Jerusalem
Reviews
What a dazzling book, a huge feat of imagination and complexity and I suppose humanism that mostly kept me really engaged. I can't help thinking that it may be one of the bigger literary achievements that'll be published in my lifetime, though I say that in the immediate aftermath of having finished it and without any real critical distance, so maybe it's just the "whew am I glad I've got that one under my belt" buzz talking. It's definitely not for everybody -- see for example the 45-page chapter of what seems like (but isn't) near-gibberish, which really challenged me (and which was equal parts frustrating and genius). It's a long book (nearly 1300 pages) and not a typical narrative by a long stretch. It really is a beautifully made thing, though, and for me was very much worth the time and effort I put into it, but your mileage very likely varies.
Oh boy, what a ride. I am a fan of Alan’s work and this was a very interesting read. I do feel you need to understand the context on which he wrote this and a bit of his work to fully appreciate Jerusalem. To be fair, I don't know if I really enjoyed this book. It does makes you feel and think a lot, and in many times I caught myself not wanting to open it, almost like I was avoiding a confrontation. It messes with you a little. I believe that was the intention.
It's becoming a personal tradition to undertake a winter brick challenge. Around the time of the shortest days I'll try and distract myself and semi-hibernate with a book that's either very long or otherwise forbidding by it's reputation. This one fulfilled these requirements: it's very long and complex. The first third is many short views from individual lives lived in Northampton at different times. There's a connection with William Blake, Jerusalem and Angels but this only becomes clear (er) in the second third. Some other readers on this site didn't make it this far, but the vision and philosophy makes it worth it. There are some emotional story pay-offs in the end of the last third but by that time they're a bit of an anti-climax. Alan Moore, the author of "Watchmen" and "V for Vendetta" graphic novels is to be applauded for his ambition, but he would have benefitted from a fiercer editor. Ground-hog day is over, now onward to lighter days.
Highlights
He might have warmed up more to culture if it didn’t act quite so compulsory.
the intestinal tangle of sun-buttered streets,
A Christmas Carol not The Signalman, Canterville Ghost perhaps but not Lost Hearts, the English ghost story it’s marvellous one of the things
Britain rules a moment which it has mistaken for the globe.
When all this extraordinary stuff is happening everywhere, are Stan Lee’s post-war fantasies of white neurotic middle-class American empowerment really the most adequate response?
Roman has a capacity for violence, never a propensity.
The drugs, in Rome’s opinion, are born of the probably-American idea that those in the developed world have an inalienable right to be contented every hour of their existence.
screwtineyesees
From rags to rags to rags to rags to dust has never been an Oscar-winning formula.
Her personality is a long-running radio drama that is broadcast chiefly for her own amusement, much as she suspects is true of many people.
Alma allows herself the guttural chortle of an ogre who’s just realised where the schoolchildren are hiding.
Guildhall Road, George Row and Angel Lane
He saw blue posters with a woman’s face on. She had pained eyes like somebody who’s embarrassed by you but is too polite to say, and a nose built only for looking down.
There was no door-policy in Mansoul. People kept themselves out, rich and poor alike, either because they thought they were too good to mingle, or too bad.
susurrus
It would over-egg the lily. It would gild the pudding.
eyelids’ plush pink safety curtain,
Their brief knot of hilarity and mutual incomprehension was unravelled into two loose, snickering ends that trailed away in opposite directions.
This girl, he thought, could eat him, then burp raucously and be upon her way without a second thought.
in general people’s lives would be sufficient to explain them going silly.
White-water driving by some Netto Fabulous crash-dummy who bled Burberry,
bad dreams trapped like astral rising damp in the foundations.
not just lost the plot but having wilfully flushed the entire script down the shitter.
If things were no longer going on the way they should be, didn’t that mean anything could happen?