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In the Eyes of Mr Fury
The day Concord Webster turned eighteen, the devil died. - The devil's real name was Judge Martin, but Concord's mother had always told him that he was the devil. She called his house Hades and said that he kept bats and snakes in his bedroom. But how did she know? Read this book for yourself to find out why it has become a cult classic.
192 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 1989
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523 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews
June 28, 2016
A dear friend of mine from college recommended this to me years ago. He passed away recently. I ordered the book off amazon as its out of print and vowed to finally read it just for him. It is instantly engaging, I couldn't put it down. I love the mysticism. I love the love triangles. I love the parallel plots and spooky prose. I love the dialogue. I love the use of color and texture and vivid imagery. I loved this book, Joey. Thank you for recommending it to me. I'm so sorry it took me so long to read it, it helped me feel closer to you when I miss you the most. I recommend this book to everyone. One of the smartest most brilliant people I've ever known adored this book and you will too. I love you, Joey.
March 31, 2018
I had to let this book percolate a bit before I could rate it properly, since I was expecting something totally different and that threw off my perceptions of it. I was expecting adult horror, something dark and/or nasty, so I kept thinking, hey, where's the scary? Where's the monster? When does the Very Bad Stuff happen? Right up until the next to last page I thought there was going to be some serious bloodshed. Nope. As adult horror, this book is a non-starter.
What this book is, is YA magical realism, with a spice of fairy tale and bildungsroman thrown in. From that perspective, it's quite good. Con, our narrator and main character (he's supposed to be 18 in the book but to me he reads as quite a bit younger, maybe 14) is sympathetic and sweet, if a little credulous, and the things that he finds out about his parents over the course of the book signal his movement to maturity. He realizes for the first time that his mother and father had their own lives long before he came along (as he puts it, "For the first eighteen years of my life...I thought Faith Webster was my mother. But instead, I was her son."), and he grows beyond the child's perception of life as simple and straightforward into an adult understanding that it's complicated and not always easy or happy. The young man that he meets and falls for, Cromwell, grew up protected by seven ravens and writes poetry; the dialog between the two of them is some of the best in the book.
Mama Zepp is hands down my favorite character, though. A bit of an archetype, she's the neighborhood midwife/hedge witch/crone ("A crone is a wonderful thing. It should be the ambition of any sane person to become a crone. Why? Because a crone is someone who has seen it all, done it all, knows all there is to know about being alive and now -- in old age -- just sits back and tells stories."). She knows everyone's secrets and interferes as and when she sees fit, without regard to what society might think. The methods she uses to tell Con her stories of past events in The Street are unusual and original (among other things, she has a whole box of eyeglasses from different time periods; put on a pair and you see the past). I also LOVED the movie she made by shaking up undeveloped film in a bag with some crushed biscuits (the biscuits are important) -- it's silent and B&W at first, with sound and technicolor coming in later, because "I only thought of that after I started shaking."
There are some superbly quotable lines:
And this one, which combines perfectly normal words into one of the most absurd sentences ever: "I fear you are mistook, my semi-naked camping interlocutor."
There are a couple of amusingly metafictonal moments, such as "There's no point in trying to shake off the stories. Wherever I go, I take the narrative with me" (said by the main character, and of course where a main character goes, the narrative follows) and "Narrative hibernation is a lonely place, believe me" (spoken by Mama Zepp, when one of her stories about Stephen has been interrupted and his fate is left hanging).
The book is also about stories and the power they have to shape our lives, about love and pain and loss and grief, and maybe above all about the wisdom of being kind to others, because we all carry scars.
What this book is, is YA magical realism, with a spice of fairy tale and bildungsroman thrown in. From that perspective, it's quite good. Con, our narrator and main character (he's supposed to be 18 in the book but to me he reads as quite a bit younger, maybe 14) is sympathetic and sweet, if a little credulous, and the things that he finds out about his parents over the course of the book signal his movement to maturity. He realizes for the first time that his mother and father had their own lives long before he came along (as he puts it, "For the first eighteen years of my life...I thought Faith Webster was my mother. But instead, I was her son."), and he grows beyond the child's perception of life as simple and straightforward into an adult understanding that it's complicated and not always easy or happy. The young man that he meets and falls for, Cromwell, grew up protected by seven ravens and writes poetry; the dialog between the two of them is some of the best in the book.
Mama Zepp is hands down my favorite character, though. A bit of an archetype, she's the neighborhood midwife/hedge witch/crone ("A crone is a wonderful thing. It should be the ambition of any sane person to become a crone. Why? Because a crone is someone who has seen it all, done it all, knows all there is to know about being alive and now -- in old age -- just sits back and tells stories."). She knows everyone's secrets and interferes as and when she sees fit, without regard to what society might think. The methods she uses to tell Con her stories of past events in The Street are unusual and original (among other things, she has a whole box of eyeglasses from different time periods; put on a pair and you see the past). I also LOVED the movie she made by shaking up undeveloped film in a bag with some crushed biscuits (the biscuits are important) -- it's silent and B&W at first, with sound and technicolor coming in later, because "I only thought of that after I started shaking."
There are some superbly quotable lines:
"Anyone's capable of anything, you see. We're forever on the brink of a miracle."
"I'm afraid most magic, like most of life, is either ridiculous or utterly terrifying. Sometimes both at once."
"Life is too short to feel responsible for every grain of sand that comes your way."
"We live our lives between magic and panic...You can point at magic all you like, but an idiot will only look at your finger."
"Our life is our first work of art."
"Perhaps it was just a feeling, like the tenth of nine echoes."
And this one, which combines perfectly normal words into one of the most absurd sentences ever: "I fear you are mistook, my semi-naked camping interlocutor."
There are a couple of amusingly metafictonal moments, such as "There's no point in trying to shake off the stories. Wherever I go, I take the narrative with me" (said by the main character, and of course where a main character goes, the narrative follows) and "Narrative hibernation is a lonely place, believe me" (spoken by Mama Zepp, when one of her stories about Stephen has been interrupted and his fate is left hanging).
The book is also about stories and the power they have to shape our lives, about love and pain and loss and grief, and maybe above all about the wisdom of being kind to others, because we all carry scars.
