Old Devils

Rating:
Summary: What is it like to be old?
Review: Kingsley famously is said to have never finished any of his son Martin's novels and even to have thrown one against the wall in exasperation. As a fan of both father and son, I have always thought that the reason was because Martin's prose is more colloquial and has more spontaneous energy than his father's, i.e. is more modern. Well, Old Devils shows me that Kingsley can be extremely colloquial, even rambling, while showing off his customary wit and rancor. You will grin and reread moments as you trek across Wales, learning what is it like to be old and full of regret. If you love Lucky Jim, try this. Otherwise, go to Lucky Jim first.

Rating:
Summary: rare is the book
Review: Rare is the book that leaves one red-eyed with laughter. Rarer still the book that turns the same embarrassing trick (I try to avoid reading this book in public), after a dozen dog-eared readings. The aging Weavers, also-ran poet Alun and trophy-wife Rhiannon, return to a small Welsh hornet's nest after fair-to-middling success in London. Rakish Alun, with enough of his hair left to engender envy, but lacking the stature that would safely have hoisted him above the slings and arrows of envy's snipery, is asking for it. Kingsley Amis (the millionaire's father), apparently as cynical a wit as ever there was, masters his prose as well as he shepherds his readers' use of it, wise to the fact that no fool is half so funny as a loved one. The reader is made to love the titular devils, logy duffers all, of "The Old Devils", giving the lie to the very concept of so-called "identity fiction" (i.e.: WASPS prefer reading about WASPS; Gay Blacks about Gay Blacks). These doddering Welsh cranks could hardly be less like this particular reader, but Amis fits their false teeth in my mouth and wedges their swollen ankles into my shoes with clubby, back-patting authority. Peer through his microscope into this acre or two of Wales and you will be jarred with a salutary sight: life as we know it. He was an old enough devil himself to pull the trick off. (That there also seem present autiographical clues to Amis' own less-than-placid second marriage is beneath our concern, correct?)

Rating:
Summary: I hate it more than life itself
Review: Say what you like about Martin Amis, at least he has a reader-friendly prose style. Which is more than can be said for Kingsley Amis. From a purely techno-linguistic viewpoint, the fic in question is unreadable. Ian Bell came up with a spot-on metaphor when he made mention of Kingsley's "paragraphs of oak". Heavy, unwieldy, boring as hell. It's the literary equivalent of Orson Welles sitting on your face for 294 pages.