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The Rub of Time: Bellow, Nabokov, Hitchens, Travolta, Trump: Essays and Reportage, 1994–2017
The definitive collection of essays and reportage written during the past thirty years from one of most provocative and widely read writers--with new commentary by the author.
For more than thirty years, Martin Amis has turned his keen intellect and unrivaled prose loose on an astonishing range of topics--politics, sports, celebrity, America, and, of course, literature. Now, at last, these incomparable essays have been gathered together. Here is Amis at the 2011 GOP Iowa Caucus, where, squeezed between "windbreakers and woolly hats," he pores over The Ron Paul Family Cookbook and laments the absence of "our Banquo," Herman Cain. He writes about finally confronting the effects of aging on his athletic prowess. He revisits, time and time again, the worlds of Bellow and Nabokov, his "twin peaks," masters who have obsessed and inspired him. Brilliant, incisive, and savagely funny, The Rub of Time is a vital addition to any Amis fan's bookshelf, and the perfect primer for readers discovering his fierce and tremendous journalistic talents for the first time.
For more than thirty years, Martin Amis has turned his keen intellect and unrivaled prose loose on an astonishing range of topics--politics, sports, celebrity, America, and, of course, literature. Now, at last, these incomparable essays have been gathered together. Here is Amis at the 2011 GOP Iowa Caucus, where, squeezed between "windbreakers and woolly hats," he pores over The Ron Paul Family Cookbook and laments the absence of "our Banquo," Herman Cain. He writes about finally confronting the effects of aging on his athletic prowess. He revisits, time and time again, the worlds of Bellow and Nabokov, his "twin peaks," masters who have obsessed and inspired him. Brilliant, incisive, and savagely funny, The Rub of Time is a vital addition to any Amis fan's bookshelf, and the perfect primer for readers discovering his fierce and tremendous journalistic talents for the first time.
416 pages, Hardcover
First published October 5, 2017
257 people are currently reading
1187 people want to read
About the author
Martin Amis
116 books3,027 followersMartin Amis was an English novelist, essayist, and short story writer. His works included the novels Money, London Fields and The Information.
The Guardian writes that "all his critics have noted what Kingsley Amis [his father] complained of as a 'terrible compulsive vividness in his style... that constant demonstrating of his command of English'; and it's true that the Amis-ness of Amis will be recognisable in any piece before he reaches his first full stop."
Amis's raw material is what he sees as the absurdity of the postmodern condition with its grotesque caricatures. He has thus sometimes been portrayed as the undisputed master of what the New York Times has called "the new unpleasantness."
The Guardian writes that "all his critics have noted what Kingsley Amis [his father] complained of as a 'terrible compulsive vividness in his style... that constant demonstrating of his command of English'; and it's true that the Amis-ness of Amis will be recognisable in any piece before he reaches his first full stop."
Amis's raw material is what he sees as the absurdity of the postmodern condition with its grotesque caricatures. He has thus sometimes been portrayed as the undisputed master of what the New York Times has called "the new unpleasantness."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 113 reviews
May 26, 2023
TLDR: This is not major Amis (not Money, London Fields , Experience or The Information), but it evokes major Amis, and if you can't have that, this is the next best thing, bro.
If you already have an opinion about Martin Amis, this book is not about to change that. It returns to Amis's obsessive themes and features all of the usual suspects: Bellow, Nabokov, games (in this volume, football, tennis and, as always and everywhere, language), the trough that is America (the Republican party, the porn industry, Travolta—guess which is the most congenial?), Anglophilia (Iris, Kingsley, Anthony, Philip), Anglophobia (the Royals) and Yankomania (Delillo, Roth, Updike, Ballard [English, but here in this list because he seems more at home in the New World Order]).
This is not major Amis, but in every single goddamned sentence, the author stakes a claim for his aesthetics. Consider the following deprecation of Henry James:
What you will not get with Martin Amis, in other words, is gentility, or fastidiousness, or a lack of candour or engagement. Warmth? It is there, but you have to look for it: it is in his obvious love of language, to be sure, but it is also there in his obvious readiness to be transported into another world, no matter how alien—into the realm of hideously exploited sex workers in "Pornoland", for instance, or into the very personal lives of doomed and completely sympathetic narco-gangsters in "The Crippled Murderers of Cali, Colombia". Consider the situation of young Mario:
At his best, Amis takes you there, implicates you in all this so-called otherness. He does not suffer you to look away.
At his weak points in this expansive volume of journalism, he gets a tad screechy on Islam, and pompously erroneous on Jeremy Corbyn. But he closes with three love letters: to Christopher Hitchens, to Saul Bellow and to Vera and Vladimir Nabokov, and I dare you to find fault in any of these three, erm, epistles—the very last paragraph of the last of which features the following, which could apply to any these dearly beloveds, or to the only seeming-curmudgeonly author himself, for that matter:
This is not major Amis. But it sure as hell brings one's desire for just that, back once more to haunt mind, stalking the stage, this goodly frame, the earth, like Hamlet's father's ghost.
If you already have an opinion about Martin Amis, this book is not about to change that. It returns to Amis's obsessive themes and features all of the usual suspects: Bellow, Nabokov, games (in this volume, football, tennis and, as always and everywhere, language), the trough that is America (the Republican party, the porn industry, Travolta—guess which is the most congenial?), Anglophilia (Iris, Kingsley, Anthony, Philip), Anglophobia (the Royals) and Yankomania (Delillo, Roth, Updike, Ballard [English, but here in this list because he seems more at home in the New World Order]).
This is not major Amis, but in every single goddamned sentence, the author stakes a claim for his aesthetics. Consider the following deprecation of Henry James:
All writers enter into a platonic marriage with their readers, and in this respect James’s fiction follows a peculiar arc: courtship, honeymoon, vigorous cohabitation, and then growing disaffection and estrangement; separate beds, and then separate rooms. As with any marriage, the relationship is measured by the quality of its daily intercourse – by the quality of its language. And even at its most equable and beguiling (the androgynous delicacy, the wonderfully alien eye), James’s prose suffers from an acute behavioural flaw.
Students of usage have identified the habit as ‘elegant variation’. The phrase is intended ironically, because the elegance aspired to is really pseudo-elegance, anti-elegance. For example: ‘She proceeded to the left, towards the Ponte Vecchio, and stopped in front of one of the hotels which overlook that delightful structure.’ I can think of another variation on the Ponte Vecchio: how about that vulgar little pronoun ‘it’? Similarly, ‘breakfast,’ later in its appointed sentence, becomes ‘this repast’, and ‘tea-pot’ becomes ‘this receptacle’; ‘Lord Warburton’ becomes ‘that nobleman’ (or ‘the master of Lockleigh’); ‘letters’ become ‘epistles’; ‘his arms’ become ‘these members’; and so on.
Apart from causing the reader to groan out loud as often as three times in a single sentence, James’s variations suggest broader deficiencies: gentility, fastidiousness, and a lack of warmth, a lack of candour and engagement.
What you will not get with Martin Amis, in other words, is gentility, or fastidiousness, or a lack of candour or engagement. Warmth? It is there, but you have to look for it: it is in his obvious love of language, to be sure, but it is also there in his obvious readiness to be transported into another world, no matter how alien—into the realm of hideously exploited sex workers in "Pornoland", for instance, or into the very personal lives of doomed and completely sympathetic narco-gangsters in "The Crippled Murderers of Cali, Colombia". Consider the situation of young Mario:
As a seven-year-old, he hid under a cloth-covered table and listened while nine peasants, two of them women, killed his father. Mario is now about thirty years old: this would have happened during the period known as La Violencia (though there is barely a period of Colombian history that could not be so called). When he was twelve he made a start on his venganzas, killing the first of the nine peasants with a knife. He then went on to kill the other eight. Then he gravitated to Cali. That’s who they are in Aguablanca, in Siloe: peasants, and now the children of peasants, drastically citified.
At his best, Amis takes you there, implicates you in all this so-called otherness. He does not suffer you to look away.
At his weak points in this expansive volume of journalism, he gets a tad screechy on Islam, and pompously erroneous on Jeremy Corbyn. But he closes with three love letters: to Christopher Hitchens, to Saul Bellow and to Vera and Vladimir Nabokov, and I dare you to find fault in any of these three, erm, epistles—the very last paragraph of the last of which features the following, which could apply to any these dearly beloveds, or to the only seeming-curmudgeonly author himself, for that matter:
It is the prose itself that provides the permanent affirmation. The unresting responsiveness; the exquisite evocations of animals and of children (wholly unsinister, though the prototype of Lolita, The Enchanter, dates from 1939); the way that everyone he comes across is minutely individualised (a butler, a bureaucrat, a conductor on the Metro); the detailed visualisations of soirées and street scenes; the raw-nerved susceptibility to weather (he is the supreme poet of the skyscape); and underlying it all the lavishness, the freely offered gift, of his sublime energy.
This is not major Amis. But it sure as hell brings one's desire for just that, back once more to haunt mind, stalking the stage, this goodly frame, the earth, like Hamlet's father's ghost.
March 20, 2020
The Rub of Time, or Time’s Rub, if you prefer, for the Amisite familiar with the obsessive hero-worship of Saul Bellow and Vlad Nabokov, will prove a fruitful canter across the enthusiasms and interests of the ageing comic novelist. The pieces here span from 1994-2017, taking in an interview with Travolta from 1995 (what a nice bloke), a slice of incredulous reportage from one of Trump’s Nurembergs, a slick insight into Colombian gang warefare, a touching encomium on The Hitch, and wit-packed opinions on tennis, soccerball, and the Royals. The frustrating aspect of Amis’s lit-crit is that he never travels far from the Great White American Male Writers, i.e. Updike, Roth, Bellow, which reveals the narrowness of Amis’s enthusiasms (and reading), and the English Canon (Larkin, Austen), although the insights and observations are first-rate. Among other notables are the acid responses to snarky readers’ questions, a perfect takedown of Jeremy Corbyn (printed twice in this edition by mistake), and the hilarious retort to the critics that condemn Martin for being the son of Kingsley, first published in The Guardian. For those new to Mart’s nonfic, start with The War Against Cliché.
