What do you think?
Rate this book
Pollen: A Novel in Black and White
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
February 5, 2022
Pollen is a novel, a work of art, really, from the delicious prose to the lavish black and white illustrations by the author and artist Beresford Egan, to the stunning presentation by publisher Sidereal Press - a novel that unfolds in so many ways, revealing itself in a long, slow burn that takes the reader by surprise, in time, like a frog discovering it's being boiled after having hopped into a nice cool pan of water on a heretofore unlit stove. That's not to say that there is any degree of
deus ex machina
here, no, not at all! There is a natural progression of attitudes and events, but they are handled so deftly that one realizes what is happening and damns their lack of foresight, only right before the consequences strike.
The narrative mostly centers around the actions of one Lancelot Daurimer, "man of the world" as they say, a dilettante, a scoundrel, an aesthete. At times, one sees aspects of Wodehouse's Bertie Wooster, at others, Huysman's Essientes, and others, Wilde's Dorian Gray. And yet, he is his own man, a man who changes throughout the novel while, in the end, remaining very much himself. Lance Daurimer is one of the most compelling characters I've read in many, many years. He reflects us at our cruelest, our most irresponsible . . . and our most repentant and most vulnerable. For me, this carried a strong emotional resonance with my own life and the changes I have undergone through the years. In some ways (but, thankfully, not all), I am Lance Daurimer. I understand that this novel is semi-autobiographical for Beresford Egan, and one can tell that the depths of pain and self-loathing that are laid out on the page come from the author's personal experience. Egan was exorcising some demons here, but it never feels self-indulgent.
It is clearly evident that Egan paid careful attention to his text while writing and editing it. For example, the banter between Lance Daurimer and Vernon Batty is quite good. It feels natural, but on very close examination, you can see the grammatical and metaphorical craftsmanship with which it was created. I wish we had more dialogue like this in more (post?)modern literature. Dialogue can be witty and baroque and yet still feel natural if the characters participating in it are both cynical and humorous. Egan rides the razor's edge between the decadents and the modern without missing a step. though it was written in the 1930s, it feels like it is bridging the gap between the 1880s and the 1920s. But it does so without self-awareness; fluidly.
For all its cynical humor and wit, this book is definitely not a comedy. Even if it was to take a strong turn into comedic channels and stay there till the end, the laughter would always be echoed by a sense of sorrow and loss. The pain here is quite real, as we learn in the conversation between Daurimer and his father. The dialogue here is brilliant, even in its own darkness. Pollen is complex and requires something on the part of the reader: the ability to unpack and examine the growth of character (not just Daurimer's, it should be noted). Though it reads smoothly, it is not an "easy" read. One might be forgiven for thinking the book is much less than it is if the reader doesn't read the book to the end. This is one that rewards the reader who sticks it out to the end, not because of any surprise ending, but because at the end of it all, the reader can look back and fully appreciate what Egan has built here in all of it's elegance and depravity.
While there really is no "weird" or "fantastical" element, Daurimer has a daytime vision in which he sees "Lucifera," the feminine aspect of the devil himself. What decadent-leaning novel would be complete without a hallucinatory manifestation of Lucifer's feminine aspect? It goes with the territory, N'est ce Pas?
Egan's illustrations are possibly the "weirdest" feature of the book. One should probably expect this from the same author who drew illustrations for one of the more beutiful presentations of Baudelaire's Fleurs du Mal. Most of it would be considered quite risque in 1930s England, though Egan eschews pornography, per se, in the concluding essay "Black and White Art - What Is It?" which Sidereal rightfully saw fit to include after the book's conclusion. This essay actually tells quite a bit about what Egan was trying to do with Pollen without referring to Pollen at all. It was not to take sides with good or evil at all, but to side only with Art, erasing the man-made lines between "good" and "evil". In this novel, he has quite definitely succeeded.
The narrative mostly centers around the actions of one Lancelot Daurimer, "man of the world" as they say, a dilettante, a scoundrel, an aesthete. At times, one sees aspects of Wodehouse's Bertie Wooster, at others, Huysman's Essientes, and others, Wilde's Dorian Gray. And yet, he is his own man, a man who changes throughout the novel while, in the end, remaining very much himself. Lance Daurimer is one of the most compelling characters I've read in many, many years. He reflects us at our cruelest, our most irresponsible . . . and our most repentant and most vulnerable. For me, this carried a strong emotional resonance with my own life and the changes I have undergone through the years. In some ways (but, thankfully, not all), I am Lance Daurimer. I understand that this novel is semi-autobiographical for Beresford Egan, and one can tell that the depths of pain and self-loathing that are laid out on the page come from the author's personal experience. Egan was exorcising some demons here, but it never feels self-indulgent.
