in all their fucked-up glory. Not one of the characters so
far has a single redeeming quality that endears them to me. Vic, who I
sadly suspect is supposed to be the hero of the piece, comes across as
an insecure and slightly desperate bloke desperately clinging to some
lost rock-star image of himself. Emma, again I think we're supposed to
feel empathy for her, is this rather tiresome woman who, though patient
with her Alzheimer's afflicted mother, crumbles at the death of a former
royal and cheats on her husband with his best friend. Then there's Joe,
who is so desperate it's scary. A minor irritation is the way David has
used him as a political tool, he works in an HIV and AIDS research
clinic, and consequently occasionally we are educated. The messages are
all good ones, and need much more focus and attention, I just question
the forum, used in the context of a comedic novel the passages are just
plain out of place. However, the book is funny. It doesn't come close to
Time For Bed, David's first book, but there have so far been a few amusing
moments. Even if the characters and story aren't great the writing is
excellent and engaging. |
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By and large what this book isn't is funny. Where Time For Bed had me chuckling throughout Whatever Love has gone far beyond the call of duty and descended into something of a Greek tragedy. Vic and Emma's affair comes under threat when Emma becomes sick, a brain tumor. And this is the point in the book that I start to resent the author. You see the thing is you're not allowed to dislike a person, even a story book character, who is terminally ill...especially if it's the big C...and especially if it's a brain tumor, and even more if she's a mother and a wife. But I do. I dislike her intensely, she's a pain, so when she commits suicide...or at least that's what we have been so far been led to believe, I don't feel sorry for her...or Joe, who was screwing Tess, Vic's girlfriend while his wife was driving her car at a wall, or even Vic, who actually seems to be feeling something approaching real emotion for possibly the first time in the book. The bottom line is I just don't care about them...any of them. So now, when the pace of the narrative picks up, taking large time jumps in an effort to string together the inevitable story threads that lead towards the (I currently believe) predictable conclusion, I just want it over. I maintain, the writing is good I just wish David had decided to write about a) a more interesting group of people and b) an entirely different story...maybe with beer and football, which are frankly what he does best. Unless the ending has some miraculously redeeming feature I'm not entirely sure I'll read another of David's books. It's just not my cup of tea, and the whole Princess Diana thing...well it's a blatant hook on which to sell the book, a little controversy that often feels misplaced. So for the record, the story so far: Vic consoles Emma
when Di meets her maker, stuff about pubs, drugs and curry happens. Emma
gets a tumor, Joe analyses the biopsy...and traces it to Tess, who's
name Emma has obviously given to the hospital. Joe goes to comfort Tess
in her moment of need...which she doesn't need not having a tumor,
though she does think Vic's cheating...and so in retaliation sleeps with
Joe. Next morning, Joe's gone, Vic's there, the phone rings...it's Joe,
oops Emma's dead. Tess tries not to comfort Joe too much as it would be
a dead giveaway, Vic tries to be supportive but not too emotional,
equally a dead giveaway. Joe gets therapy, Vic gets depressed and Tess
gets a new job abroad. Joe visits Tess, gets absolution and also gets
his interest once more peaked by the biopsy sample. He finds the surgeon
who treated Emma, and while talking to him he mentions one of Emma's
nervous habits...pulling out her own hair (did I mention I didn't like
her?). Meanwhile Vic's depressed some more, and that's basically where
we're at. The end approaches and now Joe knows about Emma's tumor, and
will no doubt start putting the pieces together real soon, with much
wackiness ensuing. Stay tuned for the final (and probably unflattering)
final remarks. |
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I warned you it would be unflattering...and I really hoped I'd be wrong. Oscar Wilde's words proving true in this instance more than most; 'The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily.' It really bugs me when a book I have been looking forward to doesn't deliver in the worst possible way, I feel cheated...and basically that's how I felt as I turned the last page of the book. So Joe found out about Vic and Emma...had to happen, but did it have to be so bloody contrived? Want to know how he managed it? Well I'll tell you...he went to Emma's Alzheimer's afflicted mother and pressed 1471 (UK equivalent to *69 US people)! He got the phone number to the flat Vic rented for their elicit liaison and called it nightly until one night, driven by a desperate need to...ummm...well, that part was never adequately explained...let's just go with desperate need shall we...Vic goes to the flat. The phone rings, he answers 'hi, Vic here' and lo the plot gets an almighty kick towards finality. Then it all got very strange. I don't know what David thought he was up to with the end...it totally escapes me but I suspect chemical involvement. Here's how it happened...Joe turned up at Vic's place and thumped him, perfectly reasonable considering the guy was screwing his wife...but he did shag his girlfriend too, so the moral high-ground here is shaky to say the least. So...now Vic's all unconscious and what Joe does is drug him and take him back to his laboratory...a little too serial killer for my liking. So back in the lab; Joe reveals to Vic that his hay fever hasn't been so bad this year because...da da da he is HIV positive. And guess what, the tumor...that was AIDS related too...so in effect Emma's infidelity killed her, and Vic's dick was the weapon of her destruction. Oh...and in case you're wondering, no Tess and Joe aren't stuck down by the hand of fate, why? Because Tess is, for the most part, good...and uses condoms...always. I think Vic said it best when he told Joe, 'Let's stop pretending we're in a James Bond film, OK?' (actually he said it better when he said 'Please will you stop pissing about and just say what you fucking mean' but we'll overlook that small fact for now) because that's just what the end felt like, some dumb blokish set up to over dramatize and give validation to a rather dodgy novel. Like so much about this book it was sadly misjudged. It wasn't the blatant showing off about his obvious AIDS research that bothered me, or that Baddiel wanted to give the safe sex message, or a moral message...or even the basic message that when faced with really bad situations some types of men act like they're little boys and totally fuck up. It was the strained, often manipulated plotline, that could have been extracted with the minimum of fuss, which instead was delivered in the most complicated and convoluted way (much like this review??). The shame of it is that David Baddiel is a hugely talented writer, (though having recently viewed a few episodes of Baddiel's Syndrome lately I may want to retract that statement at some later date) he just tried too hard in this instance. I hope in the future he revisits the pure blokish brilliance of Time For Bed and perhaps puts romantic fiction (?? is that what this is??) on the back burner for some other time. On the whole this was a huge disappointment...and one I hope to recover from with my next read...maybe I should check out Rob Newman's books, see if he manages to accomplish what his former comedy partner failed to do.
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