May 26, 2023
Rest in peace, Martin.
Your writing has been called "unpleasant," and you got a reputation as a literary bad boy (whatever that might be... though it actually sounds like fun) yet your writing is, in truth, the opposite of unpleasant: it is always insightful, more patient than I would be, and wonderfully, bitingly funny.
There is love to be found in the reviews and interviews in "The Rub of Time." Love of literature, love of reading and writing. Love for life.
Maybe it was your honesty that rubbed people the wrong way. You were too insightful and ironic, and some folks are never going to "get" that. But reading your stuff definitely added a little zest to this reader's life. And it will continue to. Thank you.
In his reviews, we find that what Martin valued most of all is the GENEROSITY of the work. As a journalist, all his famously snide humor is merely ornamental, because what Amis sought, and delivered to his readers, was the HEART of the work.
As a reader and a reviewer, he's one of us, no more and no less. Over and over again, Amis states his case: we, as readers, must find that when we read we are tapping into a deep undercurrent of comprehension and innovation. The writer's task is monumental: he or she must be willing and able to forge scenes and images through words, which will come blazing to life in our minds.
Great writing provides a "throb", a feeling which reminds us of how mindboggly strange it is to be alive, how blessed we are to be here at all. Lacking that, Amis will savage you, snub you, label you as mediocre.
These words can be found on the final page of this treasure trove, words which encapsulate everything, about writing and about life, the way Martin Amis saw it:
"People are original and distinctive in their virtues; in their vices they are compromised, hackneyed, and stale."
Expressed in the words of a simpleton (me): excellence enriches us in a multitude of ways, while stupidity is always just the same old crap.
You were excellent, Martin. Thank you, and godspeed.
Your writing has been called "unpleasant," and you got a reputation as a literary bad boy (whatever that might be... though it actually sounds like fun) yet your writing is, in truth, the opposite of unpleasant: it is always insightful, more patient than I would be, and wonderfully, bitingly funny.
There is love to be found in the reviews and interviews in "The Rub of Time." Love of literature, love of reading and writing. Love for life.
Maybe it was your honesty that rubbed people the wrong way. You were too insightful and ironic, and some folks are never going to "get" that. But reading your stuff definitely added a little zest to this reader's life. And it will continue to. Thank you.
In his reviews, we find that what Martin valued most of all is the GENEROSITY of the work. As a journalist, all his famously snide humor is merely ornamental, because what Amis sought, and delivered to his readers, was the HEART of the work.
As a reader and a reviewer, he's one of us, no more and no less. Over and over again, Amis states his case: we, as readers, must find that when we read we are tapping into a deep undercurrent of comprehension and innovation. The writer's task is monumental: he or she must be willing and able to forge scenes and images through words, which will come blazing to life in our minds.
Great writing provides a "throb", a feeling which reminds us of how mindboggly strange it is to be alive, how blessed we are to be here at all. Lacking that, Amis will savage you, snub you, label you as mediocre.
These words can be found on the final page of this treasure trove, words which encapsulate everything, about writing and about life, the way Martin Amis saw it:
"People are original and distinctive in their virtues; in their vices they are compromised, hackneyed, and stale."
Expressed in the words of a simpleton (me): excellence enriches us in a multitude of ways, while stupidity is always just the same old crap.
You were excellent, Martin. Thank you, and godspeed.
January 20, 2018
Martin Amis has written the best sentences in 20th century non fiction. But he has challenges building those sentences into paragraphs. He offers great slogans and maxims. The development of more complex ideas is more challenging.
His essay on Trump's mental health is interesting. His work on pornography left me feeling nauseous.
His essay on Hitchens made me want to shriek - even after Hitchens' death - get a room, boys...
He is a fine writer, but he remains a writer of evocative form, lacking the depth and clarity of content.
There, ladies and gentlemen, is the sign of our times. A victory of form over content.
His essay on Trump's mental health is interesting. His work on pornography left me feeling nauseous.
His essay on Hitchens made me want to shriek - even after Hitchens' death - get a room, boys...
He is a fine writer, but he remains a writer of evocative form, lacking the depth and clarity of content.
There, ladies and gentlemen, is the sign of our times. A victory of form over content.
October 7, 2017
From BBC radio 4 - Book of the week:
Martin Amis is one of the most celebrated authors of modern times. A new collection rounds up his non-fiction pieces from 1986 to 2016, and this week five compelling topics are aired.
Some time back one of our national newspapers held a Q&A on the page with the author. Questions ranged from the serious to the odd, including views on father Kingsley, the hassle of smoking roll-ups, his child acting days and.. 'what question have you never been asked?'
Questioners Sarah Ridgeway, Tom Forrester, and Charlie Clements.
Reader Bill Nighy
Producer Duncan Minshull.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b096h1r1
Martin Amis is one of the most celebrated authors of modern times. A new collection rounds up his non-fiction pieces from 1986 to 2016, and this week five compelling topics are aired.
Some time back one of our national newspapers held a Q&A on the page with the author. Questions ranged from the serious to the odd, including views on father Kingsley, the hassle of smoking roll-ups, his child acting days and.. 'what question have you never been asked?'
Questioners Sarah Ridgeway, Tom Forrester, and Charlie Clements.
Reader Bill Nighy
Producer Duncan Minshull.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b096h1r1
March 29, 2020
Meant to read only a few select pieces (most of which I'd already long read) but quickly went through the lot. His readable and pin-sharp non-fiction well outstrips the fiction; a truly great critic. The idea, though, that Saul Bellow had no rivals as pre-eminent US author is, whilst persuasive enough under this pen, emphatically redundant and parochial nonsense. Reading Cormac McCarthy just now helps this assertion...but also Pynchon, Vollmann, DeLillo et al.
June 20, 2018
How to Politely Ask Your Library for Rub of Time...Brought to You by Hotel Transylvania 3
It is my belief that this volume of essays would have broad appeal to the patrons of the public library. Given the current political climate, the Trump (and Republican Convention) essays alone should guarantee a healthy checkout rate. The literary essays on Nabokov, Saul Bellow, Philip Roth, Christopher Hitchens, J.G. Ballard and John Updike might inspire curious readers to expand their horizons and seek out the works of these authors as available in the general collection of the public library. As is my experience, reading these authors leads to reading the works of authors as diverse on the spectrum as P.G. Wodehouse and Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Bernard Malamud and Isaac Bashevis Singer. Salman Rushdie. The committed reader might eventually work her or his way towards the contemporary novelists/essayists, to, say, Zadie Smith and Michael Chabon and Jonathan Franzen and Nicole Krauss. Also, readers might also be drawn towards the fiction and non-fiction of Martin Amis already ensconced in the public library system, including the novels Money and Zone of Interest and his essay collections Visiting Mrs. Nabokov , The Second Plane and Koba the Dread . This volume is new, having been published February 2018.
It is my belief that this volume of essays would have broad appeal to the patrons of the public library. Given the current political climate, the Trump (and Republican Convention) essays alone should guarantee a healthy checkout rate. The literary essays on Nabokov, Saul Bellow, Philip Roth, Christopher Hitchens, J.G. Ballard and John Updike might inspire curious readers to expand their horizons and seek out the works of these authors as available in the general collection of the public library. As is my experience, reading these authors leads to reading the works of authors as diverse on the spectrum as P.G. Wodehouse and Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Bernard Malamud and Isaac Bashevis Singer. Salman Rushdie. The committed reader might eventually work her or his way towards the contemporary novelists/essayists, to, say, Zadie Smith and Michael Chabon and Jonathan Franzen and Nicole Krauss. Also, readers might also be drawn towards the fiction and non-fiction of Martin Amis already ensconced in the public library system, including the novels Money and Zone of Interest and his essay collections Visiting Mrs. Nabokov , The Second Plane and Koba the Dread . This volume is new, having been published February 2018.
March 4, 2020
What did you think?
saggi, articoli e racconti autobiografici, tutto materiale edito nel tempo e raccolto affinchè il lettore di Amis possa ammirarne anche il talento come giornalista
nel complesso una penna acuta e quindi una lettura soddisfacente
Amis riesce a rendere interessanti anche articoli sulla politica o sul porno, come a suo tempo fece David Foster Wallace, con la differenza che nel caso di Amis si avverte forte il desiderio di mettere in mostra l'acuto senso dell'umorismo e sotto la superficie si intravede un certo sopracciglio inarcato a sottolineare la differenza culturale e, perchè no, anche quella sociale con l'oggetto di cui scrive
si legge velocemente e gli articoli di politica sono divertenti da confrontare con le cose che diceva in passato circa i rischi di una massificazione del pensiero...forse pure profetici
saggi, articoli e racconti autobiografici, tutto materiale edito nel tempo e raccolto affinchè il lettore di Amis possa ammirarne anche il talento come giornalista
nel complesso una penna acuta e quindi una lettura soddisfacente
Amis riesce a rendere interessanti anche articoli sulla politica o sul porno, come a suo tempo fece David Foster Wallace, con la differenza che nel caso di Amis si avverte forte il desiderio di mettere in mostra l'acuto senso dell'umorismo e sotto la superficie si intravede un certo sopracciglio inarcato a sottolineare la differenza culturale e, perchè no, anche quella sociale con l'oggetto di cui scrive
si legge velocemente e gli articoli di politica sono divertenti da confrontare con le cose che diceva in passato circa i rischi di una massificazione del pensiero...forse pure profetici
April 7, 2018
Call him Hitchens-lite, but in the best sense of the term
Martin Amis has the wit of Hitchens, but has a certain humility that takes the edge off of thing. He is agnostic, occasionally self-effacing, and doesn't criticize everything there is, just because.
