Matthew Gallaway

This is one of the hardest reviews I have ever had to write. As a general rule, I do not write overly negative reviews, particularly not for first-time novelists. As someone who would like to be a novelist myself, I have little desire to leave public dismissals of others, nor do I think that the subjectivity of taste mandates it. Most of the time. However, I found "The Metropolis Case" to be such an appalling book, particularly given I was so excited to read it, that I would hate for others to spend time and money upon it.

The plot, in brief, centres on the stories of four people: a middle-aged man in contemporary Manhattan dealing with aging and changes of personal taste; a renowned opera singer at the peak of her career, and her young protege who fights the odds to become a star herself; and a mysterious young Frenchman in the 19th century whose father has incredible goals. Their plots all gradually spiral around the core subjects of opera, New York City, and unexpected human connections. Those are literally three of my favourite things in the world, so I was anticipating adoring this novel. It also takes its core themes (and narrative strands) from two of my favourite operas, one by Wagner (very clearly signposted throughout) and the other by Janacek (heavily implied by the book's title). Unfortunately, the novel is a complete mess. I can only assume the publisher took it on because they believed the subject matter would appeal to the affluent. The good reviews ... well, I can't begin to explain those.

Where to start? Most of the plotlines are dead in the water. It's not that the stakes need to be high, of course; philosophical change can be as fascinating as the physical. But in this case, the tales of Martin, Anna, and Maria read as poorly-written Wikipedia articles. Gallaway is prone to dashing off paragraphs full of straight-out exposition, writing with affectless prose in which he tells, rather than shows us, what is happening. He'll often utilise either paranthesis or "i.e." in his narrative voice, which makes the reader feel as if they are reading a glorified timeline. (To paraphrase: "They had this conversation on Wednesday, i.e. the day after the funeral".) The exposition lacks any bite, so that when a group of French revolutionaries are slaughtered by soldiers, it has all the panache of scenes in which Martin feeds a cat. The dialogue is equally as woeful, sounding like first-draft narrative filler. At one point, Richard Wagner himself shows up, and speaks in the same bland tone as Martin's vet! There's an obviousness to the way in which Gallaway tells his story that feels as if he is ticking items off a list. It's like the lesser of the "Choose Your Own Adventure" novels. Maria and Anna never register as complete characters, and Martin is just barely above them. This is primarily because, rather than seeing the characters engaging with real experience, we're just told what is happening inside their heads, and also what philosophical affect this has on them, as if we're reading a textbook.

The story of Lucien, the young Frenchman, is at least good for a few intriguing images, and the general gaucherie of 19th century France. Yet, it still cannot be saved from the plodding weight of Gallaway's prose. Lucien is even less of a character than the modern-day figures, presumably because the author thinks of him as a kind of fantasy archetype. No-one in this earlier timeline speaks any differently than the 21st century characters, and Lucien's father speaks of his wife's death as if it were another one of his biology experiments.

It doesn't help that Gallaway's prose is needlessly verbose; you may find yourself running to the dictionary on a regular basis, but you'll rarely return to the novel feeling that the word was warranted. Amongst all of this, there are some shockingly bad metaphors (audiences do not "duck" to avoid being hit by "beams of sound" from a powerful singer on stage).

All of which is to say, this is a book where the original narrative treatment must have looked wonderful. It would still make a good film if a thoughtful screenwriter hammered out the dialogue and thematic elements. But it's fairly clear that Gallaway simply worked from his treatment, transferring each line into a paragraph of loping plot, and forgot to include any dialogue markers that might give any of his narrative figures a sense of character. The final surprise of the novel is instantly ruined if you know the opera that it's riffing on -- and is it even a riff? It's literally the plot of that opera, right down to the hilariously tacky character surname and final image. Since I expected that from chapter one, it wasn't hard to piece everything together.

I suppose I admire Gallaway for being one of the few modern-day writers to make opera the centre of his plot, and not just in an honourary way. He clearly has a real passion for the subject matter, and his attempts to work through the pain of both personal and societal loss with Martin are meritorious. While Martin as a person doesn't resonate, Gallaway's own thoughts on the way age and desire often battle one another are intriguing. There is one chapter featuring his character toward the end which is quite affecting, even if it feels like a short story forcibly inserted into the novel. Unfortunately, the novel completely fails to please on any level. Both the prose and the dialogue are clunky and generic, not a single character rises above the cumbersome plotting, and the narrative excesses are rarely believable, but nor are they imaginative enough to make us want to suspend our disbelief. But on the plus side, the book comes with a thoroughly pretentious "study guide", so it can clarify some of the philosophical arguments that you may have missed while you were sleeping through the book.

Oy vey.… (altro)

Wow! I truly enjoyed this book. I struggled with giving it 4 or 5 stars. I'm not sure that I've come across a story quite like this one and it was nice to read something fresh. Too often do I encounter books that are simply re-creations of tried and true story lines. Okay, yes - it was a love story of sorts and don't they all tend to follow the same agonizing paths before they get to the end? Well, yes - usually. But, the premise behind this story was something quite refreshing. The 4 main characters found themselves tormented, tortured and desiring more from their lives. Their journey within the music world was quite interesting and it painted a picture in which I could believe these 4 people actually exist.

On a few occasions, I found the story becoming bogged down with bits and pieces that could have been streamlined so that it flowed a little more smoothly and kept pace a little better, but that didn't detract too much from this story of love, lust, music, and personal growth.

Thank you Matthew Gallaway for allowing me to read this book - I will certainly look forward to more from you.… (altro)

I was intrigued with an opera being the center of a book's plot. As I read this book, I was impressed with how the author moved between the different stories, but still "moved" the overall plot forward. All of the characters seemed not to care about the consequences of their actions, but simply lived life to the fullest.

Gallaway's portrayal of the typical New Yorker reacting to the events of 9/11 through Martin definitely resonated with me. While I wasn't in New York that day, I lived in within an hour of the city at the time of the attacks. I saw many of my coworkers and friends react and try to cope with the what happened that morning.

I had a hard time relating to Anna and felt that she was the least developed character. I expected to learn more about her as the book progressed. Maria was an interesting character, but continued to be troubled even as an adult.

Lucien provided a good perspecive on life in a different century and how the focus back then was on different priorities - building new places and cities. It's easy to forget that the grandeur of Europe wasn't there initially and it had to be developed.

I found a hard time relating to most of the characters and found that if there hadn't been the mystery of the opera's influence on their lives I would have had a hard time reading this book.… (altro)