Fingersmith and "duel" narrations

A week ago Michael Dirda praised a new novel by Sarah Waters. I hadn’t heard of Waters or her talent, so I went to my local shop and picked up Fingersmith, her 2002 novel, which I finished reading yesterday. I now want to read all her novels. Such is the influence of a good critic-reviewer, and, more importantly, a very good novel.

Fingersmith was full of surprises, including one of my favorite literary devices, a dual narration of the same events. This device works well in modern classics like Fowles’ The Collector and a contemporary classic like Priest’s The Prestige. I sometimes call these “duel narrations”, because a good dual narration fights with perception, the reader’s and the characters therein, and to write well of events from multiple viewpoints requires rare talent and skill.

Maud and Sue, the storytellers of Fingersmith, are surrounded by colorful minor characters–my favorites are the smut-inclined uncle, and a moaning sick woman in the Sucksby house that nobody ever sees and who is ultimately forgotten. The fog and soot soaked London and country settings seemed more influenced by Conan Doyle and Poe’s Usher house than by Dickens (Waters gets compared to Dickens, but I like her better–her characters say “fuck” often), and Waters’ way with fright and suspense seems better than any American novelist writing today.

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James Wood on David Mitchell

James Wood gets the problem of contemporary fiction down in one paragraph in his review of David Mitchell’s new novel:

Much contemporary writing fetishizes style, and the priority is felt as a constant anxiety. Prose has to sign itself, establish its showy authority in silvery cutlass swipes through the air: clever insights, brilliant metaphors, unusual words, sharp observation, perpetually buoyant dialogue. The way Crispin Hershey describes a cool young woman—“short, boyish, and sports a nerdy pair of glasses and a shaven head: electrotherapy chic”—not only confirms Crispin’s literary talent but validates Mitchell’s, too: it’s the kind of thing that gets approvingly quoted in reviews like this one. But novels are not best built out of one-liners, and long novels of one-liners drum an insistent, madly intermittent tattoo.