Name: p.'s review of The Lessons by Naomi Alderman
Item: The Lessons
Rating: 3
Author: p.

Naomi Alderman

Hidden away in an Oxford back street is a crumbling Georgian mansion, unknown to any but the few who possess a key to its unassuming front gate. Its owner is the mercurial, charismatic Mark Winters, whose rackety trust-fund upbringing has left him as troubled and unpredictable as he is wildly promiscuous. Mark gathers around him an impressionable group of students: glamorous Emmanuella, who always has a new boyfriend in tow; Franny and Simon, best friends and occasional lovers; musician Jess, whose calm exterior hides passionate depths. And James, already damaged by Oxford and looking for a group to belong to. For a time the group lives in a charmed world of learning and parties and love affairs. But university is no grounding for adult life, and when, years later, tragedy strikes they are entirely unprepared. Universal in its themes of ambition, desire and betrayal, this spellbinding novel reflects the truth that the lessons life teaches often come too late. 'The naïve sense of indestructibility possessed by a close-knit group of students is expertly balanced with the suspense of what threatens to unfold.' Sophie Morris Saturday Independent 'Naomi Alderman's second novel examines the warping effects of wealth.' Joanna Briscoe, Observer 'Alderman's premise is familiar - trust-funder going to the bad - but this is, nonetheless, a dark spell of a book, with brooding disenchantment at its heart.' Eithne Farry. Daily Mail 'As the novel progresses, we are forced to look at how people are driven by impulses they're not even aware of, and the most brutal lesson of all: that love doesn't come without pain or sacrifice.' Alastair Mabbott, The Herald 'The Lessons is sturdily plotted and hooks you in: it's a good read if not unique.' Alice Fisher, Observer 'Alderman packs a punch with her opening line', Lianne Kolirin, Daily Express 'The Lessons has more insight into human nature than Martin Amis's The Pregnant Widow, and is more intellectually sustained. This is a second novel from a young writer of huge talent, ambition and energy.' Amanda Craig, Independent 'No one writes about pain better than Alderman. Lose yourself in 278 pages and you enter another world.' Liz Hoggard, Evening Standard 'Naomi Alderman is, evidently, not afraid of ghosts. She courts them and flirts with them and defies them in her darkly seductive second novel, The Lessons.' Damian Barr, Independent on Sunday 'Beautifully written . . . satisfyingly complex exploration of the characters and their relationships.' Samira Shackle, New Statesman 'This is a remarkable novel, which portrays with uncomfortable accuracy the feted world of the Oxford undergraduate. It reminds me a great deal of Donna Tartt's The Secret History in that it has the same brooding sense of menace and the same lightening characterisation. Naomi is a supremely talented writer.' Joanne Harris, 'Witty, dark and compelling.' Charlotte Mendelson 'Wise, compassionate and heart-rending, a novel that conveys all the cruelty and pain of gilded youth.' Liz Jensen author of Chocolat Praise for Disobedience: 'Rich, fresh, fascinating. A wonderful novel' Sunday Times 'Sharp, funny and poignant' Hilary Mantel

The Lessons

cirke

Bits of this were really good - for example, Alderman's Oxford feels very lived in and her prose is lyrical and atmospheric. This is, by all means, a very well written - on a technical level - book. Alderman also touches on some interesting themes and ideas - about Catholism and sin, about belonging and the yearning to belong (James' solitude and loneliness vs. Mark's need to create a family, to be surrounded by people (he thinks) he loves or love him).

However, disappointingly, she never takes them quite far. It is clear that the above issues are what drives James and Mark, in particular, together. And towards the end, they either outgrow them or let them ruin them. But I cannot help but feel that those were never written with true conviction and suitable desperation which lets the concept down. I understand what they - and the whole group of friends - embody for each other but ultimately, I was never convinced by what I was being shown.