It is clearly evident that Egan paid careful attention to his text while writing and editing it. For example, the banter between Lance Daurimer and Vernon Batty is quite good. It feels natural, but on very close examination, you can see the grammatical and metaphorical craftsmanship with which it was created. I wish we had more dialogue like this in more (post?)modern literature. Dialogue can be witty and baroque and yet still feel natural if the characters participating in it are both cynical and humorous. Egan rides the razor's edge between the decadents and the modern without missing a step. though it was written in the 1930s, it feels like it is bridging the gap between the 1880s and the 1920s. But it does so without self-awareness; fluidly.
For all its cynical humor and wit, this book is definitely not a comedy. Even if it was to take a strong turn into comedic channels and stay there till the end, the laughter would always be echoed by a sense of sorrow and loss. The pain here is quite real, as we learn in the conversation between Daurimer and his father. The dialogue here is brilliant, even in its own darkness. Pollen is complex and requires something on the part of the reader: the ability to unpack and examine the growth of character (not just Daurimer's, it should be noted). Though it reads smoothly, it is not an "easy" read. One might be forgiven for thinking the book is much less than it is if the reader doesn't read the book to the end. This is one that rewards the reader who sticks it out to the end, not because of any surprise ending, but because at the end of it all, the reader can look back and fully appreciate what Egan has built here in all of it's elegance and depravity.
While there really is no "weird" or "fantastical" element, Daurimer has a daytime vision in which he sees "Lucifera," the feminine aspect of the devil himself. What decadent-leaning novel would be complete without a hallucinatory manifestation of Lucifer's feminine aspect? It goes with the territory, N'est ce Pas?
Egan's illustrations are possibly the "weirdest" feature of the book. One should probably expect this from the same author who drew illustrations for one of the more beutiful presentations of Baudelaire's Fleurs du Mal. Most of it would be considered quite risque in 1930s England, though Egan eschews pornography, per se, in the concluding essay "Black and White Art - What Is It?" which Sidereal rightfully saw fit to include after the book's conclusion. This essay actually tells quite a bit about what Egan was trying to do with Pollen without referring to Pollen at all. It was not to take sides with good or evil at all, but to side only with Art, erasing the man-made lines between "good" and "evil". In this novel, he has quite definitely succeeded.
September 14, 2013
I don't review often as I find it difficult to organise my thoughts or else feel that my views would add little to what has been said before (and usually been said better). However, I really wanted to express my delight with this book.
>
"One falls in love with the unknown, and smashes it in the mad desire to strip off every veil. When one is enriched by all the loved one's secrets and finds they don't quite come up to one's expectations, one spurns him with righteous disappointment and leaves him, naked, to lament the robbery."
>
Although the story is simple enough, it races along with a real flavour of the twenties 'vibe' and a good side-order of first person musings, lending an almost autobiographical feel to narrative.
In effect, it's a study of morals and manners -the corruption (or liberation) of innocence, questions of love and the sexual politicking of a certain class of society. I imagine this would have seemed decidedly risqué in it's day.
The real charm however lies in it's sheer readability. Not a word feels misplaced and many of the observations on life are just as pertinent today as they would have been in 1933.
Of equal joy are the beautiful illustrations, the way the 'pollen' concept is carried (through the naming of the chapters and of the different sections of the book) and the sheer quality and attention to detail that have gone into this re-issue. Side Real Press have truly brought the era of decadence back to life.
>
"One falls in love with the unknown, and smashes it in the mad desire to strip off every veil. When one is enriched by all the loved one's secrets and finds they don't quite come up to one's expectations, one spurns him with righteous disappointment and leaves him, naked, to lament the robbery."
>
Although the story is simple enough, it races along with a real flavour of the twenties 'vibe' and a good side-order of first person musings, lending an almost autobiographical feel to narrative.
In effect, it's a study of morals and manners -the corruption (or liberation) of innocence, questions of love and the sexual politicking of a certain class of society. I imagine this would have seemed decidedly risqué in it's day.
The real charm however lies in it's sheer readability. Not a word feels misplaced and many of the observations on life are just as pertinent today as they would have been in 1933.
Of equal joy are the beautiful illustrations, the way the 'pollen' concept is carried (through the naming of the chapters and of the different sections of the book) and the sheer quality and attention to detail that have gone into this re-issue. Side Real Press have truly brought the era of decadence back to life.
