Mark Connors

Mark Connors sets himself a difficult challenge, taking on Alan Siddall as protagonist of his debut novel. To make it even more difficult he declines to let himself off the authorial hook by allowing other narrative viewpoints - Alan is the only teller of his story, and you won't find a more foul-mouthed, cantankerous, purblind (for emphasis he constantly wears sunglasses even in the bath) or egoistic narrator in much of English literature. And crazy to boot. There's a reason you won't find many Alans in the literary annals; sensible authors don't take on a challenge like this - it's too bloody hard to pull off. Connors may be as mad as his creation - how can we read comfortably with a dirty obsessive in our ear like the fellow-passenger from hell and maybe to it? - but his genius is he makes it, and he makes us do it, and we're glad of it. For anyone tempted to get off the bus (and yes, it's a temptation when Alan is in full rant) I urge you to ride the whole way. The last fifty pages sees the writing - which is note-perfect throughout - rise to a different level.

[SPOILER ALERT]

There is a real emotional charge to Alan's health crisis (how can I be in tears for this bastard?) while the emergence of and final meeting with Cassandra is poignant, delicate and simultaneously affirmative and heart-achingly sad. One more thing: The last section, 'Me Mam's Magic Vase', provides the reason for the novel's title, and it is, honestly, one of the finest, most illuminating metaphors you will read in contemporary fiction.… (altro)