In a story like this one, in order for the reader to truly immerse themselves in the first person narration, they need to be seduced themself. It is not enough to be told that James loves Mark; the reader, too, needs to fall in love with Mark. A piece of art that does this really well is Park Chan-wook's "Decision to Leave"; while watching it, I understand why Hae-jun falls in love with Seo-rae - during the film I, myself, have fallen in love with her, too. Reading "The Lessons", I cannot imagine why anyone would love Mark, let alone let him ruin their life, no matter how lonely they may feel.

Getting this dynamic right would have been key to the success of the novel, as the remainder of the friend group is relatively poorly developed. Rather, there are the broad strokes of characters. And as James' relationship with them (yes, even with Jess) are underexplored, his relationship with Mark emerges as central to the novel. Thus, not writing it into its full potential is a true letdown.

Bits of this were really good - for example, Alderman's Oxford feels very lived in and her prose is lyrical and atmospheric. This is, by all means, a very well written - on a technical level - book. Alderman also touches on some interesting themes and ideas - about Catholism and sin, about belonging and the yearning to belong (James' solitude and loneliness vs. Mark's need to create a family, to be surrounded by people (he thinks) he loves or love him).

However, disappointingly, she never takes them quite far. It is clear that the above issues are what drives James and Mark, in particular, together. And towards the end, they either outgrow them or let them ruin them. But I cannot help but feel that those were never written with true conviction and suitable desperation which lets the concept down. I understand what they - and the whole group of friends - embody for each other but ultimately, I was never convinced by what I was being shown.

In a story like this one, in order for the reader to truly immerse themselves in the first person narration, they need to be seduced themself. It is not enough to be told that James loves Mark; the reader, too, needs to fall in love with Mark. A piece of art that does this really well is Park Chan-wook's "Decision to Leave"; while watching it, I understand why Hae-jun falls in love with Seo-rae - during the film I, myself, have fallen in love with her, too. Reading "The Lessons", I cannot imagine why anyone would love Mark, let alone let him ruin their life, no matter how lonely they may feel.

Getting this dynamic right would have been key to the success of the novel, as the remainder of the friend group is relatively poorly developed. Rather, there are the broad strokes of characters. And as James' relationship with them (yes, even with Jess) are underexplored, his relationship with Mark emerges as central to the novel. Thus, not writing it into its full potential is a true letdown.

Emmett

** spoiler alert **
           The pointed references to Brideshead Revisited and Donna Tartt['s novel The Secret History] on the cover were decidedly reasonable; this book and the other two shared more coincidences than expected, though whether it be the consequence of the 'campus novel' genre, or, as the Metro review suggested, that The Lessons was a 'homage' to both, I'm not certain.

Nevertheless, prior experience with the other two books has all but guaranteed/dictated, because of these spooky coincidences that I read The Lessons through the lens of The Secret History and Brideshead Revisisted. Cross-references and comparisons (with accompanied lamentations or notes of surprise) ensue, for better or for worse. I have wondered about the experience of reading this first before the other two -- the effect might be reversed, though arguably it would be a less enjoyable journey through The Lessons owing to the richness and intrigue of Brideshead and History. In fact, my journey through this book is more or less based on constant winks and nudges this book has provided to my earlier reading, and consequently, thinking about what differs or what they have in common, and their significance to this work vis-a-vis the aforementioned books.

Meeting Mark in Chapter 4 was like seeing Sebastian Flyte, inverted: layers of decadence upon religiosity (something I found quite difficult to reconcile rationally, something which bothers me still since I had no problems with Flyte) that sometimes I doubted the reality of his piety, sometimes not when it came too strongly. While I loved Flyte as a character at first glance, finding in him a sweet innocence, I share James' incipient dislike of Mark: his tendency to cause offence mostly unintentionally; the characters' shared childlike natures failed to move me.

A snippet of a review by the Independent on the cover of the 2011 Penguin Edition states 'A world as beautiful and sinister as any in a fairytale.' I cannot say the same about it being beautiful: Brideshead and Hampden College were beautiful, clothed in mystery? Possibilities? Escapism? I suppose this Oxford, too, was in a way a beautiful thing, but it was too wild for me; too much wildness, of sex and drink, seemingly without a purpose. In Hampden the Classics and juxtaposition to reality remained a focal point for the romantic imagination (their time in classes seemed almost surreal); at Brideshead those little idle acts: of boating, of wine with strawberries or rides with a teddy bear named Aloysius, gave an impression of a idyll which thrilled me. Perhaps Alderman in attempting to paint a more real picture of college bliss turned me away.

