Customer Reviews

The Liar

5 star:		(24)
4 star:		(14)
3 star:		(7)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

I put myself at a disadvantage by reading Stephen Fry's second novel, The Hippopotamus, before reading The Liar. In so doing, I fostered expectations that The Liar would not live up to. The Hippopotamus is a much funnier, racier and scathingly witty work than Fry's first novel. But, after the initial shock of having my expectations dashed, I was rather pleasantly surprised at how engaging, charming and unpredictable this novel is. Well, okay, I wasn't really all that surprised. Stephen Fry is so good a writer that one book--one chapter in fact--is enough to convince you he is unlikely to disappoint. Fry writes with such clarity, flare and adeptness that one is left basking in the sheer joy of the English language. Fry lifts the veil of dreadfully dry, pretentiously hip, consciously urban and premeditatedly mainstream English that dominates literature today to reveal a language that is once again fresh, smart, vibrant, intellectual and tantalizingly naughty. Delightful! Forget that The Liar is chock full of sordid trysts (real, imagined and fabricated), homosexual and bisexual liaisons and scandalous accusations about the sexual traditions of English public schools, this is a masterful book in language alone. But if that is not enough for you, The Liar is also an exciting and maze-like blend of international intrigue, murder, teenage male prostitution and the coming of age of a pathological liar of the first degree. Or is it? You're never really sure which way's up in this book until Fry brings things to a last-minute wrap-up that would be the envy of even the most devious mystery writer. Is the Liar funny? Yes, but in a wholly different way than The Hippopotamus. It is possibly a more conventional a novel than the one immediately following it, less bizarre in its plot and less mysterious throughout. But in construction it is more compelling, intermingling episodes from different times in the Liar's life in such a way that the act of story telling itself entices the reader on. Add to that the espionage theme and the appalling escapades of Adrian, the Liar, and you end up with a novel that is hard to put down, is a smart and witty read and completely worth your time.

The Liar is the first novel that Stephen Fry wrote and the second of his novels that I have read. Over the last 15 or 20 years he has of course become familiar from television as a comedian and comedy actor, as large as Oscar Wilde and with a flippant urbane wit nearly to match.

A born entertainer, one would say, full of zest for and enjoyment of what he does, and a bit of a toff with it. However when I first read his The Stars' Tennis Balls I sensed something else entirely. My reaction was `This man is seriously not right', and it came to me as no surprise recently when he let out that he is a manic depressive. You can already sense the problem in The Liar. It is largely autobiographical obviously, and just as certainly embellished too, I should say. The hero and the author are carried along on a torrent of their own phenomenal articulacy and imagination. Experiences and ordeals that would have had most of us in permanent psychiatric care seem to leave no lasting mark so far as this narrative is concerned, but the underlying nihilism is unmistakable as well. Fry's genius is a gift of the gods, but like most gifts of the gods it comes with a heavy burden attached. When the effervescence boils down, as it sometimes must, the vessel is empty. The style is not just the man, the style is the man's whole world.

The most elite English education is the scaffolding that supports Fry and his hero. Their patois is a joy to listen to, and the author's satirical ear is acute. He has not only the idiom of the English public school to perfection, but also the jargon of Cambridge professors arguing as well as the strange lingo in which examination questions are framed. None of these are targets for Fry in any sense implying hostility. He is a liberal, not a revolutionary, and he laughs because otherwise he might weep. All the same, it would be leaving an utterly false impression to suggest that there is any tone of gloom to this book. It's funny, sometimes hilariously funny, and it is damnably ingenious. I will go further - there is a real feeling of kindness about Fry, and cruelty is absent altogether. This book involves people being murdered, but the sense is no more gory than in Agatha Christie, and the Christie-style denouement with the master-mind explaining the intricacies of what has happened is clever beyond anything Christie could do.

Is he perhaps too clever by half? Not for me, but very likely for his own good. He remains an entertainer of genius, his heart is obviously in it, and I feel it's a good heart too. This is what he does because this is what he's good at, and I have not read a book that entertained me quite so much for quite a long time. Put your Family Values in a jar with the lid firmly on, of course, when you read Fry.

