Juliet, Naked – Nick Hornby
There’s that age-old question that they apparently ask on college applications about which dead or alive person you would like to have dinner with and what questions you would ask that person. When I was younger I hated questions like this. Somehow they mean you have to know exactly who you are – and holy hell that’s a whole other kind of insane, right? Dating especially made these kinds of questions scary. I’d meet someone and then there’d be a kind of mad scramble to quickly evolve into some sort of whole and respectable being. Quickly figure out who your favourite musician is, what your favourite colour is, your favourite food. All that stuff. Not having answers somehow made you undefined. Or at least made me undefined. So every now and then I’d do a recheck – usually when there was a guy on the horizon – so that these kinds of questions could be answered confidently, if not necessarily with complete honesty. But over the years, the real answers started to emerge. Your favourite band stops being a flavour of the week and becomes the music you go back to over and over with a smile. Your favourite colour reverts back to the one you coloured with most as a kid, even though you think it might mean you’re slightly less interesting than if your favourite colour was vermillion or teal. And then one day you find yourself curled up under your duvet and thinking “this is my dinner person”, and for some reason, finally knowing that answer without a doubt is a little exciting. Perhaps that makes me mad.
Now the irony here is this: an essential part of the book that I am now “reviewing” (though really – I’m not a reviewer – I lack the ability to be objective rather than opinionated and, truth be told, rather uninformative) deals with how one of the characters gives a knee-jerk review on the merits of a particular music album, and then later changes his mind about just how much of a spiritual experience it evokes. He then feels guilty because he feels that his rave review possibly harmed the album rather than did it a favour, and because of his quick response he had managed to inadvertently manipulate a bad response to the album in general. I seriously don’t want to do that here: but holy hell this book is awesome!!!
Nick Hornby has this way about him. You know how in school there was that one guy who for some reason was just the embodiment of cool? For some reason it didn’t matter if he wore dresses or listened to Japanese-trans-rap or one day decided that trench coats in summer were the way to go. Whatever he did was acceptable. And the grownups who thought it was funny were just completely square. Nick Hornby is nothing like that. He’s what that guy was supposed to be – but failed at miserably!
His understanding and expression of the human condition never ceases to amaze me. In fact he is arguably the only writer to EVER succeed at writing about music, and in Juliet, Naked he has simply done it again.
Before I was introduced to my first Nick Hornby novel, my favourite author was Anne Tyler. The Accidental Tourist is a book I recommend to people frequently and it played a big part in my “coming out” as a writer. I have since learnt that she is a favourite of Hornby’s too. Perhaps I am daft in feeling a slight sense of kindred-spirithood, but I do. Something about him just serves as a constant reminder of exactly the kind of writer I would like to be.
So yes, he’s my fantasy dinner guest. And not because I have a thousand questions to ask him, but because I think that an evening with nick Hornby would certainly promise to be a worthwhile experience, and one that would serve as a constant source of inspiration. Why? I don’t know the exact answer. But every time I close one of his books I find myself thinking I can do this, as opposed to holy crap what the hell ever made me think I could become a writer!
As far as the book is concerned: send the kids and the husband away, curl up in bed with the cat and a giant cup of coffee (and a box of chocolates) and allow yourself a day of consistent smiles. Yes, he is that good. He always has been
I admit that the mom thing is new to me and most of the time I question the kind of job that I’m doing. For the most part with my own kid I think I do ok. Or perhaps I feel less guilty about not being perfect. With Ty’s kids it’s a little more intimidating. Here I’ve been thrown in the deep end because I suddenly have a seven and a nine year old to deal with and for me this is very unchartered territory.
