I first read this book back in the late 90's. I'd left school and found myself an impressionable working lad with no education in my future and hours to kill sweating on trains commuting to and from my place of work - which was undoubtedly some shithole on the other side of London. I think it would not be overstating the matter to say that, at that time, this book completely changed my life. For reasons I shall explain hereto.
Hornby's second novel, released in 1995 after the monumental success of gooner-supporting "Fever Pitch", tells the tale of one Rob Fleming; a man who enjoys music, film, and lamenting his status in the world when it comes to money, power and, most of all, women. Rob owns a fledgling record shop in North London where he and his two friends sit around and make lists of stuff that they like. In fact, such is Rob's affinity for lists that the book begins with the opening heading: "Top Five Break-Ups Of All Time", wherein he begins to tell us the reader about the pitiful state of his previous failures with members of the opposite sex. All of this serves to provide the back drop to what is currently going on in his life - another break-up with a girl he loves - and there the story begins.
“What came first – the music or the misery? Did I listen to the music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to the music? Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?”
What follows is an absolutely hilarious, honest, unflinching portrayal of the modern man and let me tell you friends, it is a masterful depiction. Hornby writes with a sort of light-hearted scathing cynicism which, despite sounding like a massive contradiction, sets the perfect tone for the book. I defy any man on planet earth (well, at least, a middle-class white bloke from the western world) to read this book and not find yourself going "yep, I've done that". Indeed there are few subjects in life which fascinate me more than male patheticism and this book has it in spades.
A little exercise for you -- pick a man. Someone you deem to be the coolest man on the planet. James Dean, Paul Newman, George Clooney maybe? All of those people, every last one, will absolutely turn into an insecure, whimpering, paranoid wreck if and when placed in the hands of the right (or wrong) woman. Of course, this is just my belief but it's a belief and that's all that f*cking matters, got it? Good.
“Over the last couple of years, the photos of me when I was a kid... well, they've started to give me a little pang or something - not unhappiness, exactly, but some kind of quiet, deep regret... I keep wanting to apologize to the little guy: "I'm sorry, I've let you down. I was the person who was supposed to look after you, but I blew it: I made wrong decisions at bad times, and I turned you into me.”
Now, how did a book about a bunch of music geeks eeking out an existence for themselves change your life? I hear you ask. Well folks, after reading this book, for the first time in my 19 or so years of existence (I think) I had the inspiration to write. I could hear my voice on the page. It was a work of art that spoke directly to me. Me?! I had never experienced that before. The characters were interested in things I am, talked the way I talk, thought how I do about stuff (if you read this blog ever, you'll know how much I f**king love writing a list for a start). Suddenly I felt the need to put pen to paper for the first time to express how I feel. For fun. Suddenly I had a thirst for knowledge and a yearning for experience that my shite office job which took me two hours to get to every day and night could not provide me. I felt a tidal wave of culture engulf my being. I mean, it was only the third book I'd ever read up to that point but we've all got to start somewhere, eh?
The following month, I handed in my notice at work, packed up and went to university and the rest, as they say, is history. Not necessarily history in the sense that anything profound or important happened on a global, national or even local scale. But a personal history was made, right there and then and here I am today as a result...writing, for nothing more than the interest of personal expression. Something that just wasn't an option until my eyes crossed this little gem.
If you ever want to know anything about me, or indeed men in general, read this book. At once. That is all.
“It seems to me if you have music (and books, probably, and films, and plays, and anything that makes you feel) at the center of your being, then you can't afford to sort out your love life, start to think of it as the finished product. You've got to pick at it, keep it alive and in turmoil, you've got to pick at it and unravel it until it all comes apart and you're compelled to start all over again. Maybe we live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as a consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship.”
Nick Hornby -- High Fidelity (1995)
Cheers,
JB.
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