London Fields by Martin Amis

It seems to me that clever and darkly humorous books come in two varieties. The first sort is absorbing enough that you don't think about how clever it is until after you have finished. You are so immersed in the content that the author's wit and erudition don't intrude but serve to enhance the rest of the package. Catch 22 would be an example. The second sort of book seems to be not much more than a vehicle for the author to show off. The plot and the characters are all incidental and only serve as a framework to showcase the author's self-perceived cleverness. This novel, London Fields, would be an example.

The plot, as such, is a mystery of sorts, as a sexy femme fatale who is intent on orchestrating her own murder manipulates two potential murderers -- a lowlife petty crook and a naively romantic rich man -- through homemade pornography (for the first) and sexual teasing (for the second), while confiding her plans to the narrator, a blocked writer who is using the situation as the plot for his first novel. The setting is a London at a time when the climate has gone crazy and the political situation seems headed toward a nuclear Crisis. The mystery is how she will accomplish becoming a murderee and who the actual murderer will be.

That sounds mildly interesting, but in actuality it all becomes quite boring, because nobody behaves as real people behave, not even remotely. Yes, novelists very often exaggerate their characters for humorous effect, but they (the characters) surely should bear some similarity to actual human beings.

I believe that the personality of an author almost always comes through, particularly in fiction. My main problem with this novel is, I think, that I don't believe I would like Martin Amis, as a person. I imagine him as arrogant, self-involved, mean-spirited, and pretentious. That's the message this novel left with me.