There was, too, less intellectual depth than I had liked. I am, still, under the influence of The Secret History. 

However as the book progressed (in the middle of it, actually) I found myself thinking that perhaps Flyte and Mark had more in common than I had thought; putting away initial prejudices, that thought their displays were different, perhaps the core of goodness and innocence and the urgency and intensity blooming out of it remained the same.

A notable thing I noticed about The Lessons was its tendency to vocalise/make more apparent, at times foreshadowing, certain truths implied in most campus novels. I do not know if this is entirely a good thing since some delight lies in perceiving unspoken trends/themes. However the clarity with which Alderman notes these (tragic) truths brings cheer.

e.g. Mark tells us of the pain of leaving a university after the final year, and together with it, that inexplicable, irreplaceable magic of the experience; its importance and how much it means to some of us (that I almost feel it might tug at my very bones, too, years from now): 'Because our lives are over, James. This is it. The end. We will never have a time like this again.' (p. 156)

He also observes commitments as a burden to the self, but (indirectly) how liberation from it is but a temporal state of mind (because, sadly, in reality, it is impossible to be entirely free, to be in his situation): 'We were more ourselves then. We were all who we really are, only we forget because of bills and responsibilities and having to go to work and be married and that sort of thing. We've forgotten, but we have to try to remember.'(p. 201) Which brings into question the compatibility of said dreams with the rough world we inhabit; and whether, taking a more pragmatic view on things, there is a point of harbouring these dreams since they are essentially something inside one's own head but are incompatible with real life.

But I digress.

The book was admittedly quite dreary in the first portion, and it was not till The Trappings (#2) that it picked up the pace.

Another point: that James here, quite like Tartt's narrator Richard, have rather bland personalities in contrast to the other characters: they are both quiescent, made of more thought than action. Fitting for a narrator, really. Though Mark's claim of Jess having relations with a violinist falls through at James' and Jess' meeting later on, it is still interesting to note James as Mark says, being a reflection of the people he is with.

I was happy for James throughout the book; that he was brought together with Mark and essentially had what he wanted for a short span, his amicable separation with Jess (too amicable, perhaps), but most so at his departure toward the end of the book. To me it was an overt display of his individuality and single-mindedness, of ultimately having a mind of his own, of making choices for himself, though I do think he was torn by such a prospect, surmised from a particularly moving statement:

'There is a kind of love which is selfless. It is a love which waits through all things, which is patient and hopeful, which does not need to be returned. It is a love which is confident in itself and burns on and on through no fuel is added to the fire. It is the love of the man nailed to the cross saying, here, look, this wound, and that I took for you. It is a perfect love; more perfect than the love between equals. I do not know if it is a love towards which it is proper for human beings to aspire. Perhaps it is the love reserved for angels, and for the Almighty.
For a long time, I thought I loved Mark with this love. But I was wrong.'

Ipek

Hidden away in an Oxford back street is a crumbling Georgian mansion, unknown to any but the few who possess a key to its unassuming front gate. Its owner is the mercurial, charismatic Mark Winters, whose rackety trust-fund upbringing has left him as troubled and unpredictable as he is wildly promiscuous. Mark gathers around him an impressionable group of students: glamorous Emmanuella, who always has a new boyfriend in tow; Franny and Simon, best friends and occasional lovers; musician Jess, whose calm exterior hides passionate depths. And James, already damaged by Oxford and looking for a group to belong to. For a time they live in a charmed world of learning and parties and love affairs. But university is no grounding for adult life, and when, years later, tragedy strikes they are entirely unprepared. Universal in its themes of ambition, desire and betrayal, this spellbinding novel reflects the truth that the lessons life teaches often come too late.

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The Lessons by Naomi Alderman

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