October 11, 2020
What a delightfully sinful book! A racy study of manners perfectly capturing the sensual cynicism that lurked beneath the dazzling veneer of the Jazz Age.
I got this from Sidereal Press back in 2013, in my early 20s. I found it quite unreadable at the time, and so poor Pollen sat there on my shelves, patiently gathering dust until recent weeks. I suppose I have the COVID lockdown & its companion, insufferable ennui, to thank for finally giving me urge to revisit this tome.
How taste & perspective change over time: Fast forward to 2020, and I could scarcely put this down in my second attempt. Charmingly written, with dialogues sharp as knives, whimsical musings & mordant invectives on middle-class morality, art, religion, love – Pollen was an absolute joy to blaze through. Think of a more cynical F. Scott Fitzgerald - or even better yet, Oscar Wilde, had the great man lived & flourished into the Roaring Twenties.
Puncturing the text here & there are a handful of appropriately sordid illustrations by the author. I imagine the whole package would’ve been deemed quite risqué when first published.
I got this from Sidereal Press back in 2013, in my early 20s. I found it quite unreadable at the time, and so poor Pollen sat there on my shelves, patiently gathering dust until recent weeks. I suppose I have the COVID lockdown & its companion, insufferable ennui, to thank for finally giving me urge to revisit this tome.
How taste & perspective change over time: Fast forward to 2020, and I could scarcely put this down in my second attempt. Charmingly written, with dialogues sharp as knives, whimsical musings & mordant invectives on middle-class morality, art, religion, love – Pollen was an absolute joy to blaze through. Think of a more cynical F. Scott Fitzgerald - or even better yet, Oscar Wilde, had the great man lived & flourished into the Roaring Twenties.
Puncturing the text here & there are a handful of appropriately sordid illustrations by the author. I imagine the whole package would’ve been deemed quite risqué when first published.
August 5, 2022
Egan, Beresford - Pollen
The progress of the cultivated decadent.
Cynicism takes effort. When it is unfashionable, the cynic is despised, or worse, pitied. When it becomes fashionable, the cynic becomes “mainstream” and, chances are, despises himself.
Rebellion, in the long game, is highly overrated.
Lancelot Daurimer, idler, stunted painter, casual spendthrift, finds himself low on resources, ambition, any sort of possibilities, actually.
He “rents” rooms from Anna Beryl (Cleontine) who is older, more experienced, to be blunt, out of his league.
Lance, though a reprobate, possesses the grace of the predator which, from the time of Caesar, is beguiling to women.
While drawn to Cleontine, he targets Lady Marylyn, young, innocent, shielded by middle class conventionality. Targets her and decides to ruin her, to rot her from within.
Pollen is a delicious, dissolute pleasure. Manners and situations feel like a cross between the fin de siècle of the 1890’s and the bankrupt carcass of the Jazz Age just before the Great Depression.
Egan comes across as the bastard nephew of Oscar Wilde, and I mean that as a compliment.
His wordplay is impeccable and engaging. The book is an extremely fast read, propelling the reader in a galloping rush.
Additional pleasure comes from several illustrations by Mr. Egan.
The most discouraging aspect of Pollen was that It was written in all of three months, which leaves me dumbfounded.
The progress of the cultivated decadent.
Cynicism takes effort. When it is unfashionable, the cynic is despised, or worse, pitied. When it becomes fashionable, the cynic becomes “mainstream” and, chances are, despises himself.
Rebellion, in the long game, is highly overrated.
Lancelot Daurimer, idler, stunted painter, casual spendthrift, finds himself low on resources, ambition, any sort of possibilities, actually.
He “rents” rooms from Anna Beryl (Cleontine) who is older, more experienced, to be blunt, out of his league.
Lance, though a reprobate, possesses the grace of the predator which, from the time of Caesar, is beguiling to women.
While drawn to Cleontine, he targets Lady Marylyn, young, innocent, shielded by middle class conventionality. Targets her and decides to ruin her, to rot her from within.
Pollen is a delicious, dissolute pleasure. Manners and situations feel like a cross between the fin de siècle of the 1890’s and the bankrupt carcass of the Jazz Age just before the Great Depression.
Egan comes across as the bastard nephew of Oscar Wilde, and I mean that as a compliment.
His wordplay is impeccable and engaging. The book is an extremely fast read, propelling the reader in a galloping rush.
Additional pleasure comes from several illustrations by Mr. Egan.
The most discouraging aspect of Pollen was that It was written in all of three months, which leaves me dumbfounded.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews