THE LONG TAKE by Robin Robertson
Picador, 2018 (UK)
Hmm. I seem to be in the minority in not being completely enamored with this novel in verse, though in a lot of ways it’s certainly an impressive feat. Robin Robertson’s writing is elegant and immersive, the tone is achingly sad, and he uses the form to explore a myriad of subjects – PTSD, the development of post-war America, the advent of cinema… There’s a lot of content packed into this little book, but while I found myself impressed by many aspects of it, there was also something a bit empty about the whole thing.
So much of this endeavor is just very on the nose. The protagonist, Walker, is suffering from PTSD, so how do we show that? By interrupting the narrative with snippets of his flashbacks to the war. One of the central themes is the downside of the extreme modernization of Los Angeles that occurred in the 1950s, so how do we show that? By the characters narrating the ways in which the modernization of Los Angeles is negatively affecting their community. I think I just wanted this to be longer and more nuanced. There’s so much going on in this book, but it’s all there for you to see right on the surface.
This is ordinarily the sort of book I’d want to reflect on for a day or two before writing a review, but with the Booker announcement tomorrow I’m racing against time, so I will admit up front here that my thoughts on this may evolve over time, for better or worse. I also want to admit that I read this in very punctuated bursts over the span of a week which is just about the worst possible way to read a book like this – if you can, I’d implore you to try to finish it in one or two sittings – so that may have clouded my experience with it. And I did really enjoy it, for the most part; I just didn’t quite feel the magic.
All of my Man Booker 2018 reviews:
From a Low and Quiet Sea | The Water Cure
The Mars Room | Snap | Milkman
Everything Under | In Our Mad and Furious City
Warlight | Normal People | Sabrina | The Overstory
Washington Black | The Long Take