Customer Reviews

Europa

5 star:		(8)
4 star:		(4)
3 star:		(1)
2 star:		(4)
1 star:		(3)

 

 

I read this rather lenghty book in two consecutive days, immersed in Park's looping, breathtaking, inner monologue, stream of conscience writing. This novel is about an obsessive love afair, a troubled, alienated, at times self-loathing academic with his heart not in the academic game show at all, a tale about the "other" as another reviewer succintly put it, about the complexities of life and the self, and more. A tour de force for this remarkable but underrated writer, with a writing style unlike anything you 've read recently, managing to be literary without being tedius and artificial(see m. amis, pynchon, barth et al.for that), and a striking, powerful ending. Park's musings on life and philosophy, european history and themes are never out of place or turgid, and they make very good reading material, adding a texture to the words.

Caught up in an unsatisfying marriage, a dead-end lifeless job, a failed yet once passionate and potentialy life-changing love affair, conflicting feelings and instability, Jerry the protagonist somehow agrees to take a trip to the European parliament to express his disagreement with the wage cuts on his job, which he does not particularly like, with a few fellow academics and a number of female students at his Italian university, and, of course, the french woman who is the cause (or is she just the pretext) for his recent worries. Riding on a bus through Europe and at the same time travelling intensely in his thoughts and memories, Jerry Marlow finds himself thinking more and living less in the present. While all too human interaction takes place, he stays a shadowy figure for the most part of the book for any outsiders to his consciousness. Memory mingles with outer reality, obsession takes hold of him, until they finally arrive to their destination (to his destination possibly) where the last act is played.

The mental images from the various settings of the book come back to me very vividly as I write these lines. This is a really good book and I am not going to spoil it any more for you with my mediocre analysis. I hope I made clear that this is not your average type of novel.

Do read it.

In addition to all of the (positive) things said in the other reviews posted here, what struck me about this novel was that it was about a man who moves from being alienated (a man who only falls for "foreign" women, a man alienated most of all, from a mileu that celebrates, PC-wise, "difference" and "the other")--to...something else. The point being that he IS moved to something. I was afraid the book would end with one of those winky winky ironic, desolate flourishes--it does not. These are large, relevant themes--alienation, relativism, personal (and national) morality--and in the end, this book and this author is on the side of meaning, as so many post-modern, ironic novels are not. When everyone is "other," when every action can be rationalized as valid within the framework of an irrefutable (because unjudgeable), private morality, there is no meaning. When only words, or the way that we SAY things happen, our PERSONAL (or national) interpretations count, rather than what we have actually done, there is no meaning. No real connection or communication between every "other" (individuals, nations.) Interestingly, one human response to that (on the main character's, Jerry's part) is violence--he will MAKE something happen, make his actions mean something, even if it isn't the meaning he wanted, SOME meaning is better than none--which has got to be the only reason there is for random, apparently senseless violence. Besides all of this (ie, that it seems to me a thoughtful, philosophical but not pretentious, relevant, redemptive novel), Parks' writing is gorgeous, his characters human and familiar.

I've just finished an excellent book: Europa, by Tim Parks. It's the story of one Jerry Marlow, a 45-year-old divorced English language instructor on a bus trip from Milan to Strasbourg with a number of colleagues and students (the bus is dubbed the Shag Wagon by one of the instructors, for the number of nubile co-eds who've come along in a youthful show of solidarity and, it is hoped, a sense of adventure) with the goal of convincing the European Parliament to save their jobs with the Italian university. The instructors charge they are being discriminated against, in contravention of the new law of Europe, the EC. Marlow thinks it a dubious notion, and perhaps has agreed to go along merely because his ex-mistress is among the volunteers for the trip, and he is tugged against his will (if such a thing is possible) to be near her, despite her faithlessness, despite the "debacle," the "retreat from Moscow" that was their breakup. As an introspective examination of the aftermath of Marlow's marriage and affair, the book is only a mild success. But Parks manages to weave the betrayal of a wife, the betrayal by a mistress, the seemingly predestined mistakes the man makes, into a stinging commentary on Europe and modern social orthodoxy, that is to say, the numbingly bland popular beliefs of the apparent elite. Nothing is morally wrong, short of fascism-- not infidelity, not manipulation, not humiliation, not negligent reasoning.

Parks' narrative style is stream of consciousness, long sentences full of self-interruptions, reiterations, movements back and forth in time, and, above all, commas. The apparent attempt is to mimic the disjointed way an obssessed person actually thinks. Although clever and observant, I grew tired of the method at times. But when Parks directs Marlow's thoughts to larger issues of the mystery of self-deception and of continental politics, and away from the self-pity of an unfaithful husband and man shocked at his own violence towards an unfaithful mistress, the book shines. I can't help but be reminded of War and Peace, with the main story's relationship to a larger point about the politics of the seeming center-of-the-universe (at least to the protagonists): Europe.

The secondary characters are lively. Vikram Griffiths, the Welsh-Indian, emphasizing his difference to gain acceptance; "as if he had got himself born half-Indian in Wales on purpose." Then there's boring Doris Rohr, "whose own lessons one imagines must be the last word in the dusty formality of the day unseized." But the narrative is at its best with observations like, "I could no more go back to the church than to my wife." (Because that's partly the point, isn't it?) Later, after a particularly hypocritical speech full of aggrandizing homilies, Marlow recalls, "...[I]t is perfectly clear to me now that one need only open one's mouth in a public situation and the words will come...Orthodoxy is in the air." The story's conclusion in front of the Parliament in Strasbourg is entirely well-conceived and fitting.

My recommendation? If you think you will enjoy an introspective, stream of consciousness novel about sex against the backdrop of feel-good European ecumenical politics, you'll enjoy this read. If not, you'll be safer steering clear. I, for one, enjoyed it.

Interior monologue; no dialogue; paras pages long; sentences of two or three hundred words; a depressing, turgid read. Reading Tim Parks' fiction is a bit like being buttonholed by an inebriated guy in a bar who wants to tell you for ten or twelve hours about what a bitch the woman in his life is.Enjoyable only to those who think that reading is supposed to be an unpleasant experience, to be endured rather than enjoyed.Hard to believe this is the same author who wrote those delightful Italian books.

It's too bad that this excellent writer was given short shriftby David Gates in the New York Times, because if he achieved thebest-sellerdom he deserves in the states we might see some of his excellent novels turned into films.

But to get to the point, the things other people found fault with (too much inner life) I adored. I am so tired of lame plots and lamer dialogue. This book does what it does brilliantly, so why not leave it be? His meditation on dogs was daring and priceless, as was his general PC bashing. American readers like Gates probably missed alot -- i.e., the unification of Europe harking back to Napoleonic gradiosity. It's too bad Americans are so ill educated they can't see how well the author works in so many allusions and western myths. Parks is a one-of-a kind author. My only complaint here is that he doesn't explain his wife sufficiently -- a sketch of a woman who does nothing but vacuum is a bit lazy, even if her parents did buy them a flat. But this book excells in so many other areas where most novels don't even try, I don't take take points off. END

I need to disclose upfront that I am a huge Tim Parks fan. Anything he writes is 5-star for me. However, to love this book (and his current novel titled "Cleaver") you need to enjoy deeply introspective, first-person narratives, with stream of consciousness rambling reflections of inner monologue that zig and zag back and forth within a lightly veiled storyline (- kind of like this sentence). This book is funny, quirky and Parks does a terrific job in getting the reader into the head of the main character, Jerry Marlowe.

Marlowe, 45, is a Brit and a foreign language translator in Italy. He joins a delegation of foreign language teachers and students from Milan who travel on a bus to Strasbourg to protest against the discrimination against foreign instructors who aren't permitted to be granted tenure. Marlowe could care less about the cause but is pulled to join because of his "Glen Close / Fatal Attraction" pursuit of a former lover who dumps him to have an affair with a colleague. The story takes you on the bus ride and back...

Here's a paragraph that gives you a taste of what's to come:

"Except that this in turn reminds you that her name on the contrary, her Christian name her surname her second name her daughter's name her home phone number her work phone number her address her bra-size her birthday her saint's day her daughter's birthday her necklaces her earrings her bracelets her brooches her ankle-bracelets her shoe-size her complete wardrobe her favorite drinks pastas meats and sweets her brands of perfume of deodorant of cigarettes of tampons of chewing gum, and a thousand other details are things you will never be permitted to forget. You will never be permitted to forget them. So that on more than one occasion, having got the phone down on some nameless tottie, I have found myself dialing her automatically, without even being aware of it. 045, it begins, it began, for Verona, for my age. Then I stop."

If you enjoyed this book, run out and buy Park's fantastic new novel: "Cleaver."

Hated it. Took me a year to get through. Read "Crime and Punishment" in between, just for fun, which was a breeze by comparison.

Anyway, "Europa" is a musing on the intellectual superiority of the narrator, Jerry Marlow, a contract lecturer at the university in Milan, and the stupidness of everybody else. At first, his criticism is directed at his wife and just-turning-18-years-old daughter, whom he regards as stupid. Then, he mulls over his affair with a younger, also married, lecturer, and the wild sex they had while discussing Great Philosophy. Marlow regards himself as the daddy figure to this younger woman, guiding her reading and thinking, and providing her a chance to cogitate at his higher level. Then, he discovers, because he has been so clever in giving her a naughty turn of phrase from a historical quotation, that she has been unfaithful to him sexually, as well as intellectually, by passing on the quotation, which he discovers, to a stupider, also married, but less sexually proficient, colleague; so, he hits her; on different occasions; repeatedly. He feels bad about this, but blames his "incorrigible" romanticism. His conscience diverts from examination of hitting the woman he loves and turns to a rumination on the word "incorrigible" and the consolation that she told him he was better in bed. He learnt nothing, except that he feels sorry for himself, because the pattern of abuse is "irremediable", meaning he can no longer enjoy various sexual perversions while lecturing, which is just as well, because, in the end, when he must give a speech to a committee of the European Parliament, despite his hungover and drugged haze, he steals his mistress' idea, which he thinks is stupid, and gives a humdinger of a speech, and the committee members fail to appreciate how stupid the idea is, because they are stupid and he has argued so well, and yet, through this experience, he comes to appreciate that his mistress is stupid, too. Unbelievably, at the end, the mistress throws herself at him again. He is, it turns out, irresistible.

Another reviewer mentioned one of the book's better moments, a dinner party on a hot night with Marlow, his wife and daughter, the alcoholic, womanizing Welsh lecturer with mutton chops, Vikram Griffiths, and Griffith's young son. Marlow is trying to call his mistress to arrange their next assignation, but cannot get through. Griffiths is chatting up Marlow's daughter. Marlow's wife and the boy play Legos together on the floor. The wife is annoyed by the awful Griffiths and is kind to the boy. Marlow has sex with her afterward. Was that her reward? The author believes that Marlow's sexuality, like his professed smarts, is a gift to womankind, Europa.

I read this awful book, because I thought there was a good sex scene in it, somewhere. Boy, was I disappointed. In future, I will stick to supermarket romances or Dostoevsky.

I finished this book, because I could not believe the author meant to take Marlow seriously. I kept expecting a twist that would undermine the hero's conceit. It never came. Instead, in the last chapter, the author allowed that the "perversities of the mind are best not discussed". Too late.

Having written this, I read David Gates' New York Times review. He agrees with me. He must not be stupid.

The campus novel goes off campus, or more specifically on a coach journey to the European Parliament. The motley crew of language lecturers and their students from Milan are going to the parliament to protest about the treatment of non-habilitated lecturers. Someone will be a hero, but who? The characters are all beautifully described, and the plot never slows down. If you've enjoyed books like "Changing Places by David Lodge or Malcolm Bradbury's "Dr Criminale", Europa is also bound to please.

The most noticeable thing about this book, both during the reading and afterwards, will inevitably be the style in which it is written. That fact alone will deter some readers, for style should not necessarily be the most conspicuous attribute. In fact, through much of the beginning of this book, Mr. Parks seems to be forcing the issue of style somewhat, through the repetitive use of a simple phrase setting the location, which accumulates an additional clause with each repetition (along the lines of `sitting here in the back row ... sitting here one seat off the center of the back row of the coach ... sitting here one seat off the center of the back row of the coach on the highway leaving Milan'). These progressive sentences are too prominent in the beginning to appear natural, as compared to the middle and later stages of the book which forego that particular trait. Perhaps those early instances are intended to be the outgrowths of what is still in the beginning of the story a more contemplative, observing and uninvolved narrator. As the story progresses, however, it becomes much more free-flowing, centered on the thoughts of this man as he listens to, participates in, and remembers various conversations and events. It is a marvelous representation of the true ramblings of the human mind, often racing down separate and incongruous roads at the very same moment. The facility and genuine nature with which Mr. Parks captures that state of thought in disarray makes it even more sad that the earlier stylistic points were not less obtrusive.

Of all the thousands of books I have read, this is my all-time favourite. The most beautiful prose I have ever read is contained within these pages. The style is deeply contemplative and finely detailed - reminiscent, at times, of Proust's Recherche Du Temps Perdu. The story meanders through the obsessive musings of the narrator as he allows himself to be led reluctantly on a bizarre and seemingly pointless expedition. Like Hemingway, Tim Parks possesses a distinctly expatriate view of life in continental Europe. His wry commentary on the idiosyncracies of the European Union is strikingly apt even today, as anyone who has had the dubious pleasure of living within its borders will swiftly realise.

Europa is a story of and for the introspective among us - those prone to incessant reflection and, inevitably, regret.