The Thriller That Wasn't

Before reading any of his books, I was all set to become a David Baldacci cheerleader. With twelve New York Times bestsellers to his name, 50 million books sold in 80 countries, plus glowing press and reader reviews, he seemed an ideal candidate to join my pantheon of favourite authors.

But then I read The Collectors

With a mixture of disappointment and disbelief, I ploughed through page after page, hoping that at some point it would turn into a thriller. But, far from the diamond-sharp dialogue and pacy plot I’d been expecting, the book turned out to be as thrilling as a damp dishcloth.

The main story surrounds an investigation by a group of conspiracy theorists into a death at the Library of Congress in Washington. Elsewhere, a gang of con-artists sets out to relieve a notorious mobster of his fortune. These plots intertwine and the rest of the book unravels the consequences.

So far, so good. But right from the start Baldacci’s clunky writing gets in the way of the story. In his world, people don’t just say things. They say them “bitterly” “solemnly“, “eagerly” “breathlessly“, or even “matter-of-factly”. This outbreak of adverbs is profoundly annoying, but it’s by no means the only problem with The Collectors.

The paper-thin characters are a mixture of the unremarkable and the unbelievable. Baldacci may have intended con-artiste Annabelle Conroy to come across as a clever and classy broad with a will of steel and a heart of gold. But before too long, I was tiring of this James Bond in tights. The reader is meant to gasp in wonder at her skulduggery and subterfuge as she takes the mean and the greedy for a ride. But how can we admire a character whose actions lead to the innocent getting killed? Or are we supposed to dismiss these casualties as collateral damage?

Meanwhile, the group of conspiracy theorists, known as the Camel Club, owe more to Hanna-Barbera than to Hitchcock. They’re not so much amateur detectives as shamateur defectives. Led by Oliver Stone (I kid you not), these misfits bumble their way across Washington with all the finesse of a herd of elephants on roller skates. Especially irritating is Caleb Shaw, the wimpy librarian. Baldacci gets exactly no prizes for fishing him out from the dressing-up box of tired old stereotypes.

As for the mobster, Jerry Bagger, he’s an unbelievably stupid pantomime villain. Far from masterminding his way to owning a string of casinos, a dodgy character like Bagger wouldn’t get past the doorman in my local Tesco.

With little of interest in terms of plot and character, the reader should at least have been able to admire the scenery. An attractively drawn map of Washington, D.C. on the first page suggests that this monumental city will play a significant part in the story. Yet, aside from passing references to the Mall and the White House, we might as well be in Grimsby. Even the magnificent Library of Congress, where much of the action (I use the word guardedly) takes place, is described in the most fleeting of terms.

Early on, we’re told that the Camel Club saved the world from Armageddon in a previous adventure. This incredible claim should have set alarm bells ringing, but I pressed on, expecting an eventual resolution to the story. But not in another book.

Baldacci couldn’t have been less subtle had he placed a photograph of a cash register on the final page, with a little banner declaring: “So long, suckers, see you in the sequel“. It was an appropriately fraudulent end to a so-called thriller that delivered not so much a tightness in my chest as a lightness in my wallet. Baldacci is on record as saying that he strongly identifies with Annabelle Conroy. Having conned me out of my hard-earned cash, I can say (truthfully, angrily, heatedly, furiously) that he’s well on the way to emulating his heroine.

Perhaps I was just unlucky. Other reviewers have claimed that this isn’t Baldacci at his best, and it could be this wasn't the right place to start on his books. But it’s definitely the right place to stop. Rather than risk another mugging, I’ll be steering clear of this particular author. From now on, my bookshelf is a Baldacci-free zone.

Title: The Collectors
Author: David Baldacci
Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: Pan Books; New Ed edition
Date: 2007
ISBN-10: 0330444085
ISBN-13: 978-0330444088

Up Against The Wall

Nearly two decades since its demise, the Berlin Wall has largely faded from our thoughts. But Frederick Taylor's latest book revives memories of a time when it seemed the Wall would never fall. Much more than the biography of a barrier, Taylor's book profiles a structure that's had a lasting impact on individuals and families, statesmen and nations.