This is very well-written book, well within the tradition of great British comic authors - in particular, P.G. Wodehouse. The book is admittedly difficult to follow in the beginning, as there are two separate story lines w/o much prelude or introduction. However, the payoff at the end is worth it. Fry's elegant and easy-to-read prose is more than sufficient to keep you turning page after page. The ending was fantastic, not because of what happens, but because of the feeling you are left with... not to mention the epiphany that hits you at the very end. Definitely worth a read. Having read this book, I intend to read his other novels.

I also recommend his autobiography, "Moab is My Washpot", another joy to read!

Consistently tawdry - in the way that having builders next door is consistently irritating. Where someone else might have a minor linking scene 'while dining' or something, Fry will inevitably have it 'while receiving oral sex' or the like. Is it a sex comedy? Partly, inasmuch as immorality is seen as merely amusing, although the typical bedroom farce still treats the act as a big thing, with some sense of taboo. For Fry there's not even a hint of such innocence: for him fifteen year old boys seducing homesick and confused twelve year old boys is innocence. It's almost beyond gratuitous: the sex is just scenery, and not nearly as important as, for example, the undeniably clever wordplay about sex. Although there's even something of the 'Pretty Woman' nonsense about the moral neutrality of prostitution - it means nothing more than any other trade, except that it's more glamorous and pays better. While I'm sure some moralists overstate it, this sort of absurd understatement isn't any better.

There's also an essentially warped view of reality: he is unlikely to see virtue standing right in front of him ('What is truth' said jesting Pilate...) because he projects his own ugly stereotypes: we meet one brother and sister in the book - go straight to 'incest' (I mean, they worked on a farm - what choice does a writer have?). And on a more personal note, there is gross hypocrisy in a writer who'd bridle at yet another absurd Hollywood depiction of a gay man as emotional and neurotic - yet can blithely, and oh so obviously - write off every clergyman with his cliché dumb malicious paedophile. A guy with Fry's education has come across dozens of committed Christian writers, clergy among them (Donne, Carroll, Keirkegaard) of towering intellect, yet in this case he chooses the Daily Mirror approach to character insight.

If you can habituate yourself to the constant seedy action (and it's disturbingly easy to do so given years of sexually oriented pop-culture; most of the raving critics in the liner notes don't even seem to notice), the language itself is drenched with wit. This is not merely a prurient cynic's mistaken 'exposé'. Fry is really far more interested in words than bodies, and he's extremely good with them. The sentences are a pleasure in themselves (think Wodehouse or Chandler, although where they often brought it home with a witty simile, Fry is funny in a dozen different ways, including ingenious puns).

Critics often laud Fry's intelligence too (and he is undoubtedly smart), but I think a lot of this is mistaking his public school education and consequent vocabulary of literary 'in-jokes' and allusions for intellect. He's grown up on classical texts, but that doesn't make, for example, his bawdy line about the statue Eros 'burying his shaft down Shaftsbury avenue' any more intelligent than someone in primary school teasing Richard Little by shortening his first name to 'Dick' (ho ho) and reversing surname and Christian name (ha ha!). But because Fry can place this pun in the context of his knowledge of the myth of Eros and Psyche - this is classed as intelligent wit.

That being said, Fry sets himself up for an enormous fall when he describes his central character as a prodigy of wit. Yet unlike just about any popular thriller writer (eg. Lustbader, Clancy) who claim perceptive, sophisticated heroes but actually paint dumb thugs, Fry comes through above and beyond. The dialogue is constantly sharp, funny, and slap-in-the-face incisive. There are a thousand of the excellent 'Black Adder' style ripostes, and some tougher ones as well. I suppose that's why I've still got the book on my shelf and gave it a 'recommended' rating. For humour and wit it's an easy 'A'; for offensiveness it's an easy 'F'.

It's actually very easy to compartmentalise the book. Read it for the wit and the style (unless you just can't cope with flagrant immorality as everyday background).

