4 Miles 2 ½ Furlongs
It seems appropriate that the 2020 Virtual Grand National was little more than a week ago, the same time that I was introduced to Absent Oelemberg, the racehorse at the centre of Spring’s subplot. James and his unreliable friend, Freddy, have purchased a share in the horse whose distinctive name they learn is meaningless. They just need to trust narcissistic Simon Miller’s manipulation of the betting market to make handy profits on their investment.
Spring, David Szalay’s third novel, after London and the South-East and The Innocent, deals with self-entitlement. Characters flaunt money, reinvest and, generally, crash and burn. A void underpins this reckless behaviour, and Szalay’s intention is to examine the emotional impact of sexual love. The narrative doesn’t question the legitimacy of James and Katherine’s feelings or even the latter’s indifference to their relationship, but neither does it celebrate their time together. Given that the narrative opens with ‘a fiasco’, the reader is encouraged to forget idealistic romance and prepare for a grislier outcome.
But, as is Szalay’s style, the action is not over-dramatised. Like the Man-Booker shortlisted All that Man is, Szalay shifts between consciousnesses in Spring and he conveys the same event from multiple perspectives. It is partly through this structural device that he reveals James and Katherine’s incompatibility, but the dialogue is just as effective. For instance, near the beginning of their rendezvous, James suggests doing something together:
“No,’ she said, ‘nothing special. Let’s just go to the cinema or something.’
He asked her what she wanted to see.
‘I don’t know. What is there?’
He said he’d have a look.’
Realism is high on Szalay’s priority list. Katherine consistently refuses to be taken in by grandiose gestures and exciting trips away, while ‘I don’t know.’ is a stock response when it comes to deciding on something as insignificant as a film as it is to when the protagonists evaluate their relationship. After a short while apart, desire for another’s company keeps drawing the lovers back together but the time they spend together hardly amounts to fun. They tumble into bed after a disagreement and then retreat to their private thoughts. Acrimonious words are rarely shared between them. Instead, Katherine drifts away because she doesn’t want to spend the night with James and, even when she does, the reader senses that she’s going through the motions/performing with duty to whatever it is the couple share.
But the narrative isn’t only about James and Katherine’s failed attempts at making it work. Most relationships in the novel are marred by something or other. We learn that James can’t trust Freddy, whose restlessness has significant implications for everybody connected to him. At one point, Katherine says, ‘The love is dead.’ as another love interest falls at a fence. It is rare that Szalay allows relationships to last the course and, if they do, they come at a cost.
It is perhaps for this reason that it’s difficult to sympathise for the characters. They’re an unlikeable cast of London’s not so up and comings. They’re impulsive and unfeeling, which is consistent with, but doesn’t add to, the realism of their relationships.
As the narrative unfolds, Absent Oelemberg’s odds shorten as joint-owner Simon Miller’s dishonest planning seems to be taking shape. But, like Szalay’s presentation of extramarital love, this is too good to be true. The expectations that James makes of Katherine and the demands that she puts on herself to love again are too great. When she spends time away with her estranged husband, the narrator concedes that ‘There was one small mercy. On Sunday mornings the clocks went forward, shortening the weekend by an hour.’ This is no depiction of springtime where the flowers bounce back. It’s a muddy Grand National run and, even when the characters think they have the stamina to complete the 4-mile trip, another fence then comes into view.