February 16, 2018
What a sweet, charming, witty, and ultimately powerful book. A multi-generational LGBT tale of love and loss, and of struggling to come to terms with who one is in the face of hostility and adversity. In the Eyes of Mr Fury is part bildungsroman, part romance, part fairy-tale, and positively filled with secrets, friends, lovers, betrayals, and the power of story-telling thanks to a rather remarkable story-teller named Mama Zepp. I was very impressed and totally enchanted by this novel and would recommend it to anyone who could benefit from the world being a little bit more of a magical place.
March 10, 2009
I love this book so much I have two copies - just in case one disappears, or gets ruined. So amazing!
Read
March 21, 2018In the words of one of the characters: “Wow!” Just Wow. I ate up this book with the proverbial spoon, and it’s going on my Intro to Gay Fantasy list.
A couple of impressions and confessions first…
I’m so glad I found In The Eyes of Mr. Fury because its original publisher from 1989 went out of business, the book went out of print, and it was only fairly recently (2016) re-released by Valancourt. A circuitous route led me to it. I had posted a query on a Facebook group re. queer fantasy recs pre-1990s and got a huge list of suggestions and websites to check out. I ended up on Valancourt’s page of Gay Interest Horror and Supernatural New Releases (how awesome that such a page exists!) where Ridley's title caught my interest. It was also nice that a little research turned up the author is also openly gay.
Now, I have to say the book was full of surprises for me. The description reads as surrealistic horror, as does the title, and being more of a traditional fantasy fan, I wasn’t sure if I would like it. And the story does start off feeling like it’s headed in a dark, horror direction, with crows descending on an East End neighborhood in London, and a notorious, eccentric curmudgeon called “The Devil” turning up dead. But it evolved quite quickly into a sweet and sentimental, coming-of-age, period piece that employs fantasy devices in a delightfully clever way to tell the story. Really, stylistically and thematically, it has more in common with Jean Shepherd’s classic A Christmas Story than the Stephen King brand of horror.
That may sound schmaltzy, and perhaps for some readers it is, but two things elevated this début novel for me and made me think of it as a work of fiction ahead of its time. First, Ridley incorporates magical elements to wondrous effect, reminiscent of J.K. Rowling I found, though it predates the Harry Potter opus by almost a decade.
A lot of the magic comes from the eccentric Mama Zepp, who has a drawer full of antique eyeglasses with which she can look back on neighborhood events from her past, and a tin of assorted biscuits, which summon departed friends and neighbors, based on which biscuit each person had preferred. Though the magical world is larger than the archetypical, funny old lady who lives up the street. There’s also a boy (Cromwell) who was born with the ability to command a flock of crows, and an old man who is perpetually travelling around the world in a hot air balloon. It’s irresistible stuff that evokes the childhood imagination and works perfectly with the theme of uncovering secrets from the past.
The other irresistible aspect of the story is its straight-forward approach to gay adolescence, which again had me thumping my head and marveling: This was written and published in the 1980s?! While authentic to the time period, or time periods I should say as the story has young gay characters from both the 1980s and 1960s, there’s nothing coy or restrained in the depiction, and the gay characters, including the 18-year-old narrator Concord, aren’t sidelined in favor of what is sometimes (ridiculously) called a “wider access point,” i.e. the hetero, cisgender experience.
Gay-centric stories about growing up had been told previously by authors like Edmund White, but Ridley’s approach is much more young adult-ish, less embattled and tragic. Concord might be in love with his best friend Loverboy, and it might be reciprocal; or it might be a painful, never-to-be, short-lasting crush, Concord discovers when he meets the less 'hung-up' Cromwell, and the two are instantaneously and openly infatuated with each other. It feels like a story anticipating the boom of uplifting gay YA in the 2000s, like Alex Sanchez’ Rainbow Boys series and more recently the work of David Levithan.
Ridley maintains realism with the subject matter. His characters are challenged by the many terrors of the past – religious persecution, legal discrimination, institutionalization, violence, and more – and some do succumb to tragedy. But he’s never heavy-handed nor preachy, and even more importantly, the story has a lovely, transcendent message of hope, and boy, I would have loved to have found this book back in 1989 when I was a closeted gay teen.
A couple of impressions and confessions first…
I’m so glad I found In The Eyes of Mr. Fury because its original publisher from 1989 went out of business, the book went out of print, and it was only fairly recently (2016) re-released by Valancourt. A circuitous route led me to it. I had posted a query on a Facebook group re. queer fantasy recs pre-1990s and got a huge list of suggestions and websites to check out. I ended up on Valancourt’s page of Gay Interest Horror and Supernatural New Releases (how awesome that such a page exists!) where Ridley's title caught my interest. It was also nice that a little research turned up the author is also openly gay.
Now, I have to say the book was full of surprises for me. The description reads as surrealistic horror, as does the title, and being more of a traditional fantasy fan, I wasn’t sure if I would like it. And the story does start off feeling like it’s headed in a dark, horror direction, with crows descending on an East End neighborhood in London, and a notorious, eccentric curmudgeon called “The Devil” turning up dead. But it evolved quite quickly into a sweet and sentimental, coming-of-age, period piece that employs fantasy devices in a delightfully clever way to tell the story. Really, stylistically and thematically, it has more in common with Jean Shepherd’s classic A Christmas Story than the Stephen King brand of horror.
That may sound schmaltzy, and perhaps for some readers it is, but two things elevated this début novel for me and made me think of it as a work of fiction ahead of its time. First, Ridley incorporates magical elements to wondrous effect, reminiscent of J.K. Rowling I found, though it predates the Harry Potter opus by almost a decade.
A lot of the magic comes from the eccentric Mama Zepp, who has a drawer full of antique eyeglasses with which she can look back on neighborhood events from her past, and a tin of assorted biscuits, which summon departed friends and neighbors, based on which biscuit each person had preferred. Though the magical world is larger than the archetypical, funny old lady who lives up the street. There’s also a boy (Cromwell) who was born with the ability to command a flock of crows, and an old man who is perpetually travelling around the world in a hot air balloon. It’s irresistible stuff that evokes the childhood imagination and works perfectly with the theme of uncovering secrets from the past.
The other irresistible aspect of the story is its straight-forward approach to gay adolescence, which again had me thumping my head and marveling: This was written and published in the 1980s?! While authentic to the time period, or time periods I should say as the story has young gay characters from both the 1980s and 1960s, there’s nothing coy or restrained in the depiction, and the gay characters, including the 18-year-old narrator Concord, aren’t sidelined in favor of what is sometimes (ridiculously) called a “wider access point,” i.e. the hetero, cisgender experience.