Characters? You'll only get insight into the one character that Fry appears to be interested in: himself. He even describes the sensation of feeling that the rest of the world are just bit players in your own personal drama: a common enough adolescent feeling, but not one I'm sure he's ever shed. I wonder whether he's ever got past the habit of scanning a room and then honing in on the one or two people 'worth talking too'. He's not an out and out misanthrope; rather only a fraction of people in the world are of any interest to him (i.e. the people most like himself who can play with words or, at least, get his word plays because of a shared educational heritage). The central character virtually becomes the only other major character in the book, Trefusis, parroting him in the final scene to a new potential protégé.

Plot? Well, it is interesting that he breaks up the chronology, though not essential. There is also an odd departure: suddenly about three quarters of the way through we're in a spy novel (hinted at in a single teasing aberrant scene in the prologue). It hasn't been woven in to the rest of the story, it's just stuck on the end, and actually quite optional. On its own it's even a bit weak, with a 'and then he woke up' style conclusion that doesn't quite work. But you've been given plenty of other diversions, so you don't mind so much - he might get better at this plot thingy later.

Stephen Fry writes jaunty, superbly clever and often belly-achingly funny prose. Much of it can be called irreverent, but only by the irredeemably Puritan. Fry has a sharp sense of human nature, a tender spot for human frailty, and his crosshairs trained on human cruelty.

Fry's protagonist (and, so it seems, shadow self), Adrian Healey goes forth in the world of the English public schools, English public houses and English public streets as best he can--most often his best requires an assiduous disregard for the truth. But his lies are "lived and felt and acted out as thoroughly as another man's truths." This book doesn't have everything, but it does have international espionage, campus comedy and figgy oatcakes. Unfortunately, it doesn't have an organic or convincing ending, but five stars doesn't have to mean "perfect."

If you have ever fancied the idea that there is more truth in fiction than in history, this is the book for you. If descriptions of human sexual affection put you off unless they are of a married man and woman under the covers with the lights out, then you may turn a shade or three of red with THE LIAR. Honestly! If you like this book, Fry's second novel, THE HIPPOPOTAMUS, is even more hilarious (and much better plotted).

Add The Liar to that list of books you re-read, savor, and memorize. You will fall in love with Adrian, Hugo, and Fry himself by the end. This book should be used in composition classes as a text on how to write dialogue; Fry's penchant for scriptwriting shines through every delicious page. It seems it will be only a matter of time before the book is seen on the big screen.

This books leaves you dazed and amused. That doesn't say it's a good book. In fact, it isn't. It's a fake throughout. It just leaves you as dazed as you would be if you discovered a good friend has been telling you lies all along, and as amused as one feels after having been played a practical joke.

The books' content is a (good, clever, superb, funny, whatever) assemblage of stereotypes and cliches found in (homoerotic) childhood novels (e.g. Gide's Counterfeiters, Julien Green's L'autre Sommeil, Cocteau's Enfants terribles - Fry further "credits" JD Salinger's Catcher in the Rye and Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird). There is no single original ('true') feeling or insight expressed in the book itself - whenever it goes emotional, works of literature are quoted. The author does 'outside' what his fictional character Adrian does inside: cheat and copy, and by reading the appraisals here and on the cover, just as him it seems he's getting away with it.

Now the author tells you on the first page that no word of the following is true. So he has his own 'Liar's Paradox' here, forcing even critics that recognize the book a deceit to admit that it contains some truth. In fact, the book hardly disguises it's a joke, with its absurd spy story frame. My guess is that the author, in the beginning, set himself a spy story outline (with T-shirts and jackets as protagonists), and devoted himself to filling these blanks by characters developed from the sheer impossible other end of a pseudo-autobiographical homoerotic childhood and campus novel. The lingering suspicion that the whole book is an intentional fraud or joke (just look at the dedication line) became conviction when getting to the German conversations in the last slippery slope of events (liars letting liars tell the truth in order to support a lie). The German used here by the philological genius Trefusis quite surprisingly contains wrong grammar and wrong choice of words. That's unlikely accidental. I mean, if one does a debut novel and includes foreign languages, it seems one would turn to some native speaker for possible corrections - that is unless one does in fact want it only to convince the quick reader. Under a scrutinizing eye the book is as 'original' as is the hero Adrian's mock-Dickens "Peter Flowerbuck".

