The reviews are divisive on this latest novel by Sadie Jones, and I can understand that. It is a very British book with a Hollywood ending, although, in her defense, the author created a plot that had a natural and organic conclusion. The ending was inevitable, so it wasn’t hamstrung. But, I agree that it could have been arranged in a less predictable outcome. The plot itself wasn’t the aim, though; it was the authentic and gimlet eye that Jones possesses when it comes to all things theater, and the romantic complications and stickiness that ensue—the theater as an incestuous and cloistered space.
I was very involved in theater in my twenties, particularly one playhouse that performed cutting-edge productions, and what they called New Theater. I performed in plays that were written by local, regional, or other innovative playwrights that were just getting started. It was exciting, full of discoveries. And, it all came back to me when I read FALLOUT.
The novel is an ensemble piece, focusing as it does on several different characters involved in theater, primarily in 1970s London. Luke Kanowski is from the poorer provinces, with a sad past. His mother is contained in a hospital for the mentally ill, and his father tries to overlook it, mostly with his head in the sand. Luke has talent, is writing plays, and is eager to test his ambitions in London. He meets Paul Driscoll, who is a talented producer, and Leigh Radley, a student. Eventually they bond together and start a theater company on a shoestring.
The company they form is a passionate start-up, and a prelude to later buying space for a theater. The members are jacks-of-all-trades, doing everything they can to get it off the ground. Financial matters, building renovation, set design, and play production is done democratically, while Luke continues to write plays on the side (that he isn’t ready to share). As the three become closer, love and romance walk a tightrope. These triangulations were so common, in my experience, especially as theater becomes your life 24/7. However, in this case, Paul and Leigh clearly become a solid couple.
Intertwined with this narrative is the story of Nina Jacobs, an aspiring actress with a domineering, meddling mother, who eventually introduces her to a theater producer, Tony Moore, who has lots of posh connections. Tony is a chilling, enigmatic figure, and Jones’s development of him was unnerving and formidable. Although feminism stakes a claim in the 70’s, Nina is subsumed in in a passive role, a second to the man who controls her. She is beautiful, damaged, and starving for the spotlight. She has a fragile but alluring presence on stage, which captures Luke’s hungry heart.
Jones has a gift for dialogue, which is good, as this book has a considerable amount of it, and she keeps the pace and intimacy sharp and vibrating. Her characters are supple, fully dimensional, so if you are a lover of character-driven books, you'll be delighted. Moreover, the author conveys the contradictory ambiance of the theater métier, the alternating lather and lassitude. I wouldn't recommend this book for a mass audience--it is going to appeal more to readers with some insider experience of theater. I am not speaking of commercial theater, either, but rather the more incipient art houses that are both fertile and hopeful, but also vulnerable to fallout.
“Paul, Luke, Leigh…text-cut and set-built in a frenzy of broken deadlines, late nights, and long mornings…Its successes inspired him, its failures provided counterpoints. In any gap, with any opportunity, he wrote, controlling his own work as he could not control his collaboration.”