Book: Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman

I found The Ocean at the End of the Lane lyrical and moving so got this from the library when I saw Neil Gaiman’s name on the cover and didn’t look at the title till I got it home. Oh no, I thought, because I had tried to watch the movie and thought it clichéd and dull, with terribly uninteresting characterisation and a storyline that achieved the extraordinary feat of being bland, formulaic and unbelievable at the same time. Not to mention totally wasting the talents of Claire Danes.

Stardust

In Stardust, Gaiman, like the magpies he writes about, randomly purloins bits and bobs from all over the place, in his case, from other better fantasy writers (C. S. Lewis and J. R. R.Tolkien), in a ‘this might be good in my book’ way, cobbles them together like an inexpert seamstress (ending up with a badly darned sock of a book – well, I never met a magpie who was good at sewing), while failing to reinvent or develop them in any worthwhile manner. You don’t get a sense that there’s any thought behind his (or rather his take on other people’s) ideas whereas with Lewis and Tolkien’s worlds, you know and believe that there’s a whole mythology (or religion) underpinning them. Here, there’s a thin veneer, gold leaf (or rather gold-coloured leaf) over plastic. Scratch the surface and you get more surface. Gaiman’s novel is like an old-style Hollywood backlot – with only facades and no actual buildings, let alone any foundations. No depth. I assumed at first that this was because it was written for children although I think children actually deserve better.

Elijah Wood as Frodo

It takes so much and gives nothing back – a quest (ok that’s in everything); ‘Think of it as a fellowship’ - hmm, sounds familiar; talking trees - ditto; a witch queen; dwarves who mine and are silversmiths of great skill; a reluctant wanderer (‘Adventures are all very well in their place, he thought, but there’s a lot to be said for regular meals and freedom from pain’ – remind you of any hobbit in particular?) None of this is expressed with any originality or flair.

The plot is derivative and unexciting and the characters at worst extremely irritating (think a book full of Tom Bombadils), at best uninvolving. The whole thing is fantasy-lite. I was prepared to think that the film-makers had done a poor job in adapting the book but that simply isn’t so. What’s incredible is that anyone thought it was worth turning this slight, shallow tale into a movie. My advice is to go read The Ocean at the End of the Lane instead.

Book: The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton

Prettily produced

I’ll start with the positive - the book is beautifully produced; the hardback has very pretty endpapers. That’s it, I’m afraid. And it only goes to prove that old adage - you can't judge a book by its cover.

Jessie Burton should be tried and convicted for this unprovoked assault on the English language. She mutilates and mangles it beyond all recognition. At first I wondered, like another reviewer, if the text had been badly translated from a foreign tongue. But no – this is all her original work and she is solely responsible – unless we consider her publishers accomplices.

Anyway, here’s the evidence.

The story, the characters, the dialogue are all completely unbelievable and unreal. The author evidently thinks that if she throws enough description at us of the sensations and sights of 17^th-century Amsterdam, even with horribly inapposite similes and repetitive vocabulary (if you’re just beginning this book, count how many times she uses ‘tang’), this will lend her tale authenticity and credibility. She’s wrong.

I’m astounded by the plaudits it has received. Did these people read the same book I did? ‘The kind of book that reminds you why you fell in love with reading’. What? This almost makes me wish I’d never started to read in the first place. I thought perhaps these writers were with the same publisher so they had to promote another book from the same stable but no. They seem to be genuine if extremely generous opinions. I suggest they read ‘The Goldfinch’ if they’re partial to historical fiction. See how it should be done. And as for Richard and Judy - I've lost any respect I had for them.

We’re invited to identify with the selfish, hypocritical Nella as she whines and whinges about her lot while never sparing a thought for the servants working from dawn till dusk, except to wonder how they dare to be so familiar with her, about how everyone is spying on her even as she’s spying on them, creeping into their rooms when they’re out, slyly passing petty judgements on all around.

The plot doesn’t hold water, with all the characters so changeable in their opinions and ways that none of what they do rings true. The dialogue is like a schoolgirl’s pitiful attempt to replicate ‘olde worlde speak’. And this is what this book is – it’s not historical, it’s olde worlde – in other words a poor imitation, from start to finish. More a cut-price Downton than Jane Austen. It might fool readers who think it’s a touch more intellectual than their normal diet of chicklit but it’s insubstantial fluff.

First, I was beleaguered by her poor grammar and misuse of vocabulary: ‘Most of the sugar has not yet sold’ and ‘… books were not much subject to government censorship …’

Or ‘without the miniaturist and her quality so elusive’

She means that she’s elusive not her quality, that she has an elusive quality but this isn’t what she’s expressed.

‘Perhaps the miniaturist will send her something soon to elucidate this strange woman.’

You can't use ‘elucidate’ like this. It’s an intransitive verb. It can't have an object.

‘… she feels differenced …’

What – are we gonna get French about this and make up our own words?

The front cover

The book is rife with nonsensical sentences that Jessie feels have meaning. They’re words, strung together, that’s all.

‘Love a beam of sun which sometimes clouds the heart.’

What? A beam of sun can't cloud; something passing in front of it will cause a shadow perhaps; or a cloud can pass over the sun.

Of Marin, Nella thinks: ‘What lies beating in that carefully protected heart?’

It’s the heart that’s beating, you idiot.

And ‘That ink was secret nectar, for Marin isn’t married.’

Why is it secret nectar? For whom? What does this mean? Does it mean it’s nectar for Nella because she’s got one over on Marin? Or does Burton just think this sounds poetic?

The dialogue is especially clunky as Burton hazards a guess that perhaps someone Dutch and from the past would phrase sentences differently. Yes, probably, but not like this. This is the sort of stuff we’re dealing with and it ain’t pretty.

Marin: 'How it looks, that Johannes does not come to church.'

How it looks? Ouch.

Nella to Meermans: ‘Is it worth killing your friend for guilders?’

So poorly expressed. But she wanted to get the actual currency in there somewhere even though any normal person would just say ‘money’.

Mystic Meg

Much of the time, the author is trying to sound portentous but failing miserably, ending up with Mystic Meg-type claptrap (eg ‘Beware the look of love from someone wearing blue’, no offence meant, Meg). When her characters attempt gravitas, it falls flat and often what they say is illogical, irrelevant or both, eg Johannes defending himself against a charge of sodomy.

Johannes: ‘Schout Slabbaert picks on my African servant, a man from Dahomey. Does the Seigneur even know where Dahomey is, as he drinks his sugared tea or eats his little buns?’

No – and why should he and what difference would it make? What’s his point? That he should be let off because he’s well travelled? I’m not sure that’s a recognised defence. That Meermans’s testimony should be ignored because he has sugar in his tea and eats buns?

Johannes again: ‘Franz Meermans criticizes my freedoms but suffers no guilt enjoying his own. Find a map, Seigneurs, and learn.’

Why? What’s the relevance? The point is that he’s been caught doing something illegal so it doesn’t really matter how good he is at geography or how bad they are.

Johannes to Jack: ‘You are a stone thrown upon a lake. But the ripples you create will never make you still.’

Huh? Why would ripples ever make someone still? She doesn’t seem to think before she writes this stuff down.

Johannes: ‘What is the game you are playing? When will it be my turn to ask questions? You have sought to defame me and shock the crowd. I must have my say.’

What is the game you are playing? Why not ‘What game are you playing?’ This is so dire. And why does she assume that Dutch people’s speech, once translated into English, would have no contractions? Johannes ends up sounding like a two-year-old having a tantrum.

Nella: ‘You imperfect men, dressed in borrowed glories!’

This is her grand retort to the guards who come to look for her husband. Just more awkwardly phrased, meaningless drivel.

Johannes: ‘It is customary that the accused may speak.’

I’ll say it again so you can hear how bad this sounds: ‘It is customary that the accused may speak.’

‘Death is hovering in the air, hinting at them all, its terror or its bliss beyond.’

Oh, I can't be bothered.

Her cute perkiness began to irritate me

The further I got into the book, the more critical I became. I don't know if it got worse or if I just lost the patience I started out with.

The plot doesn’t follow and the author doesn’t attempt to explain why, for instance, the miniaturist’s father suddenly appears on the scene. Yes, he got a letter from Nella but it was one of many he received.

The dialogue exchanges are priceless though.

Cornelia: ‘Why has God punished us, Madame?’

Nella: ‘I don't know. He may have posed the question but we are the answer, Cornelia.’

No – in fact, Cornelia just posed the question. God didn't ask anything. To what question that God asked are they the answer? Answers on a postcard, please. Nella, this is what happens when you attempt to be profound. Please, please don’t do it.

Johannes: ‘I sometimes wonder, if I sit very still in here, if I have already died too.’

Nella: ‘You are alive, Johannes. You are alive.’

Johannes: ‘A strange world. Human beings going around reassuring each other that they haven’t died.’

Strange indeed. Is this supposed to make sense or be touching in some way?

The doll house

The book is full of illogical sentences, which I think are Jessie Burton's assays at depth.

‘Nella is still too astonished to say much, but she’s been in Amsterdam long enough to know one barters as soon as breathes.’

So why is she so astonished then?

‘They say that watchers are always watched in Amsterdam even those who cannot see.’

Hmm. How can they watch if they cannot see?

‘We’ll need … a stick for me to hold my teeth upon’.

She’s not holding her teeth on a stick; she isn't taking them out and putting them on a stick – she’ll be biting down on a stick.

'Complacent, pleasure, body – these forbidden words give the people in the chamber a thrill.’

Since when are these forbidden words? Why would anyone get a thrill from the words ‘complacent’ and ‘pleasure’?

One of the youngest children, no more than three years old, stares between the banister spindles in horrified wonder.

This child is supposed to be reacting to the word ‘sodomized’. Forgive me for thinking that a child of three or under might not be familiar with this word.

Nella is also prone to irritating flights of fancy, which are possibly meant to be endearing but are really simply infantile.

Nella to the miniaturist: 'Madame, send my husband a pair of wings. Fly him faster to the departing ships.'

What’s the point of this? No one can attach wings to him and allow him to fly.

Quite often these are supposed to be funny but there’s always something snide and critical underlying them.

‘She imagines her sister-in-law stringing her up on one of the ceiling beams, pattens falling off her swinging feet among the feathers, her cold body warmed by poetic sunlight …’

Well, actually we’re all hoping for this. ‘Poetic sunlight’ – what’s that when it’s at home?

‘Nella wonders where Marin’s husband is. Maybe she’s hidden him in the cellar. She smothers her desperate impulse to laugh …’

Why – it ain’t funny.

‘She whirls round – is the miniaturist here in the room, hiding under the bed? Nella crouches to look …’

Oh come on. Even Nella’s not that stupid!

Anyway, I rest my case. Tried and convicted. Unfortunately, it looks like Jessie Burton will be rewarded instead of punished for her crimes. She should at least be forced to read some better fiction.

To check out my reviews on Amazon, follow this link.

Film: Joy Division

Perhaps I should have been warned by the banner across the top of the box ‘THE PAST IS A PLACE YOU CANNOT ESCAPE’ (so profound) and the fact that the only praise longer than one word they have is from something called Boys Toys (not as bad as it sounds), who proclaim ‘SEARING WARTIME SET-PIECES’. The latter at least is true.

Here’s an edited synopsis: ‘In the last days of World War II, a teenager is forced into battle against the advancing Red Army … he is captured by the Russians and disappears behind the Iron Curtain … 17 years later, he is recruited … and sent on a mission by the KGB to London’.

Bought this because Tom Schilling was in it but have to agree with the other reviewers – his bits are excellent, the German back story is the only watchable part, mostly because of his natural, effortless, sympathetic performance and far more credible and moving than the 60s spy episodes. They should have expanded this to movie length and completely cut the 60s section.

This film was written and directed by Reg Traviss. There’s a reason this guy’s not a household name and this movie could be it. First, he’s cast Ed Stoppard (no relation to Tom or Miriam – oh wait, yes, he’s their son; nothing like getting a part on merit, and this is nothing like it). His lines are delivered in an affectless tone, reminiscent of Keira Knightley at the wooden beginning of her career, with one of those irritating schizophrenic accents British people adopt to please Americans, often heard in US teen drama, such as Dawson’s Creek and One Tree Hill; for the first half of a sentence, they sound as if they’re in Downton, for the second half, they sound like they’re in EastEnders, i.e. posh then common. No one in England really talks like this. And whereas everything Tom Schilling does is finely nuanced; Ed Stoppard’s a blunt instrument and he doesn’t have the charisma to carry a weak storyline.

Then, if he started as German, then went to live in Russia, why doesn’t he speak English with a foreign accent? It has to be pointed out that Tom Schilling is way more convincing in a second language than Ed is in his first. It would have made more sense (since Schilling was playing 10 years younger than his actual age), to age him a mere 7 years and allow him to play the older version too. At least there would have been a consistency as far as accents are concerned.

The story and script are dire. The 60s spy plot is stultifying (consisting of Ed waiting on a succession of benches to rendezvous with other spies), though they try to spice it up by adding Michelle Gayle (not really known for her acting and this isn’t going to help) as a supremely uninteresting love interest. They both like art so they fall in love. It’s as bland and as undeveloped as that but no doubt Reg thought it represented a real meeting of minds.

There’s a very irritating cameo from Bernard Hill as a disaffected Communist who spouts tripe like: ‘Are we the leaders? Or are we the led? Or are we neither?’ which must pass for deep in Reg Traviss’s world and Ed’s too as he responds ‘It’s a lot to think about’. No, it ain’t. Who cares?

Worse than all this though is the voiceover, which is another attempt to be deep, with Ed delivering such pearls of wisdom as ‘strength through experience to again become strong’. Hmm. This doesn’t mean anything. Or ‘the unstoppable force of nature swept through my heart’. Neither does this. But Reg is fond of ‘unstoppable force’; it crops up more than once.

Don’t go thinking this has anything much to do with either the Joy Division of the Nazis or the band of the late 70s. If only.

My final verdict is that there’s just about enough Tom Schilling to warrant any fan of his watching this movie. The girl (Bernadette Heerwagen) is excellent too.

For more on Tom Schilling, see my poetry blog schillingspiration.

To check out my reviews on Amazon, follow this link.