But he is good like Hitchens, and often great. Though nothing tops his fiction, in my humble opinion, this book compiles some of his non-fiction. From Travolta to Trump and everything in between, he takes it on. I recommend it!
Martin Amis has the wit of Hitchens, but has a certain humility that takes the edge off of thing. He is agnostic, occasionally self-effacing, and doesn't criticize everything there is, just because.
But he is good like Hitchens, and often great. Though nothing tops his fiction, in my humble opinion, this book compiles some of his non-fiction. From Travolta to Trump and everything in between, he takes it on. I recommend it!
March 30, 2020
I first read Amis in the 90s where his influence was everywhere. I haven't kept up on his recent novels, but still try to check out his nonfiction. Suffice to say, he's still the sharpest man alive on the planet to put pen to paper.
This was done well. As a collection of his journalism, this is all likely out there on the web anyway. However, I do like that it gathered things in small groups, so it never got bogged down. It also sprinkled in some Q&A that he did, so it felt like a small interview. It kept everything light.
Amis will always be tied to certain writers and be asked to write about others who share his Century. They all show up here- Bellow, Updike, and Roth, Hitchens, Nabokov, Burgess, Jane Austen. I found particularly illuminating his pieces of Larkin and Ballard. His book reviews read like mini-biographies. Real insight in Ballard's writing by examining his early books, but also insight on the man himself. As far as Larkin, a thorough reading of the poet (and his life) who has been re-evaluated and re-re-evaluated.
Amis points out that literature criticism is the only medium where you use the same media to criticize. You don't sing about a song to review it. You don't paint a picture or sculpt to criticize art.
Although it is lit-heavy, the 'reportage' is often the most interesting part of the book. In 2011, he flew to Iowa to see the candidates run for the caucus. Amis is razor sharp with another view of political writing we often don't see.
He attends a Trump rally in Ohio, goes to visit drug lords in Colombia, and digs deep into the recent history of Iran. He pens a piece of Opposition Leader Jeremy Corbyn that seems insightful and accurate to this American reader.
The piece on Travolta is an appreciation of one of America's greatest artists as written by someone who never saw Battlefield Earth. How would Amis have known? It was written after the double impact of Get Shorty and Pulp Fiction. That view may not have particularly aged well.
Amis goes to a porn set in 2001 for some prurient matter. With deference to Amis, I am not sure that there is much here but a few clever one offs. At the very least, it seems dated from a pre-Pornhub world.
His essay on tennis (and its clever rejoinder there's no interesting people named Tim) perhaps has aged better. Why do we idolize these tennis champion men who behave abhorrently like little boys.
Overall, Amis proves he's still the best writer on the planet. The weaker pieces are pushed towards the end, but there a handful of essays here that should be proof enough of his talent.
This was done well. As a collection of his journalism, this is all likely out there on the web anyway. However, I do like that it gathered things in small groups, so it never got bogged down. It also sprinkled in some Q&A that he did, so it felt like a small interview. It kept everything light.
Amis will always be tied to certain writers and be asked to write about others who share his Century. They all show up here- Bellow, Updike, and Roth, Hitchens, Nabokov, Burgess, Jane Austen. I found particularly illuminating his pieces of Larkin and Ballard. His book reviews read like mini-biographies. Real insight in Ballard's writing by examining his early books, but also insight on the man himself. As far as Larkin, a thorough reading of the poet (and his life) who has been re-evaluated and re-re-evaluated.
Amis points out that literature criticism is the only medium where you use the same media to criticize. You don't sing about a song to review it. You don't paint a picture or sculpt to criticize art.
Although it is lit-heavy, the 'reportage' is often the most interesting part of the book. In 2011, he flew to Iowa to see the candidates run for the caucus. Amis is razor sharp with another view of political writing we often don't see.
He attends a Trump rally in Ohio, goes to visit drug lords in Colombia, and digs deep into the recent history of Iran. He pens a piece of Opposition Leader Jeremy Corbyn that seems insightful and accurate to this American reader.
The piece on Travolta is an appreciation of one of America's greatest artists as written by someone who never saw Battlefield Earth. How would Amis have known? It was written after the double impact of Get Shorty and Pulp Fiction. That view may not have particularly aged well.
Amis goes to a porn set in 2001 for some prurient matter. With deference to Amis, I am not sure that there is much here but a few clever one offs. At the very least, it seems dated from a pre-Pornhub world.
His essay on tennis (and its clever rejoinder there's no interesting people named Tim) perhaps has aged better. Why do we idolize these tennis champion men who behave abhorrently like little boys.
Overall, Amis proves he's still the best writer on the planet. The weaker pieces are pushed towards the end, but there a handful of essays here that should be proof enough of his talent.
March 13, 2018
About his nonfiction Amis is careful to make the distinction between literary essay and reportage. I think the literary essay his strongest writing. I prefer the intellectual ground of considering serious fiction. And his subjects are those most would agree deserve penetrating attention. Vladimir Nabokov, Philip Larkin, and Saul Bellow are among his subjects here. Amis writes about literature as if ideas and insight are swinging around in his prose on a trapeze. And we like him, I think, because he says what we already think, though he'll sometimes surprise us with an angle of vision we're not aware of. For instance, while I understand that Nabokov wrote several masterpieces, I didn't realize he'd written so many--6--novels about "the sexual despoilation of very young girls." Another asset in his critical essays is that he knew some of those he writes about and can offer firsthand impressions. Larkin and Iris Murdoch are examples.
The reportage pieces are, I think, slighter. Or at least less interesting. I don't care about the World Series of Poker, the first of the essays I was bored with. And soon after I was surprised at how quickly I tired of his report from inside the porn industry. Others are less tedious, but we know that Amis is a man most comfortable in his study. I think it was Amis who said that it didn't matter what he did in his study, if he was there he was working. I think fields such as Las Vegas casinos and John Travolta's current set are less fertile ground for his writing.
Amis's strongest suit is that the man can write. Every piece is marked by snapcracklepop prose, as I like to say, full of our cultural moment and encouraging us to exclaim golly and gosh at his trenchant perception. And we do because his observations are keen while also acidic. And because he says what we already think. Even if he does, he does it in a way that's totally engaging. We just wish we could say it the way he does.
The reportage pieces are, I think, slighter. Or at least less interesting. I don't care about the World Series of Poker, the first of the essays I was bored with. And soon after I was surprised at how quickly I tired of his report from inside the porn industry. Others are less tedious, but we know that Amis is a man most comfortable in his study. I think it was Amis who said that it didn't matter what he did in his study, if he was there he was working. I think fields such as Las Vegas casinos and John Travolta's current set are less fertile ground for his writing.
Amis's strongest suit is that the man can write. Every piece is marked by snapcracklepop prose, as I like to say, full of our cultural moment and encouraging us to exclaim golly and gosh at his trenchant perception. And we do because his observations are keen while also acidic. And because he says what we already think. Even if he does, he does it in a way that's totally engaging. We just wish we could say it the way he does.
October 18, 2017
Like when a band from your youth makes a new album, inevitably it won't be as good as their glory days, and this isn't up to The War Against Cliche, but look, it's Mart, and if you don't like him, don't read it.
August 1, 2018
Martin Amis is a quality novelist, whose skills and resources have grown with time – as shown in, for example, Zone of Interest, in which he takes on a painful and difficult topic like the World War II concentration camps by putting a human face on the Germans – a striking and masterful approach.
But it is in his shorter pieces that he demonstrates his full range. These astound; they exhibit his power. This, his collection of essays entitled the Rub of Time, is his most recent offering – amusing, entertaining, interesting, engaging, and of the highest quality. Join Amis as he explores politics, books, authors, and sport (among other things), offering sharp points and driven conclusions – or irony or laughs or astonishment or tears. An entirely worthwhile package.
Some tidbits:
When he isn't being serious about novelists (Iris Murdoch, Don DeLillo, Saul Bellow, and many more) and their craft, he is cutting up American – politicians, cities, poker – and you will be laughing.
Or he is gravely looking into the porn industry or terrorism or John Travolta’s career or Dieguito Maradona’s. Absorbing, informative, unsettling.
And then there is what might be titled, “what the fuck are we doing to each other” – various sections of reportage on violence, death, and associated political insanity. These essays are both conventionally knife & gun and perhaps rarely, yet increasingly conventionally, nuclear, echoing Einstein's Monsters for their impact on the writer himself, his fear not only for his own existence and that of his wife and children, but also for the survival of humankind.
It is tempting to read Amis for the quality of the composition alone – it is always high, and often impressive – but it is in his essays that he, the person, shines out, and offers insight and perspective to great depth: this is a human being one might converse or identify with, not an elevated and unknowable maestro of words.
Pick up this compilation. You will be well-rewarded – it is worth the shiny nickel and the time spent on his observations on U.S. politicians alone. Worth it more so for the insight into writers and writing. Who isn't looking for something to read he or she will not hate? If you do not hate Amis, then this is chock full of recommendations.
And entirely worth the read for the discussion of John Updike, of both his preeminence and his deterioration, because through this stark example Amis is expressing his personal terror of impending decline, and acknowledging with morose acceptance its inevitability. The Rub.
The subtitle of this volume might be "Dead Authors", a play on the name of one of his earlier works, though the content here is concerned not with children participating in something akin to suicide, but with novelists aging past their primes, past their talent, no longer able to be the icons they have become – and then passing away. Hence the Rub of Time, which Amis himself is acutely feeling as he ages toward seventy.
But it is in his shorter pieces that he demonstrates his full range. These astound; they exhibit his power. This, his collection of essays entitled the Rub of Time, is his most recent offering – amusing, entertaining, interesting, engaging, and of the highest quality. Join Amis as he explores politics, books, authors, and sport (among other things), offering sharp points and driven conclusions – or irony or laughs or astonishment or tears. An entirely worthwhile package.
Some tidbits:
When he isn't being serious about novelists (Iris Murdoch, Don DeLillo, Saul Bellow, and many more) and their craft, he is cutting up American – politicians, cities, poker – and you will be laughing.
Or he is gravely looking into the porn industry or terrorism or John Travolta’s career or Dieguito Maradona’s. Absorbing, informative, unsettling.
And then there is what might be titled, “what the fuck are we doing to each other” – various sections of reportage on violence, death, and associated political insanity. These essays are both conventionally knife & gun and perhaps rarely, yet increasingly conventionally, nuclear, echoing Einstein's Monsters for their impact on the writer himself, his fear not only for his own existence and that of his wife and children, but also for the survival of humankind.
It is tempting to read Amis for the quality of the composition alone – it is always high, and often impressive – but it is in his essays that he, the person, shines out, and offers insight and perspective to great depth: this is a human being one might converse or identify with, not an elevated and unknowable maestro of words.
Pick up this compilation. You will be well-rewarded – it is worth the shiny nickel and the time spent on his observations on U.S. politicians alone. Worth it more so for the insight into writers and writing. Who isn't looking for something to read he or she will not hate? If you do not hate Amis, then this is chock full of recommendations.
And entirely worth the read for the discussion of John Updike, of both his preeminence and his deterioration, because through this stark example Amis is expressing his personal terror of impending decline, and acknowledging with morose acceptance its inevitability. The Rub.
The subtitle of this volume might be "Dead Authors", a play on the name of one of his earlier works, though the content here is concerned not with children participating in something akin to suicide, but with novelists aging past their primes, past their talent, no longer able to be the icons they have become – and then passing away. Hence the Rub of Time, which Amis himself is acutely feeling as he ages toward seventy.
February 25, 2018
I haven't read any of his novels since the disappointing Night Train, but picked this up in a heartbeat. Insightful, interesting, and at times laugh-out-loud funny essays covering a broad range of topics from his heroes Vladimir Nabokov and Saul Bellow, English football, gang violence in Colombia, the porn industry and our current president (the latter two topics now surprisingly linked for the first time).
June 1, 2019
Essays and Reportage from Martin Amis from circa 1994 to 2017. In other words, you get to spend time in the presence of a genius as he muses on topics of interest to him, including some of his usual favorite topics: fiction (Updike, Delillo, Larkin, Ballard, but especially Nabokov and Bellow); America as seen through disinterested but forgiving and indulgent English eyes; notable friends and family (Kinglsey Amis, Christopher Hitchens), and oddly, some pieces about tennis, football, and John Travolta.
Amis now lives, incredibly, in Brooklyn, which I just cannot find closure about. I've expressed my astonishment at this fact in my review of Lionel Asbo: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1...
Amis also usually seemingly prefers to read American novelists (like Bellow, Updike, Delillo, etc.,) over many English ones. This is perhaps because he spent some time here as a child, and the allure of the exotic but not too exotic overrules the comfort of the familiar. Nevertheless, and like Wodehouse - who also emigrated to the greater New York area in the second half of his life, Amis is unquestioningly English. Or perhaps, he is just himself, a genius cast in the English mode.
In sum, this assemblage of his shorter non-fiction pieces is educational, enlightening, and will deepen your mind and sharpen your powers of perception. I might be tending toward preferring his non-fiction to his fiction!
Amis now lives, incredibly, in Brooklyn, which I just cannot find closure about. I've expressed my astonishment at this fact in my review of Lionel Asbo: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1...
Amis also usually seemingly prefers to read American novelists (like Bellow, Updike, Delillo, etc.,) over many English ones. This is perhaps because he spent some time here as a child, and the allure of the exotic but not too exotic overrules the comfort of the familiar. Nevertheless, and like Wodehouse - who also emigrated to the greater New York area in the second half of his life, Amis is unquestioningly English. Or perhaps, he is just himself, a genius cast in the English mode.
In sum, this assemblage of his shorter non-fiction pieces is educational, enlightening, and will deepen your mind and sharpen your powers of perception. I might be tending toward preferring his non-fiction to his fiction!
March 10, 2018
I reviewed both Martin Amis and Zadie Smith's essay collections together.
"The day-to-day business of compiling a novel often seems to consist of nothing but decisions – decisions, decisions, decisions. Should this paragraph go here? Or should it go there? Can that chunk of exposition be diversified by dialogue? At what point does this information need to be revealed? Ought I to use a different adjective and a different adverb in that sentence? Or no adverb and no adjective? Comma or semicolon? Colon or dash? And so on." Martin Amis
"It’s true that for years I’ve been thinking aloud – and often wondering if I’ve made myself ludicrous in one way or another. I think the anxiety comes from knowing I have no real qualifications to write as I do. Not a philosopher or sociologist, not a real professor of literature or film, not a political scientist, professional music critic or trained journalist. I’m employed in an MFA programme, but have no MFA myself, and no PhD. My evidence – such as it is – is almost always intimate. I feel this – do you? I’m struck by this thought – are you?" Zadie Smith
Spending an hour each morning, another at night, with Martin Amis and Zadie Smith is a humbling, exhilarating experience. Exhilarating, as the writing bounces you along, firing the synapses in the most stimulating way imaginable. Humbling, as both writers exhibit near-peerless authorial skill in crafting, with iconoclastic intelligence, self-awareness and empathetic understanding, an experience as good as any reader will have between the covers of a book. The Rub of Time and Feel Free reveal the essay form to not just be holding on for existence but of central importance to our literary and intellectual culture. At least, that’s how these essayists make one feel.
Amis (b. 1949) and Smith (b. 1975) are hardly contemporaries. Amis always feels distant and strangely removed as a person when I read his non fiction but only compared to Smith. She is with you in the room, talking quietly, sometimes animatedly but always making certain you actually want to listen to what she has to say. Both are conscious, as Amis relates, that the “battle against illiteracies and barbarisms, and pedantries and genteelisms, is not a public battle” and we sense in both writers this ongoing, very personal yet public struggle to write well.
Amis and Smith certainly had different forays into the literary world. Martin had his father, Kingsley – “the finest English comic novelist of the second half of the twentieth century” – to contend with and Smith grew up in North London with not a lot of money. Her first novel, White Teeth, was published in 2000 to astonishingly loud applause. I certainly laughed very hard, especially loving the array of well-drawn and amusing characters. Both had challenges to ensure the integrity of what they produced. Amis quips, “I am the only hereditary novelist in the Anglophone literary corpus. Thus I am the workaholic and hypermanic – and by now very elderly – Prince Charles of English letters. And I have been about the place for much too long.” Amis also commenced publishing in a period very removed from the contemporary reality of life for a writer. He says of his first books:
In 1972, I submitted my first novel: I typed it out on a second-hand Olivetti and sent it in from the sub-editorial office I shared at the Times Literary Supplement. The print run was 1,000 (and the advance was £250). It was published, and reviewed, and that was that. There was no launch party and no book tour; there were no interviews, no profiles, no photo shoots, no signings, no readings, no panels, no on-stage conversations, no Woodstocks of the Mind in Hay-on-Wye, in Toledo, in Mantova, in Parati, in Cartagena, in Jaipur, in Dubai; and there was no radio and no television. The same went for my second novel (1975) and my third (1978).
I read the Amis, alternating with the Smith. It is a measure of the quality of Feel Free that Smith’s essays did not suffer in comparison with Amis, who is surely a strong contender for the greatest living British essayist? His fiction does not have the same impact. Lionel Asbo amused but felt more than a little mean and ungracious. Ever since reading, The Moronic Inferno: And Other Visits to America in the late 80s, I have looked forward to each of Amis’ non fiction publications though, devouring them on release.
Smith’s essays are grouped in five sections: In the World; In the Audience; In the Gallery; On the Bookshelf; and, Feel Free. Amis’ are organised oddly but cover mostly the same sorts of topics as Smith: politics, literature, sport, culture and society. Amis can draw a longer literary bow but Smith is often more interesting as she explores worlds, especially in popular culture, not always covered by such a skilful essayist. There’s no real need to single out essays as the quality is uniformly high but four of her best – Fences: A Brexit Diary, The I Who is Not Me, Life-writing and Joy – particularly resonated. North-west London Blues certainly makes for a great opening and is a contextually important, reflective essay. Amis’ insight into Christopher Hitchens always interests and I know of nothing better to read than Amis about the poet, John Larkin, who he knew through Kingsley. The King’s English, about language and his father, is thoroughly excellent. I find some of his popular culture pieces a little hollow, especially the one about John Travolta. Perhaps that makes sense though. Amis is still a prince among essayists when analysing literature:
“Look at Russian fiction, reputedly so gaunt and grownup: Gogol is funny, Tolstoy in his merciless clarity is funny, and Dostoyevsky, funnily enough, is very funny indeed; moreover, the final generation of Russian literature, before it was destroyed by Lenin and Stalin, remained emphatically comic – Bunin, Bely, Bulgakov, Zamyatin. The novel is comic because life is comic (until the inevitable tragedy of the fifth act); and also because fiction, unlike poetry and unlike all the other arts, is a fundamentally rational form.”
Amis crafts sentences that demand to be re-read, marvelling at how he did it. Beautiful things they tell us much, often in a droll, amusing tone. Some treats in this latest collection should be shared:
"In fiction, of course, nobody ever gets hurt; the flaw, as I said, is not moral but aesthetic."
"To accuse novelists of egotism is like deploring the tendency of champion boxers to turn violent."
"Common sense and a sense of humour are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humour is just common sense, dancing. Those who lack humour are without judgment and should be trusted with nothing."
"Ronald Reagan is doing to the country what he can no longer do to his wife."
"A story is nothing without a listener."
Amis and Smith are pitch perfect, regardless of topic. Amis describes his understanding of form, content and style saying:
“In literature, decorum means the concurrence of style and content – together with a third element which I can only vaguely express as earning the right weight. It doesn’t matter what the style is, and it doesn’t matter what the content is; but the two must concur. If the essay is something of a literary art, which it clearly is, then the same law obtains.”
Both essayists discuss writing as editing and when Amis says, “very often I am simply trying to make myself clearer, less ambiguous, and more precise” one can only nod in agreement that his process realises the goal.
Political essays, or non fiction at least, that is written by those with genuine literary talent always engage this reader more than those written by politicians or insiders. Orwell being a perfect example. Amis’ insights into Jeremy Corbyn are interesting although some may argue they already feel a little out of date. Corbyn appeals to many who are weary of the curtailment of state support for citizens and the neo-liberal excesses of Thatcherism. Smith clearly recognises what has been gradually lost during the political changes wrought since her childhood. Smith knows Britain needs more thinking like that of the late, great, Tony Judt:
"The closest I can find myself to an allegiance or a political imperative these days is the one expressed by that old social democrat Tony Judt: ‘We need to learn to think the state again.’"
You can see this philosophy continually throughout her essays not least in relation to education and public libraries:
"Well-run libraries are filled with people because what a good library offers cannot be easily found elsewhere: an indoor public space in which you do not have to buy anything in order to stay."
Like all good books one is sad to finish. Rarely does one have such a reading treat before and after work that stays in your mind, enriching the day. Luckily enough, both of these collections are worthy of re-reading and I will enjoy Zadie Smith’s first collection, Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays (2009) next month. I’ll leave you with Smith’s thinking about writing:
"Writing exists (for me) at the intersection of three precarious, uncertain elements: language, the world, the self. The first is never wholly mine; the second I can only ever know in a partial sense; the third is a malleable and improvised response to the previous two. If my writing is a psychodrama I don’t think it is because I have, as the Internet would have it, so many feels, but because the correct balance and weight to be given to each of these three elements is never self-evident to me. It’s this self – whose boundaries are uncertain, whose language is never pure, whose world is in no way ‘self-evident’ – that I try to write from and to. My hope is for a reader who, like the author, often wonders how free she really is, and who takes it for granted that reading involves all the same liberties and exigencies as writing."
Highly recommended.
"The day-to-day business of compiling a novel often seems to consist of nothing but decisions – decisions, decisions, decisions. Should this paragraph go here? Or should it go there? Can that chunk of exposition be diversified by dialogue? At what point does this information need to be revealed? Ought I to use a different adjective and a different adverb in that sentence? Or no adverb and no adjective? Comma or semicolon? Colon or dash? And so on." Martin Amis
"It’s true that for years I’ve been thinking aloud – and often wondering if I’ve made myself ludicrous in one way or another. I think the anxiety comes from knowing I have no real qualifications to write as I do. Not a philosopher or sociologist, not a real professor of literature or film, not a political scientist, professional music critic or trained journalist. I’m employed in an MFA programme, but have no MFA myself, and no PhD. My evidence – such as it is – is almost always intimate. I feel this – do you? I’m struck by this thought – are you?" Zadie Smith
Spending an hour each morning, another at night, with Martin Amis and Zadie Smith is a humbling, exhilarating experience. Exhilarating, as the writing bounces you along, firing the synapses in the most stimulating way imaginable. Humbling, as both writers exhibit near-peerless authorial skill in crafting, with iconoclastic intelligence, self-awareness and empathetic understanding, an experience as good as any reader will have between the covers of a book. The Rub of Time and Feel Free reveal the essay form to not just be holding on for existence but of central importance to our literary and intellectual culture. At least, that’s how these essayists make one feel.
Amis (b. 1949) and Smith (b. 1975) are hardly contemporaries. Amis always feels distant and strangely removed as a person when I read his non fiction but only compared to Smith. She is with you in the room, talking quietly, sometimes animatedly but always making certain you actually want to listen to what she has to say. Both are conscious, as Amis relates, that the “battle against illiteracies and barbarisms, and pedantries and genteelisms, is not a public battle” and we sense in both writers this ongoing, very personal yet public struggle to write well.
Amis and Smith certainly had different forays into the literary world. Martin had his father, Kingsley – “the finest English comic novelist of the second half of the twentieth century” – to contend with and Smith grew up in North London with not a lot of money. Her first novel, White Teeth, was published in 2000 to astonishingly loud applause. I certainly laughed very hard, especially loving the array of well-drawn and amusing characters. Both had challenges to ensure the integrity of what they produced. Amis quips, “I am the only hereditary novelist in the Anglophone literary corpus. Thus I am the workaholic and hypermanic – and by now very elderly – Prince Charles of English letters. And I have been about the place for much too long.” Amis also commenced publishing in a period very removed from the contemporary reality of life for a writer. He says of his first books:
In 1972, I submitted my first novel: I typed it out on a second-hand Olivetti and sent it in from the sub-editorial office I shared at the Times Literary Supplement. The print run was 1,000 (and the advance was £250). It was published, and reviewed, and that was that. There was no launch party and no book tour; there were no interviews, no profiles, no photo shoots, no signings, no readings, no panels, no on-stage conversations, no Woodstocks of the Mind in Hay-on-Wye, in Toledo, in Mantova, in Parati, in Cartagena, in Jaipur, in Dubai; and there was no radio and no television. The same went for my second novel (1975) and my third (1978).
I read the Amis, alternating with the Smith. It is a measure of the quality of Feel Free that Smith’s essays did not suffer in comparison with Amis, who is surely a strong contender for the greatest living British essayist? His fiction does not have the same impact. Lionel Asbo amused but felt more than a little mean and ungracious. Ever since reading, The Moronic Inferno: And Other Visits to America in the late 80s, I have looked forward to each of Amis’ non fiction publications though, devouring them on release.
Smith’s essays are grouped in five sections: In the World; In the Audience; In the Gallery; On the Bookshelf; and, Feel Free. Amis’ are organised oddly but cover mostly the same sorts of topics as Smith: politics, literature, sport, culture and society. Amis can draw a longer literary bow but Smith is often more interesting as she explores worlds, especially in popular culture, not always covered by such a skilful essayist. There’s no real need to single out essays as the quality is uniformly high but four of her best – Fences: A Brexit Diary, The I Who is Not Me, Life-writing and Joy – particularly resonated. North-west London Blues certainly makes for a great opening and is a contextually important, reflective essay. Amis’ insight into Christopher Hitchens always interests and I know of nothing better to read than Amis about the poet, John Larkin, who he knew through Kingsley. The King’s English, about language and his father, is thoroughly excellent. I find some of his popular culture pieces a little hollow, especially the one about John Travolta. Perhaps that makes sense though. Amis is still a prince among essayists when analysing literature:
“Look at Russian fiction, reputedly so gaunt and grownup: Gogol is funny, Tolstoy in his merciless clarity is funny, and Dostoyevsky, funnily enough, is very funny indeed; moreover, the final generation of Russian literature, before it was destroyed by Lenin and Stalin, remained emphatically comic – Bunin, Bely, Bulgakov, Zamyatin. The novel is comic because life is comic (until the inevitable tragedy of the fifth act); and also because fiction, unlike poetry and unlike all the other arts, is a fundamentally rational form.”
Amis crafts sentences that demand to be re-read, marvelling at how he did it. Beautiful things they tell us much, often in a droll, amusing tone. Some treats in this latest collection should be shared:
"In fiction, of course, nobody ever gets hurt; the flaw, as I said, is not moral but aesthetic."
"To accuse novelists of egotism is like deploring the tendency of champion boxers to turn violent."
"Common sense and a sense of humour are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humour is just common sense, dancing. Those who lack humour are without judgment and should be trusted with nothing."
"Ronald Reagan is doing to the country what he can no longer do to his wife."
"A story is nothing without a listener."
Amis and Smith are pitch perfect, regardless of topic. Amis describes his understanding of form, content and style saying:
“In literature, decorum means the concurrence of style and content – together with a third element which I can only vaguely express as earning the right weight. It doesn’t matter what the style is, and it doesn’t matter what the content is; but the two must concur. If the essay is something of a literary art, which it clearly is, then the same law obtains.”
Both essayists discuss writing as editing and when Amis says, “very often I am simply trying to make myself clearer, less ambiguous, and more precise” one can only nod in agreement that his process realises the goal.
Political essays, or non fiction at least, that is written by those with genuine literary talent always engage this reader more than those written by politicians or insiders. Orwell being a perfect example. Amis’ insights into Jeremy Corbyn are interesting although some may argue they already feel a little out of date. Corbyn appeals to many who are weary of the curtailment of state support for citizens and the neo-liberal excesses of Thatcherism. Smith clearly recognises what has been gradually lost during the political changes wrought since her childhood. Smith knows Britain needs more thinking like that of the late, great, Tony Judt:
"The closest I can find myself to an allegiance or a political imperative these days is the one expressed by that old social democrat Tony Judt: ‘We need to learn to think the state again.’"
You can see this philosophy continually throughout her essays not least in relation to education and public libraries:
"Well-run libraries are filled with people because what a good library offers cannot be easily found elsewhere: an indoor public space in which you do not have to buy anything in order to stay."
Like all good books one is sad to finish. Rarely does one have such a reading treat before and after work that stays in your mind, enriching the day. Luckily enough, both of these collections are worthy of re-reading and I will enjoy Zadie Smith’s first collection, Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays (2009) next month. I’ll leave you with Smith’s thinking about writing:
"Writing exists (for me) at the intersection of three precarious, uncertain elements: language, the world, the self. The first is never wholly mine; the second I can only ever know in a partial sense; the third is a malleable and improvised response to the previous two. If my writing is a psychodrama I don’t think it is because I have, as the Internet would have it, so many feels, but because the correct balance and weight to be given to each of these three elements is never self-evident to me. It’s this self – whose boundaries are uncertain, whose language is never pure, whose world is in no way ‘self-evident’ – that I try to write from and to. My hope is for a reader who, like the author, often wonders how free she really is, and who takes it for granted that reading involves all the same liberties and exigencies as writing."
Highly recommended.
February 3, 2019
There's some solid criticism and his discussion of his close friendship with Christopher Hitchens is wonderful, but this book is less consistent than his previous nonfiction collection.
December 29, 2019
I may be generous in giving Martin Amis's The Rub of Time four stars because a volume of occasional journalism is bound to be uneven in quality and interest, but there is a lot of good, stimulating and fun writing in this particular volume that helps overwhelm the impact of its cover photo. Said cover photo portrays Amis as a hard-staring angry punk, a persona that he has affected for marketing purposes over the years but doesn't suit the thoughtfulness, fairness, and general (but not complete) lack of snideness evident in these essays, reviews, commentaries, and so forth. And beyond all that, Amis is widely and well-read, and I find I like his honesty. Example: he adores Nabokov for Nabokov's brilliant renderings of seen and felt reality, but I recall reading Ada many, many years ago, and I was relieved that Amis shares my judgment: Ada is a pointless dud of a novel, albeit written by a genius. Another bit of honesty: Amis revered John Updike. This shows up in many of these essays. But Amis thought Updike wasted some very important years writing Rabbit Redux. I take his point without entirely agreeing with it. Saul Bellow, another Amis hero, is only dunned for his first two novels, which are taut and depressing and lack the life of everything after Augie March.
Like many English men of letters Amis does celebrate Philip Larkin. I've never figured that one out. Amis's brief note on JG Ballard is interesting for its portrayal of a dad who worked hard at being a dad, probably not what one would expect of the hard-drinking Ballard.
Non-literary pieces focus on poker in Vegas, football in Barcelona, John Travolta, and somewhere in here Donald Trump, an item I seem not to have read.
In sports parlance, Amis has juice, meaning energy, curiosity. That familiar scowl of his in photographs undoubtedly has something to do with being the son of Kingsley Amis, and yet Amis the elder is treated with a degree of kindness and maturity when he appears as a mediating figure in the general of arc of the career of Amis the younger.
Full disclosure: I had a bad cold during the five days I spent dipping into this book. The general geniality and brevity of these pieces did me as much good as Theraflu. I could pick the book up wherever I happened not to have left off and read for a while with no great damage done to my need for amusement. So I would suggest waiting until the next cold season before you read The Rub of Time. In a way, it's too good to be taken seriously. That would ruin its overall effect.
Like many English men of letters Amis does celebrate Philip Larkin. I've never figured that one out. Amis's brief note on JG Ballard is interesting for its portrayal of a dad who worked hard at being a dad, probably not what one would expect of the hard-drinking Ballard.
Non-literary pieces focus on poker in Vegas, football in Barcelona, John Travolta, and somewhere in here Donald Trump, an item I seem not to have read.
In sports parlance, Amis has juice, meaning energy, curiosity. That familiar scowl of his in photographs undoubtedly has something to do with being the son of Kingsley Amis, and yet Amis the elder is treated with a degree of kindness and maturity when he appears as a mediating figure in the general of arc of the career of Amis the younger.
Full disclosure: I had a bad cold during the five days I spent dipping into this book. The general geniality and brevity of these pieces did me as much good as Theraflu. I could pick the book up wherever I happened not to have left off and read for a while with no great damage done to my need for amusement. So I would suggest waiting until the next cold season before you read The Rub of Time. In a way, it's too good to be taken seriously. That would ruin its overall effect.
August 16, 2019
I liked ~50% of the essays and found the other half to be not-so-interesting and one just plain disgusting (pornography). (There were details in the porno essay that I would rather have not ever known! I'm not sure why this essay was included in this collection.) I liked the articles on Trump, Travolta, 1980s/early 90s male tennis stars, and Nabokov but have never heard of Hitchens, didn't understand the poker jargon in the Las Vegas essay, and am not interested in UK football and revisiting the Iran-Iraq War. Also, there was too much quoting and referencing Bellow, Nabokov, Updike, and Roth for me. I have only read 2 books by Roth and 1 by Bellow and Updike; not enough to give me opinions on their writing styles and their ideology. I do plan to read more of these authors, which is one reason I selected this book. But, I think the essays are better suited for readers who are already familiar with them!
This was my first time reading Martin Amis and my first time reading a collection of essays. I think I might prefer his fiction. I do like his humor but feel like he's a bit pretentious with his frequent use of uncommon words. Some of them are not even in the Nook dictionary. I'm a believer in using words that the reader understands. If I have to keep looking up words, I either quit reading or start skimming or making assumptions about the meaning of the words. But, I will give Martin another chance and read one of his novels. Anyone reading this review have a favorite?
This was my first time reading Martin Amis and my first time reading a collection of essays. I think I might prefer his fiction. I do like his humor but feel like he's a bit pretentious with his frequent use of uncommon words. Some of them are not even in the Nook dictionary. I'm a believer in using words that the reader understands. If I have to keep looking up words, I either quit reading or start skimming or making assumptions about the meaning of the words. But, I will give Martin another chance and read one of his novels. Anyone reading this review have a favorite?
August 26, 2023
A collection of the late novelist's essays, journalism, and profiles. Amis is an engaging and astute chronicler of modern life, politics and fellow literary lights such as Philip Roth and Christopher Hitchens. For one like myself who was a longtime fan of Gore Vidal this is the closest I've found to his quality of reportage, wit and wisdom.
May 29, 2021
Loved this collection of essays and interviews. My favorites are the ones with subjects I know well (surprise!) such as Princess Diana, John Travolta, Christopher Hitchens, Philip Roth, etc. Amis is a very good writer.
August 19, 2021
Love the new words i learn reading Martin Amis journalism. Great profiles of authors, celebrities, and insightful reportage.
Read
May 14, 2024I enjoyed the essays.
January 19, 2018
Here's a little known fact, (or is it a dirty little secret?) ... as a reviewer and journalist Martin Amis is, above all else, a kind soul. Sure, he's also insightful, patient, and bitingly funny. But in his reviews, we find that what MA values most of all is the generosity of the work. As a journalist, all his famously snide humor is merely ornamental, because what Amis seeks, and delivers, is the heart of the story.
Amis is on the level. When he reads, he's one of us, no more and no less. Over and over again, Amis states his case: we, as readers, must find that when we read we are tapping into a deep undercurrent of comprehension and innovation. The writer's task is monumental: he or she must be willing and able to forge scenes and images through words, which will come blazing to life in our minds. Great writing provides a "throb", a feeling which reminds us of how mindboggly strange it is to be alive, how blessed we are to be here at all. Lacking that, Amis will savage you, snub you, label you as mediocre.
Thank you Martin for sticking your neck out there. Your own writing has been called "unpleasant" but for the life of me I can't understand why. Keep doing your thing, man, please, because reading your stuff definitely adds a little zest to this life.
And when you write these words on this book's final page, it truly encapsulates everything, about writing and about life, that I was lucky enough to read throughout "The Rub of Time":
"People are original and distinctive in their virtues; in their vices they are compromised, hackneyed, and stale."
Amis is on the level. When he reads, he's one of us, no more and no less. Over and over again, Amis states his case: we, as readers, must find that when we read we are tapping into a deep undercurrent of comprehension and innovation. The writer's task is monumental: he or she must be willing and able to forge scenes and images through words, which will come blazing to life in our minds. Great writing provides a "throb", a feeling which reminds us of how mindboggly strange it is to be alive, how blessed we are to be here at all. Lacking that, Amis will savage you, snub you, label you as mediocre.
Thank you Martin for sticking your neck out there. Your own writing has been called "unpleasant" but for the life of me I can't understand why. Keep doing your thing, man, please, because reading your stuff definitely adds a little zest to this life.
And when you write these words on this book's final page, it truly encapsulates everything, about writing and about life, that I was lucky enough to read throughout "The Rub of Time":
"People are original and distinctive in their virtues; in their vices they are compromised, hackneyed, and stale."
February 25, 2018
I took up Martin Amis’s collection of essays, The Rub of Time, hard on the heels of an excruciating experience with Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom! and found myself thinking what a relief it was to be dealing with writing that is eminently readable — clearly meant to be enjoyed by a reader.
On the subject of voting from the gut, from Amis’s “The Republic Party in 2011: Iowa” :
“The question is as old as democracy: should the highest office go to the most intellectually able candidate or to the most temperamentally ‘normative’ (Other words for normative include unexceptional and mediocre.)
“In the rest of the developed world, the contest between brain and bowel was long ago resolved in favor of the brain. In America the dispute still splits the nation.”
Amis isn’t shy of raising eyebrows with his assessments. Here, in “Saul Bellow as Opposed to Henry James,” he takes on Moby Dick and Don Quixote: “It (Moby Dick) is a unique achievement, because about four-fifths of it is padding. (It even outpads Don Quixote.)” In fairness, he then adds: “In Melville, though, the padding is necessary ballast.”
He sharpens this tactic in the opening of a review of Don DeLillo’s short fiction: “When we say that we love a writer’s work — yes, even when we say it hand on heart — we are always stretching the truth. What we really mean is that we love about half of it. Sometimes rather more than half, sometimes rather less, but about half.”
Amis then gives examples, including: “Proustians will claim that In Search of Lost Time is unimprovable throughout, despite all the agonizing longueurs. Then he says: “I stubbornly suspect that only the cultist, or the academic, is capable of swallowing an author whole.”
At a time when politicians, actors and others are being dismissed because of naughty things that come to light about their personal lives, Amis, considering some of the personal shortcomings of the poet Philip Larkin, gives us this simple statement made with admirable conviction and strength: “No conceivable disclosure could make me demote Larkin’s work.”
Amis knows things and loves to share what he knows, as when he gives us a memorable quotation from Anthony Burgess that we might otherwise have missed: “Wedged as we are between two eternities of idleness, there is no excuse for being idle now.” (This quotation, which I’m considering turning into a t-shirt, comes from “The Fourth Estate and the Puzzle of Heredity,” a satire so thick that I’m left wondering if that’s really Burgess or if perhaps Amis made it up himself.)
I also thank Amis for this quotation from Vladimir Nabokov in “Nabokov’s Natural Selection”: “My pencils outlast their erasers. I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published.”
This deft collection of essays and reportage even includes a piece on the American porn industry (Amis visited and did interviews) and one on Las Vegas that opens with this: “If for some reason you were confined to a single adjective to describe Las Vegas, then you would have to settle for the following: un-Islamic.”
Lest I seem all praise, the weakest piece in the collection, for this reader, is “John Updike’s Farewell Note,” which begins in this Miss Grundyish fashion:
“The following wedge of prose has two things wrong with it: one big thing and one little thing — one infelicity and one howler. Read it with attention. If you can spot both, then you have what is called a literary ear:
” ’Craig Marin took an interest in the traces left by prior owners of his land. In the prime of his life, when he worked every weekday and socialized all weekend, he had pretty much ignored his land.’
“The minor flaw is the proximity of ’prior’ and ‘prime.” This gives us a dissonant rime riche on the first syllable; and the two words, besides, are etymological half-siblings, and should never be left alone together without many intercessionary chaperones. And the major flaw? The first sentence ends with the words ‘his land’; and so, with a resonant clunk, does the second. Mere quibbles, some may say. But we are addressing ourselves to John Updike, who was perhaps the greatest virtuoso stylist since Nabokov — who, in his turn, was perhaps the greatest virtuoso stylist since Joyce.”
I suppose there will be those who admire Amis’s stance here. I am not among them. And I would, right off, begin my own Miss Grundyish criticism of this passage from Amis by wincing at his choice of the word “wedge.”
But the very next essay in the collection, “Rabbit Angstrom Confronts Obamacare,” which also centers on Updike, is a winner from the start:
“America is sick about health: America, where strokes and heart attacks come with a price tag, and where the doctors carry on like slum landlords or war profiteers. And Americans admire it — this triage of the wallet.
“John Updike, or John Updike’s ghost, would be little interested (but not surprised) to learn that the year of his death saw a kind of grassroots rebellion against the health care system favored by the current administration: Obamacare — the first step toward a system long established in every other country in the First World. Americans believe in decentralized authority, individual choice, and what they call ‘fiscal responsibility’ (or very low taxes); they dislike the ‘nanny state,’ which, scandalously, coddles the apathetic citizen ‘from cradle to grave.’ Americans pay for their coming hither and for their going hence — costly entrances, truly exorbitant exits. It is the American way, and they’re wedded to it.”
This review is getting rather long, and I really didn’t want to add anything, but then I came to this as the opening to “President Trump Orates in Ohio” :
“In considering Donald Trump, we should heed the Barry Manilow Law as promulgated in the 1970s by Clive James. The law runs as follows: everyone you know thinks that Barry Manilow is absolutely terrible, but everyone you don’t know thinks he’s great.” (The two uses of the word”everyone,” particularly the second one, need to be toned down, but it’s still a sharp and funny observation.)
On balance, this book’s 373 pages yield one fine reading experience.
On the subject of voting from the gut, from Amis’s “The Republic Party in 2011: Iowa” :
“The question is as old as democracy: should the highest office go to the most intellectually able candidate or to the most temperamentally ‘normative’ (Other words for normative include unexceptional and mediocre.)
“In the rest of the developed world, the contest between brain and bowel was long ago resolved in favor of the brain. In America the dispute still splits the nation.”
Amis isn’t shy of raising eyebrows with his assessments. Here, in “Saul Bellow as Opposed to Henry James,” he takes on Moby Dick and Don Quixote: “It (Moby Dick) is a unique achievement, because about four-fifths of it is padding. (It even outpads Don Quixote.)” In fairness, he then adds: “In Melville, though, the padding is necessary ballast.”
He sharpens this tactic in the opening of a review of Don DeLillo’s short fiction: “When we say that we love a writer’s work — yes, even when we say it hand on heart — we are always stretching the truth. What we really mean is that we love about half of it. Sometimes rather more than half, sometimes rather less, but about half.”
Amis then gives examples, including: “Proustians will claim that In Search of Lost Time is unimprovable throughout, despite all the agonizing longueurs. Then he says: “I stubbornly suspect that only the cultist, or the academic, is capable of swallowing an author whole.”
At a time when politicians, actors and others are being dismissed because of naughty things that come to light about their personal lives, Amis, considering some of the personal shortcomings of the poet Philip Larkin, gives us this simple statement made with admirable conviction and strength: “No conceivable disclosure could make me demote Larkin’s work.”
Amis knows things and loves to share what he knows, as when he gives us a memorable quotation from Anthony Burgess that we might otherwise have missed: “Wedged as we are between two eternities of idleness, there is no excuse for being idle now.” (This quotation, which I’m considering turning into a t-shirt, comes from “The Fourth Estate and the Puzzle of Heredity,” a satire so thick that I’m left wondering if that’s really Burgess or if perhaps Amis made it up himself.)
I also thank Amis for this quotation from Vladimir Nabokov in “Nabokov’s Natural Selection”: “My pencils outlast their erasers. I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published.”
This deft collection of essays and reportage even includes a piece on the American porn industry (Amis visited and did interviews) and one on Las Vegas that opens with this: “If for some reason you were confined to a single adjective to describe Las Vegas, then you would have to settle for the following: un-Islamic.”
Lest I seem all praise, the weakest piece in the collection, for this reader, is “John Updike’s Farewell Note,” which begins in this Miss Grundyish fashion:
“The following wedge of prose has two things wrong with it: one big thing and one little thing — one infelicity and one howler. Read it with attention. If you can spot both, then you have what is called a literary ear:
” ’Craig Marin took an interest in the traces left by prior owners of his land. In the prime of his life, when he worked every weekday and socialized all weekend, he had pretty much ignored his land.’
“The minor flaw is the proximity of ’prior’ and ‘prime.” This gives us a dissonant rime riche on the first syllable; and the two words, besides, are etymological half-siblings, and should never be left alone together without many intercessionary chaperones. And the major flaw? The first sentence ends with the words ‘his land’; and so, with a resonant clunk, does the second. Mere quibbles, some may say. But we are addressing ourselves to John Updike, who was perhaps the greatest virtuoso stylist since Nabokov — who, in his turn, was perhaps the greatest virtuoso stylist since Joyce.”
I suppose there will be those who admire Amis’s stance here. I am not among them. And I would, right off, begin my own Miss Grundyish criticism of this passage from Amis by wincing at his choice of the word “wedge.”
But the very next essay in the collection, “Rabbit Angstrom Confronts Obamacare,” which also centers on Updike, is a winner from the start:
“America is sick about health: America, where strokes and heart attacks come with a price tag, and where the doctors carry on like slum landlords or war profiteers. And Americans admire it — this triage of the wallet.
“John Updike, or John Updike’s ghost, would be little interested (but not surprised) to learn that the year of his death saw a kind of grassroots rebellion against the health care system favored by the current administration: Obamacare — the first step toward a system long established in every other country in the First World. Americans believe in decentralized authority, individual choice, and what they call ‘fiscal responsibility’ (or very low taxes); they dislike the ‘nanny state,’ which, scandalously, coddles the apathetic citizen ‘from cradle to grave.’ Americans pay for their coming hither and for their going hence — costly entrances, truly exorbitant exits. It is the American way, and they’re wedded to it.”
This review is getting rather long, and I really didn’t want to add anything, but then I came to this as the opening to “President Trump Orates in Ohio” :
“In considering Donald Trump, we should heed the Barry Manilow Law as promulgated in the 1970s by Clive James. The law runs as follows: everyone you know thinks that Barry Manilow is absolutely terrible, but everyone you don’t know thinks he’s great.” (The two uses of the word”everyone,” particularly the second one, need to be toned down, but it’s still a sharp and funny observation.)
On balance, this book’s 373 pages yield one fine reading experience.
July 2, 2019
Martin is an interesting writer, I loved his early novels, up to London Fields I think. This is a collection of his journalism and essays, He can come across as a bit obsessive when writing about Saul Bellow and Nabokov. He usually has interesting things to say though. I enjoyed the writing about Donald Trump and Jeremy Corbyn, and the piece about Philip Larkin who was of course a friend of his dad.
April 8, 2018
To lose a great essayist is a more acute literary tragedy than the loss of a great novelist. For one thing, we often discover our favorite novelists many years (if not centuries) after they have expired, and their magna opera are timeless. Moreover, as Martin Amis notes on a couple of occasions in The Rub of Time, even the greatest writers of fiction tend to suffer a depreciation of capacities in their terminal years—as, for example, John Updike's all-seeing eye and pyrotechnic metaphors gave way to clumsy forays into early 21st century pop culture and skin-crawling descriptions of old man sex. But a great essayist—who is by default a great writer—never need fear the loss of the creative spark. So long as his mental faculties remain sharp and his curiosity engaged, the world is his playground.
The two great essayists of the past half century have been Gore Vidal and Christopher Hitchens. They were, in their lifetimes, the preeminent commentators on life, literature, politics, history, and current events in the English language. Still, while the clarity of their writing never dulled like those graying novelists alluded to above, both did give way to unhealthy fixations in their finals acts. For Vidal, his tongue-in-cheek misanthropy turned truly toxic and he lost himself in a swarm of conspiracy theories—most obsessively (and indicative of his generation), his contention that a warmongering FDR purposely provoked the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Hitchens's fear of a global caliphate sent him to bed with the Vulcans of the Bush Administration, and he seemingly never turned down an opportunity to appear on television and goad his one-time allies while beating a hollow drum for the calamitous War in Iraq. It is not at all surprising that the relationship between the two, once so affectionate (Vidal at one point christening Hitchens "the dauphin"), turned venomous toward the end. It was a cruel irony that the much older Vidal, who took a miserable view of life after the death of his partner Howard Austen, should outlive the biophile Hitchens by seven months.
Whatever their failings, bereft of their voices we entered a void into which now steps Martin Amis. This is perhaps a false equation given that Amis has been writing for 45 years, but he now stands fairly lonely among the ranks of cultural commentators of substance. True, he is not quite up to the standard of Vidal or Hitchens, but one could make a strong case that he is the best we have at present. Amis's use of language is far less fluid than the Two Titans, and there are awkward constructions that cause the reader to wince ("ideological jumpiness," "squirt of hair"). But then there is a certain comfort to be taken in the occasional stumble, as, in contrast to Vidal's lapidary eloquence and the frenetic energy of Hitchens's prose, Amis reads as a mere mortal like the rest of us.
Anytime a reader picks up an expansive essay anthology (Rub of Time encompasses a period from 1994-2017), he submits himself to a writer's neurotic obsessions as they might play out over decades. For Amis, there is the enduring magnetism of his "twin peaks": Vladimir Nabokov and Saul Bellow. Updike and Philip Roth rest on cliffs just below the summit. The more eclectic entries span a range of topics including Anglo-American politics, pornography, tennis, Hollywood, and the royal family.
There is a fundamental mildness to Amis's nonfiction that is intentional. He opines a couple of times that he regrets unfriendly reviews he wrote as a young man panning older writers, behavior he now considers "cheek[ing] your elders." Included here is the foreword he wrote to The Quotable Hitchens, in which, amid quasi-erotic praise, he does accede to a couple cavils: Hitchens's weakness for punning, and the gleeful maliciousness in which he occasionally indulged (e.g., re: George Galloway: "Unkind nature, which could have made a perfectly good butt out of his face, has spoiled the whole effect by taking an asshole and studding it with ill-brushed fangs."). So tisks Amis: "We grant that hatred is a stimulant; but it should not become an intoxicant." This is perhaps a respectable posture, but it translates into far less rousing prose. I flagged only one major lapse when Amis permits his nasty side an edgewise word, and it is directed not at a fellow notable, but obese tourists in Las Vegas:
This is among the most lively and quotable excerpts from the collection, but one wants to inquire of the conscientiously polite Amis which is crueler: when an intellectual writes a hit job review of a septuagenarian's novel, or when he employs his poison pen to rake anonymous indigents? I suspect he would claim the former (for reasons relating to contributions to art, spirit, the human experience, etc.).
Amis predicts that Saul Bellow will one day be remembered as the foremost American writer. While Bellow is certainly among the greats and too often overlooked, I think he is wrong. Amis is a witty and erudite cultural critic and his essays are far above average, but his nonfiction is affected by a kind of opaque tepidity that never inspires full-bodied excitement in the reader. I predict that posterity will esteem his fiction much higher, but then I could be wrong, too.
The two great essayists of the past half century have been Gore Vidal and Christopher Hitchens. They were, in their lifetimes, the preeminent commentators on life, literature, politics, history, and current events in the English language. Still, while the clarity of their writing never dulled like those graying novelists alluded to above, both did give way to unhealthy fixations in their finals acts. For Vidal, his tongue-in-cheek misanthropy turned truly toxic and he lost himself in a swarm of conspiracy theories—most obsessively (and indicative of his generation), his contention that a warmongering FDR purposely provoked the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Hitchens's fear of a global caliphate sent him to bed with the Vulcans of the Bush Administration, and he seemingly never turned down an opportunity to appear on television and goad his one-time allies while beating a hollow drum for the calamitous War in Iraq. It is not at all surprising that the relationship between the two, once so affectionate (Vidal at one point christening Hitchens "the dauphin"), turned venomous toward the end. It was a cruel irony that the much older Vidal, who took a miserable view of life after the death of his partner Howard Austen, should outlive the biophile Hitchens by seven months.
Whatever their failings, bereft of their voices we entered a void into which now steps Martin Amis. This is perhaps a false equation given that Amis has been writing for 45 years, but he now stands fairly lonely among the ranks of cultural commentators of substance. True, he is not quite up to the standard of Vidal or Hitchens, but one could make a strong case that he is the best we have at present. Amis's use of language is far less fluid than the Two Titans, and there are awkward constructions that cause the reader to wince ("ideological jumpiness," "squirt of hair"). But then there is a certain comfort to be taken in the occasional stumble, as, in contrast to Vidal's lapidary eloquence and the frenetic energy of Hitchens's prose, Amis reads as a mere mortal like the rest of us.
Anytime a reader picks up an expansive essay anthology (Rub of Time encompasses a period from 1994-2017), he submits himself to a writer's neurotic obsessions as they might play out over decades. For Amis, there is the enduring magnetism of his "twin peaks": Vladimir Nabokov and Saul Bellow. Updike and Philip Roth rest on cliffs just below the summit. The more eclectic entries span a range of topics including Anglo-American politics, pornography, tennis, Hollywood, and the royal family.
There is a fundamental mildness to Amis's nonfiction that is intentional. He opines a couple of times that he regrets unfriendly reviews he wrote as a young man panning older writers, behavior he now considers "cheek[ing] your elders." Included here is the foreword he wrote to The Quotable Hitchens, in which, amid quasi-erotic praise, he does accede to a couple cavils: Hitchens's weakness for punning, and the gleeful maliciousness in which he occasionally indulged (e.g., re: George Galloway: "Unkind nature, which could have made a perfectly good butt out of his face, has spoiled the whole effect by taking an asshole and studding it with ill-brushed fangs."). So tisks Amis: "We grant that hatred is a stimulant; but it should not become an intoxicant." This is perhaps a respectable posture, but it translates into far less rousing prose. I flagged only one major lapse when Amis permits his nasty side an edgewise word, and it is directed not at a fellow notable, but obese tourists in Las Vegas:
Patent attorney Greg Raymer is no drink of water, but there is a woman in his autograph queue...who has munched herself into a wheelechair: arms like legs, legs like torsos, and a torso like an exhausted orgy. A male two-wheeler,
in the forecourt beyond, succeeds in "falling" from his vehicle even when it is stationary;
passerby shovel and bail him back into it, but his body is more liquid than solid, and it is simply seeking the lowest level, like a domestic flood coming down a staircase.
This is among the most lively and quotable excerpts from the collection, but one wants to inquire of the conscientiously polite Amis which is crueler: when an intellectual writes a hit job review of a septuagenarian's novel, or when he employs his poison pen to rake anonymous indigents? I suspect he would claim the former (for reasons relating to contributions to art, spirit, the human experience, etc.).
Amis predicts that Saul Bellow will one day be remembered as the foremost American writer. While Bellow is certainly among the greats and too often overlooked, I think he is wrong. Amis is a witty and erudite cultural critic and his essays are far above average, but his nonfiction is affected by a kind of opaque tepidity that never inspires full-bodied excitement in the reader. I predict that posterity will esteem his fiction much higher, but then I could be wrong, too.
February 18, 2025
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Throughout the 2000’s Amis mostly published nonfiction. This collection is the only nonfiction of his I’ve read so far but I found his essays and reportage captivating, erudite, and insightful. Fantastic book.
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Throughout the 2000’s Amis mostly published nonfiction. This collection is the only nonfiction of his I’ve read so far but I found his essays and reportage captivating, erudite, and insightful. Fantastic book.
___________________________________
[Subscribe to my free newsletter Lit Smithery and receive curated links to poems, books, and literary knicknacks, as well as short essays and writing process notes directly into your inbox.]
June 24, 2018
This is a rich collection of essays on a wide variety of topics including literature (Bellow, Updike, etc.) and politics which are main areas of focus. There are also insightful looks into the World Series of Poker, the pornography industry and the rise and fall of soccer star Diego Maradona. All are done with quality writing and deep intellect. Amis is at the top of his game and shows why he has enjoyed such a long career as an author. The fruit did not fall far from the tree as his dad is Kingsley Amis a highly revered novelist of the mid twentieth century. A very smart read.
February 6, 2018
I think that the trick, with this type of essay that covers different subjects, is not to read it in one session, just enjoying one chapter per day and then the good taste remains for a long long time.
Penso che il trucco, con questo tipo di saggi su vari argomenti, non sia di leggerlo tutto di seguito, quanto piuttosto di gustarselo un pezzettino per volta, un capitolo al giorno, in modo che il piacere si prolunghi quasi all'infinito.
THANKS EDELWEISS FOR THE PREVIEW!
Penso che il trucco, con questo tipo di saggi su vari argomenti, non sia di leggerlo tutto di seguito, quanto piuttosto di gustarselo un pezzettino per volta, un capitolo al giorno, in modo che il piacere si prolunghi quasi all'infinito.
THANKS EDELWEISS FOR THE PREVIEW!
Displaying 1 - 30 of 113 reviews