Taylor sets the scene with an invigorating sprint through Berlin's history, culminating in the defeat of the Nazis in 1945. With the Soviets occupying its eastern half, and American, French and British forces in the western sectors, Berlin was suddenly the embodiment of the post-war world's great divide. West Berliners had to come to terms with the additional shock of finding themselves on a capitalist island deep inside a Stalinist republic.

Before long, thousands of young East Berliners were streaming across the open border to take up better education and employment opportunities in West Germany. Watching with alarm, the über-zealous leader of the German Democratic Republic (GDR), Walter Ulbricht, turned to Moscow for help. Compared to the sabre-rattling Ulbricht, Soviet leader Nikita Khruschev is depicted here as a model of restraint. Like John F. Kennedy, Khruschev was reluctant to see Berlin become a flashpoint for a third world war. But by 1961, two million East Germans had deserted their country and radical action was required.

On a sunny Sunday afternoon in August 1961, East Germany suddenly closed its border with the West. In Berlin, first barbed wire and then concrete barriers appeared, prompting a wave of desperate escape attempts. It's here that Taylor's powers of narration come into their own as he relates the valiant and foolhardy bids for freedom. Some took to the icy waters of the river Spree, some crawled through sewer pipes, while others chose the no-less nerve-jangling route of crossing the frontier with forged papers. Moments of ingenuity are highlighted, such as the man who sped under the checkpoint barriers in a sports car. Others were not so lucky. After being shot by East German guards, eighteen-year-old Peter Fechter lay dying for an hour before his body was recovered just a wall's width from freedom.

Amid the tension and tragedy, there are some flashes of levity. Taylor recounts how Vice-President Lyndon Johnson arrived in West Berlin to boost morale in the days after the borders were closed. Following a hero's welcome and much pressing of the flesh, Johnson asked West Berlin Mayor, Willy Brandt about the possibility of shopping for some quality porcelain during his visit. Brandt apologetically explained that as it was a Sunday, the shops were closed. "Well, goddammit! What if they are closed", exclaimed the furious Texan. "You're the mayor, aren't you?" Johnson got his porcelain.

Despite public condemnation, the West privately acknowledged little could be done about the Berlin Wall. As mayor, Willy Brandt wrote an angry letter to Kennedy demanding a robust American response to the crisis. But as Chancellor of West Germany, Brandt adopted a more conciliatory stance with the GDR. Taylor observes that during the 1980s, even as a deep freeze set in between the superpowers, the thaw between the two Germanys continued. During a visit to West Germany in 1987, East German leader Erich Honecker allowed himself a rare moment of melancholy, suggesting the borders between the two countries were not as they should be. By this time, East and West Berlin were divided by a sophisticated system of barriers, traps and checkpoints of which "the Wall" formed only the final frontier. Escape attempts had dwindled, and it seemed as if the East Germans had finally come to terms with life under a grim, brutal regime. But something was stirring.

No-one was prepared for the speed with which events moved. On the night of November 9 1989. Mikhail Gorbachev, who had loosened Moscow's grip on its satellite states, slept soundly as thousands breached the Berlin Wall. Meanwhile, West German Chancellor Helmut Kohl, making a visit to Poland's new Solidarity government, discovered he was "dancing at the wrong wedding." Taylor's description of that night is enthralling. His minute-by-minute account captures the confusion surrounding a botched East German press conference and the subsequent euphoria at the newly-open border. Missing from this section, though, are the eyewitness accounts of ordinary Berliners which made the earlier chapters so vivid.

It might have been tempting for Taylor to end with jubilant Berliners dancing on territory where only hours earlier they would have risked being shot. But his final chapter, The Theft of Hope, examines the fallout from the Wall's fall. So successful had East Germany's ruling elite been in disguising the parlous state of their shambolic economy that Chancellor Kohl underestimated both the scale of reconstruction and the cost of making two Germanys one. East Germans themselves emerged blinking into the light of freedom, only to suffer effects familiar to the institutionalised. Cosseted by a cradle-to-grave welfare system, free education, full employment and little crime, they discovered the brave new world of capitalism had some nasty surprises in store.

However, Taylor finishes optimistically, noting that Berlin's city council is now governed by a coalition of reformed Communists and Social Democrats under the leadership of an openly gay mayor, while Germany itself is led by a Chancellor born in the GDR.

Taylor set himself a daunting task to follow his compelling book about the firebombing of Dresden. But, if anything, The Berlin Wall is even better. Gripping and authoritative, scholarly and highly readable, Taylor's latest work will appeal to all who enjoy a dose of drama with their history.

Title: The Berlin Wall
Author: Frederick Taylor
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing PLC; New Ed edition (3 Sep 2007)
Date: 2007
Language English
ISBN-10: 0747585547
ISBN-13: 978-0747585541

Multilingual Monday

An article written entirely in Welsh appeared on The Guardian website last week, highlighting the decline of the language. Although the article had a link to the English version, it provoked some predictable ridicule.

"...wonder if Babelfish does Welsh"

"I doubt Babelfish could be bothered. I mean its not as if anything said in Welsh is likely to be important."

"Welsh? Oh, right. (puts away Klingon dictionary)"

"I once had a game of Scrabble where every set of letters I pulled from the bag looked like that."

But on a serious note:

"Most speakers are emotionally attached to their own language. The difference is that when your language is spoken by the majority, you don't need too much effort to "defend" it and therefore don't get angry about it very often. That's why it SEEMS that the English aren't that radical about English... As Artze, a Basque poet, once said:"Hizkuntza bat ez da galtzen ez dakitenek ikasten ez dutelako, dakitenek hitz egiten ez dutelako baizik"(A language is not lost because those that do not know how to speak it do not learn it, but because those that can speak it, do not use it). "

Polish Postings

He’s off, again. Not content with spanning the globe, crossing the Sahara and scaling the Himalayas, Michael Palin’s on the road once more. This time, he’s in central and eastern Europe, travelling to places as diverse as Kiev and Kaliningrad.

Palin’s one of the jewels in the BBC crown. His engaging approach in these programmes – part innocent abroad, part have-a-go goon – has won him a following far beyond his native shores, and the accompanying books are instant best-sellers.

I've especially enjoyed this series because I've been to some of the places Palin visits - in recent weeks, he's been to Hungary and the Baltic republics. This week, the programme took him from the shores of northern Poland to the southern border with Slovakia and, like a Polish sausage, there was a lot squeezed into it. Palin makes it look easy, but it’s not every presenter who could carry off a show featuring an interview with Lech Walesa, a visit to Auschwitz and a walk-on part in a comedy cabaret. The Monty Python trouper took it all in his stride.

While thousands of people from Poland have travelled to find work in Britain in recent years, some Brits have made the journey in the opposite direction. In Warsaw, Palin met Kevin Aiston. Originally from London, Aiston moved to Poland in 1993 and is now a Warsaw firefighter. He’s also something of a local celebrity, regularly appearing on a morning tv show. The genial Londoner was generous in his description of his hosts and expressed the hope that Poles working in Great Britain might receive a similar welcome. Invited by Aiston to test his linguistic skills, Palin made a decent stab at the fiendishly difficult Polish language.

The lighter moments contrasted sharply with reminders of Poland’s tragic past. In Warsaw’s lovely old town square (completely rebuilt after 1945), Palin chatted with an attractive Polish journalist. She insisted that Poland was ever-conscious of history, but also keen to take its place in the modern world. Later, visiting Auschwitz, Palin was understandably low-key. Wisely, he let the piles of hair, suitcases and gas canisters speak for themselves.

After attending an exhilarating, exhausting village wedding, Palin sailed serenely out of Poland and into Slovakia, from where he will begin the final stage of his journey next week. In a weekend schedule dominated by sport and phone-in competitions, Michael Palin’s Polish passage was a horizon-broadening breath of fresh air.

Michael Palin's New Europe


Polish Postcript: 1

Palin’s meeting with Lech Walesa reminds me of a story about the former Polish president, which may or may not be true.

During a state visit to London, President Walesa was introduced to the Queen. Stumbling through his speech, he finally confessed, “I’m sorry, your majesty, I must polish my English. The Queen gave him a withering look. “No, Mr President. Your English is Polish enough.”

Polish Postcript: 2

Polish Prime Minister, Jaroslaw Kaczynski, has lost today's general election. Having won a landslide victory, the Civic Platform Party will form the next government. Kaczynski's aggressive nationalism has been abrasive abroad and divisive at home. His twin brother, Lech, still has three years of his presidency to run, but may find it harder to deal with this muscular new government.

This Book Won't Save My Life

Just finished reading A. M. Homes' This Book Will Save Your Life. Some of the reviews I've read about it are almost embarrassingly crouching in their adoration. "Funny and engaging... "packed with unexpected pleasures" says The Guardian, and, from what I can make out, The New York Times loved it too. Stephen King says "it could be come a generational touchstone, like Catch-22 or The Catcher in the Rye."

But The Washington Post seems more tuned into my way of thinking about it:

This tepid satire about modern America begins with Richard Novak, a wealthy day trader, having a panic attack and being rushed to the hospital with "incredible pain" all over his body: "He lay there realizing how thoroughly he'd removed himself from the world or obligations, how stupidly independent he'd become: he needed no one, knew no one, was not part of anyone's life. He'd so thoroughly removed himself from the world of dependencies and obligations, he wasn't sure he still existed."

That existential crisis could lead to great pathos or great comedy, but over the next 300 pages, Richard meanders through a series of chance encounters, reaching out with new interest and generosity to strangers who never become much more than their costumes. There's the Middle Eastern owner of a donut shop, the housewife crying in the grocery store, the handsome movie star, the reclusive '60s novelist. Richard befriends them all with low-key good cheer and somehow manages to change his life completely with about as much effort as I've expended switching shampoos.

I can only agree. If I'd bought a few of the delicious-looking donuts that appear on the book's cover, my money would have been better spent.

School Outing

From New York comes the news that one of the characters in the Harry Potter books is gay. Responding to a question during a US book tour, JK Rowling revealed the sexuality of Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster.

"Dumbledore is gay," she said, adding he was smitten with rival Gellert Grindelwald, who he beat in a battle between good and bad wizards long ago. The audience gasped, then applauded. "I would have told you earlier if I knew it would make you so happy," she said."

A spokesman for gay rights group Stonewall said:

"It's great that JK has said this. It shows that there's no limit to what gay and lesbian people can do, even being a wizard headmaster."

Is it me, or is someone having a problem distinguishing fantasy from reality?

Alan Coren, RIP

Alan Coren's passing on Friday has rightly been marked by many tributes. One of the nicest was from Eve Pollard:

"He was warm and funny; witty, clever, kind and a brilliant journalist," she said. "It's very hard to realise now how his earlier pieces caught the zeitgeist. He had a wonderful voice. "He was a dear friend. When you walked into a room and saw Alan, you'd immediately think 'this is not going to be boring'.He was a life-enhancer."

His son, Giles, once described his father's secret for good writing:

"When I was about 11, I would always go to my dad and say, 'What shall I write?' "He would always say,'Whatever the first thing that comes to your head, don't write that because that's what everyone will write. When the second idea comes into your head, don't write that either because that's what the bright kids will write. "Wait for the third idea, because that's the one that only you will do."