Gay-centric stories about growing up had been told previously by authors like Edmund White, but Ridley’s approach is much more young adult-ish, less embattled and tragic. Concord might be in love with his best friend Loverboy, and it might be reciprocal; or it might be a painful, never-to-be, short-lasting crush, Concord discovers when he meets the less 'hung-up' Cromwell, and the two are instantaneously and openly infatuated with each other. It feels like a story anticipating the boom of uplifting gay YA in the 2000s, like Alex Sanchez’ Rainbow Boys series and more recently the work of David Levithan.
Ridley maintains realism with the subject matter. His characters are challenged by the many terrors of the past – religious persecution, legal discrimination, institutionalization, violence, and more – and some do succumb to tragedy. But he’s never heavy-handed nor preachy, and even more importantly, the story has a lovely, transcendent message of hope, and boy, I would have loved to have found this book back in 1989 when I was a closeted gay teen.
February 15, 2018
My favourite novel of all time.
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Audiobook review. Matthew Lyon does an amazing job bringing the whole cast to life. I feel like I properly understand this revised version, and feel it deeper, with the audio version. 500 stars.
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Audiobook review. Matthew Lyon does an amazing job bringing the whole cast to life. I feel like I properly understand this revised version, and feel it deeper, with the audio version. 500 stars.
June 11, 2009
Classic queer magical realism. Beautiful prose, twisted plot, lovely characters.
Want to read
March 14, 2018Arrived today - hardcover version. Going with me to Seattle. Thanks Valancourt!
April 8, 2018
"When we are born we are magic. We come into the world still sparkling and blind with the secrets whispered to us by a zodiac of blood. Inside the womb blood cells swim in and out of our eyes like tiny comets, giving us stories, the legend of things, names, and when we push our way out of our sacred bubble we are already wizards. We cry, not in pain or fear, but in wonder of all the miracles we might have to perform..."
June 2, 2023
A coming-of-age queer romance with a heavy heaping of magical realism. The romance here felt very abrupt but also comfortable - so natural and fitting I found it heartwarming. I found it to be a meta-story about the narratives we tell ourselves: as the protagonist starts to unravel the story of Judge's death, he starts to question other stories he's been told, about himself and the Street - and perhaps start to build his very own.
Read
June 14, 2013Years ago - I think the late nineties - I got a book some bookshop chain produced. Probably Waterstone's, although back then they weren't the only one. In it, various writers wrote about a book, or maybe five, that they loved. I had this book because some of those writers were writers I loved - but the entry that fascinated me was by a chap called Philip Ridley, who deliberately ignored the rules (quoting William Burroughs as justification) and aphoristically praised a hundred-odd books, and films, and comics which between them, gave the very strong impression that he was someone of interest.
Somewhere in the decade-plus between then and now, I found this book by him cheap. And now I've finally read it. It predates that anti-essay that grabbed me - even if the back flap didn't tell me, it screams first novel. It's very sincere about coming out in a way that I think was more acceptable in a 1989 book than would be now. But there's still a magic to it as it mythologises the sort of suburban* street where people grow up to marry the kid they used to play with, because that's what everyone else on the street expects. There are obvious echoes of Jeanette Winterson, and if it's not on a par with her best, it's also a lot less annoying than her worst. I plan to read some more Ridley a little sooner this time.
*There's one mention of it being - or having been - a village, but I think it's the sort of former village that has now been swallowed up into the sprawl, just because I recognise so much of this from my own childhood terrain.
Somewhere in the decade-plus between then and now, I found this book by him cheap. And now I've finally read it. It predates that anti-essay that grabbed me - even if the back flap didn't tell me, it screams first novel. It's very sincere about coming out in a way that I think was more acceptable in a 1989 book than would be now. But there's still a magic to it as it mythologises the sort of suburban* street where people grow up to marry the kid they used to play with, because that's what everyone else on the street expects. There are obvious echoes of Jeanette Winterson, and if it's not on a par with her best, it's also a lot less annoying than her worst. I plan to read some more Ridley a little sooner this time.
*There's one mention of it being - or having been - a village, but I think it's the sort of former village that has now been swallowed up into the sprawl, just because I recognise so much of this from my own childhood terrain.
February 14, 2013
So, the cover is so damn scary that I had to hide it when I wasn't reading. First I was sceptic, since my friend recommended this and I hadn't heard about the book before. Then I started reading - BANG! Wow, this book was so amazing! The language was great and the flow, let's not forget the flow! Ridley nails 1st person POV so well and Connie was a great narrator for the story. Also, the structure of the book worked nicely, though I must say that the ending would've needed that "something".
The mystery in the book is interesting and I really enjoyed the cryptic way Ridley uses. A little philosophy here and there was wonderful. The way Ridley makes everything into a circle was fascinating and I loved how history seemed to repeat itself. Why didn't I give five stars then? Well, I didn't really appreciate that everyone seemed to be gay for the reason that it wasn't believable. This also ate some of the power of the "love doesn't have gender boundaries" thing. I wanted some conclusion to Tal's case too, since I took it so that he was in love with Connie. The ending was too meh for me, since the rest of the book was so, hmm, tempting. Still, a great book, great indeed.
The mystery in the book is interesting and I really enjoyed the cryptic way Ridley uses. A little philosophy here and there was wonderful. The way Ridley makes everything into a circle was fascinating and I loved how history seemed to repeat itself. Why didn't I give five stars then? Well, I didn't really appreciate that everyone seemed to be gay for the reason that it wasn't believable. This also ate some of the power of the "love doesn't have gender boundaries" thing. I wanted some conclusion to Tal's case too, since I took it so that he was in love with Connie. The ending was too meh for me, since the rest of the book was so, hmm, tempting. Still, a great book, great indeed.
January 8, 2019
”When we are born we are magical and loving and full of wonder. But darkness and ignorance surround us at every corner. Until the day someone calls us a monster or a devil... and we believe them.”
A wonderful novel with many layers: a Bildungsroman about a gay teenager growing up in a homophobic context, that also reflects on the missed life opportunities of our parents, so we don’t repeat their mistakes. A novel about the rollercoaster of falling in love for the first time, that reads almost like a play, full of vibrant dialogue. A novel where anything may happen, where ashes of suicides turn into butterflies. Written as a magic realism tale, it feels like daydreaming. A novel that is also a love letter to cinema and storytelling in general.
Even if it falls easily into wish fulfillment, we all need some indulgence sometimes. Another jewel from the 80s rescued by Valancourt Books.
A wonderful novel with many layers: a Bildungsroman about a gay teenager growing up in a homophobic context, that also reflects on the missed life opportunities of our parents, so we don’t repeat their mistakes. A novel about the rollercoaster of falling in love for the first time, that reads almost like a play, full of vibrant dialogue. A novel where anything may happen, where ashes of suicides turn into butterflies. Written as a magic realism tale, it feels like daydreaming. A novel that is also a love letter to cinema and storytelling in general.
Even if it falls easily into wish fulfillment, we all need some indulgence sometimes. Another jewel from the 80s rescued by Valancourt Books.
July 30, 2018
I appreciate the surprising turns in the narrative, especially since this was from the late '80s. But it's a bit too chatty and old-fashioned for my taste.
May 4, 2018
I completely and utterly loved this novel! Philip Ridley expanded upon the version published in 1989 and as the description says it is the "world's first LGBT magical realist epic." I was completely immersed in this amazing story about Concord (Con) Webster and what happens on "the Street." And for me, Mama Zeppelina is up there with Anna Madrigal in terms of incredible characters. I wish I had read this when I started the process of coming out. I believe it would have helped me in that process and made me feel less lonely. This is a beautiful and fantastic story and I highly recommend it.
Read
April 9, 2018Sweet and charming YA magical realism. I was expecting something much darker, but this is a hopeful book full of love and loss and and the triumph of romance, if only for a little while, no matter who the lovers are.
June 12, 2024
Un giorno incontrerò Philip Ridley e gli darò un abbraccio.
January 29, 2025
Absolutely no impartiality or critical distance here from me. I read this as a closeted adolescent in an entirely different era and it was the first utterly positive and (figuratively and literally) magical portrayal of a same-sex relationship I had come across in my voracious reading. I loved it then and loved it now.
May 17, 2020
Queer magical fiction. I love the way this story is told. Reminds me of a Japanese anime movie to a certain degree, especially the character of Mama Zepp. Great way to weave a romance into the story. I loved all the history of the characters told in a magical memory retrieval way.
July 23, 2021
Fantastic book.
December 23, 2024
Englische Stadt an der See, Zeit ziemlich unklar; Genre: fast ein Filmdrehbuch, sogenannter „magischer Realismus“, es geht um junge Leute, die drauf und dran sind, die homosexuellen Melodramen ihrer Eltern zu wiederholen.
Was habe ich gelitten! Manchmal sieht ein 190-seitiges Taschenbuch so dünn aus und dann will und will es gar nicht mehr aufhören!
Das ist eben magisch. Denn wie wir unter vielen Leserrezensionen nachlesen können, die zu meiner Überraschung positiv ausfielen, ist dies ein „magisch realistisches Buch“. Nun ja, meinetwegen. Mir ging's auf die Nerven.
Das Buch hat sich bei mir daheim gut 20 Jahre ausgeruht, ohne dass ich es jemals aufgeschlagen hätte. Gekauft habe ich es Ende der neunziger Jahre, weil Thomas Ott, der Inhaber der Stuttgarter Schwulenbuchhandlung Erlkoenig, genau der Mann, der mich zur einzigen literarischen Lesung einlud, die ich jemals bestreiten durfte, mir dafür sogar ein Honorar zahlte, es, wie ich jetzt sehe, im Januar 1992 innerhalb des Katalogs der schwulen Buchläden Deutschlands (von denen mittlerweile kaum noch welche übrig sind) als seinen „Liebling“ herausgestellt und mit fünf Sternen bedacht hatte. Einmal getan, steht das selbst heute noch auf der Erlkoenig-Site, weil er antiquarische Exemplare noch zu verkaufen hat. Thomas meinte, ins Buch sei viel hinein gepackt und die Mischung sei vollauf gelungen. Er zitiert diesen kurzen Originalton:
Da geht’s bei mir schon los. Irgendwas von Liebe und ihrem Zauber versprechen und mal wieder die Idee vertreten, Kinder wären die besseren Menschen, aber sonst wären die Menschen dumm und würden uns, die wir doch alle gut sind, verderben, das ist so klischeehaft wie banal. Soll es aber nicht sein. Dieser kleine Roman soll vielmehr ein nachtdunkles Märchen sein. Er fängt darum auch damit an, dass um den 18. Geburtstag des Freundespaars Concord und Loverboy herum (die heißen hier alle so) der Teufel gestorben sei. Womit das Beängstigende offenbar erst anfing.
Philip Ridley ist damals ein junger Shooting Star gewesen. An sich kann man ihn als Theatermann einordnen. In welchem Jahr genau er geboren wurde, hält er bis heute verborgen. Damals war er aber noch jung und gab sich wild, heute sieht er dicklich aus. Es gibt ihn in England nach wie vor. Er bringt jedes Jahre wenigstens drei verschiedene Sachen heraus. (Also wenigstens bis ungefähr 2020, danach weiß Wikipedia nicht mehr weiter.) Immer noch viele Theaterstücke, aber er hat auch viele Kinderbücher geschrieben. Er schreibt Gedichte. Er malt Bilder. Er hat sehr, sehr viele Songs für Rocksänger geschrieben und auch seine eigenen CDs veröffentlicht. Dass man ihn seinerzeit, bei „schwarzer Mann“, mit einem seiner ersten Werke in Deutschland schon vorstellte (was keineswegs fortgesetzt wurde), hat daran gelegen, dass er mit dem von ihm sowohl geschriebenen wie inszenierten Film „The Reflecting Skin“ (fand ich auch mal genial, habe ich in zwischen aber vergessen) 1990 einen internationalen Überraschungserfolg hatte. Der Film ist magisch-realistisch-surrealistisch, beschäftigt sich mit Kindheit und ist unter anderem mit Viggo Mortensen besetzt. Aus diesem Film hat man für den Umschlag der deutschen Taschenbuchausgabe ein Stadtfoto übernommen, obwohl es einen kleinen, flüchtenden Jungen vor einem Holzhaus in der Prärie zeigt, während, wie gesagt, die Jungen in diesem Buch fast erwachsen sind und an der englischen Küste leben.
Die bedrohliche Schwarz-weiß-Atmosphäre lässt einem den klassisch gewordenen düsteren „Märchenfilm“ eines anderen Engländers in den Sinn kommen, „The Night of the Hunter“ von Charles Laughton aus dem Jahr 1955. Seinerzeit ein Flop, mittlerweile als Meilenstein kanonisiert. Da ist ein Killer hinter dem Leben von zwei unschuldigen Kindern her. Der Film hat eine schwarzhumorige Freude am Grausamen, lässt die Unschuld aber doch noch gewinnen.
Ich sehe schon, der junge Ridley ist sich solcher Verwandtschaft bewusst gewesen und wollte eine vergleichbar beklemmende Magie für seine Coming-of-Age- und Coming-out-Geschichte. Viele haben ihm das wohl auch abgenommen und waren beeindruckt. Ich nicht. Wenn man in einer puritanischen Gesellschaft lebt und, um gewisse Tabu-Themen überhaupt vor einem „normalen“ Massenpublikum angehen zu können, sich für Stilisierung und Märchenton entscheidet, wenn das ein Dmitri Schostakowitsch unter dem Stalinismus oder ein Charles Laughton in den USA der McCarthy-Zeit machen, ist das riskant, frisch, verstörend. Wenn es ein britischer Theaterregisseur um 1990 herum in einem nicht ganz zurückgebliebenen Land wie Großbritannien noch mal wiederholt, ist es nur noch abgestanden, kunstgewerblich und mega-eitel. „Huch, habt ihr gesehen, wie doppelbödig ich bin!“
Das Buch besteht fast nur aus wörtlicher Rede, sodass es ziemlich wie ein Treatment fürs nächste Stück, den nächsten Film aussieht, von dem man dann aber gemerkt hat, erstens wird das zu lang, zweitens zu arm an Spektakel, drittens zu teuer in den Studiobauten, nehmen wir es doch mal als Roman. Wer halbwegs genau hinsieht, merkt, wie der Autor ganz unnötige Seiten rausschindet. Ihm Wohlgesonnene mögen es Spannungsaufbau nennen. Jedenfalls liest es sich etwa so:
Sind noch alle da? Oder haben sich welche vor all diesem Grusel schon in den Schrank verkrümelt?
Der erwähnte Herr Judge Martin ist der erwähnte gestorbene „Teufel“. Concord Webster, der Erzähler, hat ihn, der wie ein Greis aussah und von allen in der Straße seit Jahren nur noch gehasst und geschnitten wurde, tot in seinem Haus liegen sehen, nachdem eine gewisse Mama Zep dort einen komischen Geruch wahrgenommen hatte. Den Namen Teufel hat Concords eigene Mutter aufgebracht, die sich, wie aber auch der viel älter wirkende Tote, irgendwo in ihren Vierzigern befindet. Der erwähnte Crom oder Cromwell ist der Sohn von Judge Martin, also dem Teufel. Er ist wunderschön, Concord verliebt sich auf den ersten Blick in ihn, nachdem Cromwell zur Beerdigung angereist ist. Auch der junge Judge Martin war einstmals wunderschön und auch mehr oder weniger schwul. Da gab es, all das wird nach und nach von Mama Zep erzählt, ein Teenager-Trio aus Cons Mutter Faith, Judge Martins junger Gattin Rachel und einer mysteriös verschwundenen Petra Gerda. Erst wurde der wunderschöne Crom gezeugt und dann hat Faith Niven (die Mutter als Mädchen) die gesellschaftlich unakzeptablen Lieben ausgeplaudert, aus Eifersucht. Judge war mit einem kleinen Jungen namens Steven zusammen (wer der Mr Fury des englischen Titels ist, bleibt etwas unklar) und Rachel, seine Frau, also die andere Freundin von Faith, auf lesbische Weise mit Petra Gerda liiert, die später spurlos verschwunden ist.
Nun ist der Erzähler ja eigentlich immer noch mit Loverboy Tallis zusammen, der wiederum das Mädchen Angela heiraten wird, sobald er 18 ist. Wenn aber Con sich mit dem wunderschönen Martin-Sohn Cromwell zusammentut, Sex gibt es keinen, doch ab und an turnen sie nackt durchs Bild, dann dürfte Loverboy, auch Tall genannt, vielleicht irgendwie eifersüchtig werden und ausrasten, wie einst die Mutter.
Sodass nunmehr die Frage im Raum steht, wer am Ende sterben wird und wer heil aus dem Liebessalat (schöner Buchtitel, von F. Truffaut entliehen) herauskommt. Okay, solche Literatur muss es auch mal geben. Aber ich weiß nicht, was sie über irgendetwas aussagt, wieso sie extra „magisch“ sein soll, wieso sie - auf Teufel komm raus - von der ihr angemessenen Kurzgeschichtenlänge von 30 Seiten zu einem 190-Seiten-Romanchen aufgeblasen wurde. Im Kino wär's okay gewesen, nach 90 Minuten wär's vorbei gewesen. Aber so: Wochen hab ich dafür gebraucht!
Was habe ich gelitten! Manchmal sieht ein 190-seitiges Taschenbuch so dünn aus und dann will und will es gar nicht mehr aufhören!
Das ist eben magisch. Denn wie wir unter vielen Leserrezensionen nachlesen können, die zu meiner Überraschung positiv ausfielen, ist dies ein „magisch realistisches Buch“. Nun ja, meinetwegen. Mir ging's auf die Nerven.
Das Buch hat sich bei mir daheim gut 20 Jahre ausgeruht, ohne dass ich es jemals aufgeschlagen hätte. Gekauft habe ich es Ende der neunziger Jahre, weil Thomas Ott, der Inhaber der Stuttgarter Schwulenbuchhandlung Erlkoenig, genau der Mann, der mich zur einzigen literarischen Lesung einlud, die ich jemals bestreiten durfte, mir dafür sogar ein Honorar zahlte, es, wie ich jetzt sehe, im Januar 1992 innerhalb des Katalogs der schwulen Buchläden Deutschlands (von denen mittlerweile kaum noch welche übrig sind) als seinen „Liebling“ herausgestellt und mit fünf Sternen bedacht hatte. Einmal getan, steht das selbst heute noch auf der Erlkoenig-Site, weil er antiquarische Exemplare noch zu verkaufen hat. Thomas meinte, ins Buch sei viel hinein gepackt und die Mischung sei vollauf gelungen. Er zitiert diesen kurzen Originalton:
Wenn wir geboren werden, sind wir liebende Zauberwesen voller Wunder. Aber überall umgibt uns Dunkelheit und Dummheit, bis uns dann eines Tages jemand Monster oder Teufel nennt und wir ihm auch noch glauben.
Da geht’s bei mir schon los. Irgendwas von Liebe und ihrem Zauber versprechen und mal wieder die Idee vertreten, Kinder wären die besseren Menschen, aber sonst wären die Menschen dumm und würden uns, die wir doch alle gut sind, verderben, das ist so klischeehaft wie banal. Soll es aber nicht sein. Dieser kleine Roman soll vielmehr ein nachtdunkles Märchen sein. Er fängt darum auch damit an, dass um den 18. Geburtstag des Freundespaars Concord und Loverboy herum (die heißen hier alle so) der Teufel gestorben sei. Womit das Beängstigende offenbar erst anfing.
Philip Ridley ist damals ein junger Shooting Star gewesen. An sich kann man ihn als Theatermann einordnen. In welchem Jahr genau er geboren wurde, hält er bis heute verborgen. Damals war er aber noch jung und gab sich wild, heute sieht er dicklich aus. Es gibt ihn in England nach wie vor. Er bringt jedes Jahre wenigstens drei verschiedene Sachen heraus. (Also wenigstens bis ungefähr 2020, danach weiß Wikipedia nicht mehr weiter.) Immer noch viele Theaterstücke, aber er hat auch viele Kinderbücher geschrieben. Er schreibt Gedichte. Er malt Bilder. Er hat sehr, sehr viele Songs für Rocksänger geschrieben und auch seine eigenen CDs veröffentlicht. Dass man ihn seinerzeit, bei „schwarzer Mann“, mit einem seiner ersten Werke in Deutschland schon vorstellte (was keineswegs fortgesetzt wurde), hat daran gelegen, dass er mit dem von ihm sowohl geschriebenen wie inszenierten Film „The Reflecting Skin“ (fand ich auch mal genial, habe ich in zwischen aber vergessen) 1990 einen internationalen Überraschungserfolg hatte. Der Film ist magisch-realistisch-surrealistisch, beschäftigt sich mit Kindheit und ist unter anderem mit Viggo Mortensen besetzt. Aus diesem Film hat man für den Umschlag der deutschen Taschenbuchausgabe ein Stadtfoto übernommen, obwohl es einen kleinen, flüchtenden Jungen vor einem Holzhaus in der Prärie zeigt, während, wie gesagt, die Jungen in diesem Buch fast erwachsen sind und an der englischen Küste leben.
Die bedrohliche Schwarz-weiß-Atmosphäre lässt einem den klassisch gewordenen düsteren „Märchenfilm“ eines anderen Engländers in den Sinn kommen, „The Night of the Hunter“ von Charles Laughton aus dem Jahr 1955. Seinerzeit ein Flop, mittlerweile als Meilenstein kanonisiert. Da ist ein Killer hinter dem Leben von zwei unschuldigen Kindern her. Der Film hat eine schwarzhumorige Freude am Grausamen, lässt die Unschuld aber doch noch gewinnen.
Ich sehe schon, der junge Ridley ist sich solcher Verwandtschaft bewusst gewesen und wollte eine vergleichbar beklemmende Magie für seine Coming-of-Age- und Coming-out-Geschichte. Viele haben ihm das wohl auch abgenommen und waren beeindruckt. Ich nicht. Wenn man in einer puritanischen Gesellschaft lebt und, um gewisse Tabu-Themen überhaupt vor einem „normalen“ Massenpublikum angehen zu können, sich für Stilisierung und Märchenton entscheidet, wenn das ein Dmitri Schostakowitsch unter dem Stalinismus oder ein Charles Laughton in den USA der McCarthy-Zeit machen, ist das riskant, frisch, verstörend. Wenn es ein britischer Theaterregisseur um 1990 herum in einem nicht ganz zurückgebliebenen Land wie Großbritannien noch mal wiederholt, ist es nur noch abgestanden, kunstgewerblich und mega-eitel. „Huch, habt ihr gesehen, wie doppelbödig ich bin!“
Das Buch besteht fast nur aus wörtlicher Rede, sodass es ziemlich wie ein Treatment fürs nächste Stück, den nächsten Film aussieht, von dem man dann aber gemerkt hat, erstens wird das zu lang, zweitens zu arm an Spektakel, drittens zu teuer in den Studiobauten, nehmen wir es doch mal als Roman. Wer halbwegs genau hinsieht, merkt, wie der Autor ganz unnötige Seiten rausschindet. Ihm Wohlgesonnene mögen es Spannungsaufbau nennen. Jedenfalls liest es sich etwa so:
Nach einer Weile stand ich auf.
„Ich muss jetzt gehen“, sagte ich.
„Verstehe. Komm bald wieder!“
„Klar!“
Sie begleitete mich zur Tür.
„Was für eine schreckliche Farbe“, sagte sie. “Wenn Crom kommt, muss ich ihn unbedingt dazu bringen, sie zu ändern!“
„Wenn wer kommt?“
„Wie ich jetzt erst erfahren habe, wird er bei der Beerdigung dabei sein.“
„Der Sohn?“
„Ja.“
„Wie heißt er?“
„Cromwell“, sagte sie. „Cromwell Martin.“
Am nächsten Morgen wachte ich vom Lärm auf der Straße auf. Autotüren wurden zugeknallt. Ich blickte zum Fenster hinaus.
Der Leichenzug brach gerade auf.
Sind noch alle da? Oder haben sich welche vor all diesem Grusel schon in den Schrank verkrümelt?
Der erwähnte Herr Judge Martin ist der erwähnte gestorbene „Teufel“. Concord Webster, der Erzähler, hat ihn, der wie ein Greis aussah und von allen in der Straße seit Jahren nur noch gehasst und geschnitten wurde, tot in seinem Haus liegen sehen, nachdem eine gewisse Mama Zep dort einen komischen Geruch wahrgenommen hatte. Den Namen Teufel hat Concords eigene Mutter aufgebracht, die sich, wie aber auch der viel älter wirkende Tote, irgendwo in ihren Vierzigern befindet. Der erwähnte Crom oder Cromwell ist der Sohn von Judge Martin, also dem Teufel. Er ist wunderschön, Concord verliebt sich auf den ersten Blick in ihn, nachdem Cromwell zur Beerdigung angereist ist. Auch der junge Judge Martin war einstmals wunderschön und auch mehr oder weniger schwul. Da gab es, all das wird nach und nach von Mama Zep erzählt, ein Teenager-Trio aus Cons Mutter Faith, Judge Martins junger Gattin Rachel und einer mysteriös verschwundenen Petra Gerda. Erst wurde der wunderschöne Crom gezeugt und dann hat Faith Niven (die Mutter als Mädchen) die gesellschaftlich unakzeptablen Lieben ausgeplaudert, aus Eifersucht. Judge war mit einem kleinen Jungen namens Steven zusammen (wer der Mr Fury des englischen Titels ist, bleibt etwas unklar) und Rachel, seine Frau, also die andere Freundin von Faith, auf lesbische Weise mit Petra Gerda liiert, die später spurlos verschwunden ist.
Nun ist der Erzähler ja eigentlich immer noch mit Loverboy Tallis zusammen, der wiederum das Mädchen Angela heiraten wird, sobald er 18 ist. Wenn aber Con sich mit dem wunderschönen Martin-Sohn Cromwell zusammentut, Sex gibt es keinen, doch ab und an turnen sie nackt durchs Bild, dann dürfte Loverboy, auch Tall genannt, vielleicht irgendwie eifersüchtig werden und ausrasten, wie einst die Mutter.
Sodass nunmehr die Frage im Raum steht, wer am Ende sterben wird und wer heil aus dem Liebessalat (schöner Buchtitel, von F. Truffaut entliehen) herauskommt. Okay, solche Literatur muss es auch mal geben. Aber ich weiß nicht, was sie über irgendetwas aussagt, wieso sie extra „magisch“ sein soll, wieso sie - auf Teufel komm raus - von der ihr angemessenen Kurzgeschichtenlänge von 30 Seiten zu einem 190-Seiten-Romanchen aufgeblasen wurde. Im Kino wär's okay gewesen, nach 90 Minuten wär's vorbei gewesen. Aber so: Wochen hab ich dafür gebraucht!
April 3, 2018
Philip Ridley writes this queer, magical realist, coming-of-age epic in the poppy, immediate style of a play. Colours swarm and magic dances around every character in a fantasy world with seemingly more queer characters than straight, one where justice is served for the oppressed, where no bigot is changed, yet our protagonist finds strength and identity despite them.
After his eighteenth birthday, Concord develops a relationship with a strange older woman on his street, Mama Zepp. She knows all the sordid stories that have entangled the lives of the street's many residents, including the heartbreak and tragedy of her queer neighbours of her generation. With folksy and understated magic, she allows Concord to experience the story in strange and affecting ways, until it is his own. Through the telling, Concord gains the strength to seek his own love, stand up against oppression, and live his truth honestly.
There are a lot of twists and turns in this novel, covering over one hundred years of a neighbourhood's history. The magic of the book is in how these stories are told, the rapid-fire, pithy dialogue, the elements of fantasy, and the unique use of onomatopoeia and synesthetic descriptions.
The romantic relationship, the most grounded element of the plot, and foundational to story, isn't nearly as effective as these flashier elements. The book is so full of witticisms and observations and characters and plot turns and magic that not quite enough room was left to develop a relationship that, in words on the page, seems to be a lot deeper than the story realistically allows. The stories and their fantastic presentation are pretty. But without the emotional weight where it is most required, the demands to take the darker elements seriously just aren't strong enough to make them matter as they should. Another 100 pages dedicated to the development of this relationship alone could have gone a long way to raise the stakes of the plot, and inspire empathy in the reader for more believable characters and their relationship.
Many of the numerous characters in Mr Fury also suffer from a lack of nuance and depth. Most are either angelically virtuous, or shockingly corrupt. One character in particular makes a major turn in the book, and is portrayed as the latter from the moment they are out of the protagonist's favour. This, and the lack of any redemption or change in any of the antagonists casts these players in a high-contrast monochrome over which this story splashes all its colour. It may be that this was a choice made to create a fairy tale world for the book. Personally, I think that a broader range of characterization may have given the book more impact.
I recommend this book especially to high school aged teenagers looking for a hopeful, queer, magical mystery tour.
☠
eBook
Valancourt Books, December 6, 2016
Originally published as a shorter book with the same title in 1989
Three Stars
March 28-April 3, 2018
☠
After his eighteenth birthday, Concord develops a relationship with a strange older woman on his street, Mama Zepp. She knows all the sordid stories that have entangled the lives of the street's many residents, including the heartbreak and tragedy of her queer neighbours of her generation. With folksy and understated magic, she allows Concord to experience the story in strange and affecting ways, until it is his own. Through the telling, Concord gains the strength to seek his own love, stand up against oppression, and live his truth honestly.
There are a lot of twists and turns in this novel, covering over one hundred years of a neighbourhood's history. The magic of the book is in how these stories are told, the rapid-fire, pithy dialogue, the elements of fantasy, and the unique use of onomatopoeia and synesthetic descriptions.
The romantic relationship, the most grounded element of the plot, and foundational to story, isn't nearly as effective as these flashier elements. The book is so full of witticisms and observations and characters and plot turns and magic that not quite enough room was left to develop a relationship that, in words on the page, seems to be a lot deeper than the story realistically allows. The stories and their fantastic presentation are pretty. But without the emotional weight where it is most required, the demands to take the darker elements seriously just aren't strong enough to make them matter as they should. Another 100 pages dedicated to the development of this relationship alone could have gone a long way to raise the stakes of the plot, and inspire empathy in the reader for more believable characters and their relationship.
Many of the numerous characters in Mr Fury also suffer from a lack of nuance and depth. Most are either angelically virtuous, or shockingly corrupt. One character in particular makes a major turn in the book, and is portrayed as the latter from the moment they are out of the protagonist's favour. This, and the lack of any redemption or change in any of the antagonists casts these players in a high-contrast monochrome over which this story splashes all its colour. It may be that this was a choice made to create a fairy tale world for the book. Personally, I think that a broader range of characterization may have given the book more impact.
I recommend this book especially to high school aged teenagers looking for a hopeful, queer, magical mystery tour.
☠
eBook
Valancourt Books, December 6, 2016
Originally published as a shorter book with the same title in 1989
Three Stars
March 28-April 3, 2018
☠
February 25, 2019
This review is for the original 1989 (?) Penguin version of the book. Years later, the author reissued the same title in a more expanded form, so the original now is a bit hard to find. The newer edition is considered magical realism, but there isn't a lot of that in the original. Basically it's a LGBTQ coming-of-age love story with a beautiful first-person voice that hints at time repeating itself, if only metaphorically. The fantasy element in this version is subtle, and this is definitely a thinker. I think I actually said "well, huh" when I finished it, and decided to let it percolate a bit before my review.
The voice is exquisite and the story is reasonably easy to follow, especially once you figure out the layers. I'm not entirely sure, upon finishing it, what to make of the ending, but it was satisfying in a way that ambiguous endings tend not to be. One interesting thing in the book is that all of the characters seem to really want to make the book about them -- so in some very interesting ways this is book about relationships and our roles in our inter-personal relationships. Some of the best quotes in the book deal with this perception of our own importance in other people's stories, and how we sometimes confuse who is the actual star of his or her own show. It's a quick read, deceptively simple on the surface, but probably a book that deserves a second or even third read, maybe at different life stages.
From what I gather about the re-issued version there was a lot of "magic" added and the characters came across differently. When an author takes a coming of age novel written early in his career, waits 25 years to rewrite and release an updated version, it's really going to be a different book. If I get around to reading the updated version, I'll comment on the differences.
The voice is exquisite and the story is reasonably easy to follow, especially once you figure out the layers. I'm not entirely sure, upon finishing it, what to make of the ending, but it was satisfying in a way that ambiguous endings tend not to be. One interesting thing in the book is that all of the characters seem to really want to make the book about them -- so in some very interesting ways this is book about relationships and our roles in our inter-personal relationships. Some of the best quotes in the book deal with this perception of our own importance in other people's stories, and how we sometimes confuse who is the actual star of his or her own show. It's a quick read, deceptively simple on the surface, but probably a book that deserves a second or even third read, maybe at different life stages.
From what I gather about the re-issued version there was a lot of "magic" added and the characters came across differently. When an author takes a coming of age novel written early in his career, waits 25 years to rewrite and release an updated version, it's really going to be a different book. If I get around to reading the updated version, I'll comment on the differences.
December 7, 2017
I went into this book with a lot of skepticism. I was nearly positive I wouldn't enjoy it all that much...yet once it began, I was completely captured. Just like Concord.
The stories being told here are all so captivating. villans become innocent dreamers, while trusted adults become vial betrayers. We are given a window into the stories of people much too entangled to ever truly be parted, all the while helping not only our main character, Concord, learn and grow, but us as well.
We are taken into a magical tale of what it takes to love. Both the joys of it and the hardships in it. We are given hope in the physical form of Cromwell. We are faced with betrayal in Loverboy and Faith. We are given the gifts of Stevie, Rachel, and Petra...but most of all, we share in the suffering of Judge. The Devil, once a tall tale so built up in our minds that there was no way it would be any different...yet Judge was the furthest thing from a Devil. He was a boy. A man. A lover. A lonely, heartbroken hermit. He was human, just as we learn that everybody is.
I'm nearly disappointed that this book isn't longer.
Romance, Love, Storms, Hurt, Betrayal, Acceptance, Self-discovery, Self-understanding, Lies, Trust, Courage, and Crows.
I cannot give this book enough praise.
It has become my very favorite book. I will be reading this book again and again, many times to come, no matter how old I get...and each time it will feel like the first. Concord will always live in my heart.
The stories being told here are all so captivating. villans become innocent dreamers, while trusted adults become vial betrayers. We are given a window into the stories of people much too entangled to ever truly be parted, all the while helping not only our main character, Concord, learn and grow, but us as well.
We are taken into a magical tale of what it takes to love. Both the joys of it and the hardships in it. We are given hope in the physical form of Cromwell. We are faced with betrayal in Loverboy and Faith. We are given the gifts of Stevie, Rachel, and Petra...but most of all, we share in the suffering of Judge. The Devil, once a tall tale so built up in our minds that there was no way it would be any different...yet Judge was the furthest thing from a Devil. He was a boy. A man. A lover. A lonely, heartbroken hermit. He was human, just as we learn that everybody is.
I'm nearly disappointed that this book isn't longer.
Romance, Love, Storms, Hurt, Betrayal, Acceptance, Self-discovery, Self-understanding, Lies, Trust, Courage, and Crows.
I cannot give this book enough praise.
It has become my very favorite book. I will be reading this book again and again, many times to come, no matter how old I get...and each time it will feel like the first. Concord will always live in my heart.
January 10, 2021
“Lovely” and “Charming” are not the words that I thought I would be writing about this novel when I originally picked it up. That’s my fault as for some reason I thought this would have more of a horror or dark thriller theme (blame it on my love for Ridley’s wildly under seen and under appreciated film The Reflecting Skin) and instead it is a perfectly wonderful magical realist fantasia about a gay man coming of age in the early 1980’s in working class London and coming to grips with both the history of treatment of LGBTQ people in that area in the second half of the 20th Century and his responsibility for his own future. Highly recommended.
February 5, 2019
I'm convinced this is my favourite novel. A work of sublime wonder, aching emotion, and spell-binding imagery that is a triumph of queer love and storytelling against the adversity of tradition and the past. This book filled me with such warmth, pain, wonder, and pride to see a fairytale in which love ultimately wins.
August 16, 2017
This is a review of the expanded, now complete, novel, published in 2016. I didn't want this novel to end, having become so enchanted by the epic fantasy contained within the small setting of a street. I also wish that novels like this had been around when I was a teenager. Simply magical.
August 28, 2019
For about the last quarter of this book my eyes were stinging with tears from one of more of the following: the intensity of emotion, melancholy, horror, and beauty of the prose and imagery.
One of the best books I’ve read in quite some time.
One of the best books I’ve read in quite some time.
Want to read
February 28, 2020Libro per me incredibile. Letto da ragazzina mi ha colpito in modo notevole. Una delicatezza e un mistero unico. Affronta temi molto scottanti per l epoca con un innocenza e una dolcezza unica. Letto in biblioteca da anni lo cerco ma pare introvabile.
May 22, 2021
Ridley uses very little nuance. The obvious is consistently observed and every sleeve has a heart. Still, there is a warmth that wells up through the trauma that charms you with its earnest hope to foster healing and prevent pain.
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