 |
As the jacket says, “Meet the Deans.” Or, as I like to call them “The Unholy Trinity.” Father, Martin: a paranoid genius, who wanted the world to pay attention to him – and lived just long enough to regret it when they did. Uncle, Terry: local sporting hero turned righteous national anti-hero turned incarcerated, incinerated martyr. Son, Jasper: indecisive about whether to emulate the lunatic who raised him, or adopt a new sort of insanity altogether.
A Fraction of the Whole follows the Deans on their manic, always funny and often sad attempts to find their places in the world. Their memoirs and (mis)adventures race across continents, and burrow into seedy underbellies.
The trio’s raving epic drags the reader by the hair from backwoods Australia to steamy Thai jungles, via dodgy Parisian docks, strip-joints and down-at-heel publishing houses, weaving through three generations. Sound a bit ADHD? Well it is. A bit.
This, Toltz’s debut novel was shortlisted for the 2008 Man Booker prize. But then, winning the Booker is, in my opinion, no guarantee whatsoever of the reader having a good time. (Last Orders or The Gathering, anyone?)
That aside, I really did enjoy this. For a fat book (tipping the scales at 711 pages) it can really dance, leaping gracefully from anecdote, to rant, to tale-within-a-tale. My fave being a DIY guide for aspiring criminals, with such informative chapters as "Motiveless Crime: Why?", and "Manslaughter: Ooops!"
Toltz’s slash and burn style destroys lives, towns and reputations in the blink of a page – the author displaying a nihilistic disregard for what he has built up over vast tracts of narrative. Ideas tumble onto the page in a stream of consciousness, or unconsciousness, in the case of Martin’s 4-year coma, from which he emerges with a perfect recollection of what was said over his bed.
If there’s a glib maxim that fits the book, it’s: ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions.’ Martin’s desire to liven up his hometown with a suggestion box results in emotional espionage among its inhabitants. Similarly, his idea to build a public observatory brings the town to an ironically incendiary end.
A shift in geography brings no respite for these karmic lightening rods either. A piece in the Thai jungle that sums up the close yet fraught relationship recalls Jasper’s attempt to send a telepathic warning to his father. Martin hears his son’s voice but dismisses it because of his own atheistic disbelief – cue the predictably catastrophic results.
As much as I loved the wit and winding yarns, I found myself wanting to tidy up the narrative: in the way that a parent itches to attack their teenager’s room with the vacuum. It may be a hotbed of creativity, but it’s a hard place to spend time unless one has a robust immune system.
Neither is the book tidily organised into chapters. Consequently, it took me until about 2:37am each night to reach a milestone at which I could insert a bookmark and let it go. But it’s this unruly wit of Toltz’s and his ability to completely let loose, that makes not just a fraction, but the whole book so much damn fun.
|
|