Since it is so obvious the author tries to be discovered the same kind of fraud his hero is, one wonders whether the (then truly 'autobiographical') book hasn't some morals after all. With all the displayed wit, humour, mastery of language, the author seems to say: "See, I could have sold you some enjoyable read without you even knowing everything is second hand - the other bestselling authors do it all the time. I just tell you." That's a liar's morals. The title seems apropriate then (maybe it's even meant to read as part of the author's name, as in "Stephen Fry the Liar"), and since not only this idea is original but also its execution superb, I suppose the book has a well deserved place in literature's monstrosities cabinet.

Stephen Fry's first novel, The Liar, was an irresistible read, abundant with wittcisms and nervy musings by the chief protagonist, Adrian Healey, and his various consorts. In many ways, the style of writing reminded me of another splendid British author, Tibor Fischer. The Liar recounts the experiences of a young man of relative privilege on his Odyssey through Public School and University in England. Adrian Healey is a wickedly enjoyable type that most readers probably hate to love.

This was a case, however, of "won the battles but lost the war", in my opinion. The individual scenes and chapters were delightful. But, the novel as a whole felt disjointed and I was very discouraged by the addition of ,what I felt was, a novel unto it self well past the two-third mark of the book. This second theme of an Intrigue variety seemed to inform the choppy-ness of the previous section so that it might be properly included. The pace of the ending chapters accelerated rapidly from those preceding and the entire style of writing changed. This disturbed me greatly, as I was enjoying the novel quite a bit before this occurred. I would have preferred that the core message be intimated without this deluge of new information. Overall, however, I do not regret one bit the time that I spent with this book and anticipate happily reading more of Fry's work.

"The Liar" is a fantastic novel. As it is Mr. Fry's first, I find myself admiring the author all the more. The book delivers a deliciously fruity insigt into both Fry's literary genius (certainly approaching genius anyway) and his own life. The plot itself swerves from undeniably hilarious jokes to touching, tear-jerking moments, with exciting, edge-of-the-seat stuff in between. The book also contains some gleefully naughty bits to spice the whole thing up. Fry's narrative exceeded all my expectations with his rich, fluent language and I found myslf constantly delighted by such literary and musical knowledge. As an seventeen year old student in a British comprehensive, I was fascinated by Fry's description of a boy's pulic school in the 1970's and Adrian Healey's subsequant adventures. Fry's ability to sympathise and relate to teenagers prooved comforting and his adult, yet playful style made "The Liar" a novel for, hopefully, everybody. A truely superb read.

Stephen Fry, for those of you who don't know him, is an archetypal Brit in the Monty Python sense of the word. Outrageously funny and original, he can easily be likened to Oscar Wilde. In Britain, Fry is the darling of the television public, with numerous appearances both in TV series and also on chat shows. He is also well known and regarded as raconteur, newspaper columnist, actor and writer, where he is refreshingly open about his own sexual ambiguity.

The Liar seems in some way to hint at an autobiography (though this was fully achieved in his later book, 'Moab is my Washpot'). Adrian Healey - Fry's protagonist - is an overachiever with no sense of right or wrong as he passes through school into university with little effort and much disrespect. There, he is challenged by Professor Donal Trefusis to produce a truly original work. Adrian seemingly achieves this, though Trefusis appears to know better. From this point on, the story moves cleverly forward, leading into strange territory and the recesses of Stephen Fry's mind.

If irreverent, taboo-busting, sexually explicit writing disturbs you, stay away from this book. If, on the other hand, you are open-minded enough to enjoy outrageous, in-your-face British humour, you should give 'The Liar' a test drive. I am often quoted as saying that Europeans read American literature but that Americans seem loathe to reciprocate. Well here's your chance to begin to understand the cultural differences that make us so alike yet so unique. You may not always understand the references to cricket. You may not always appreciate the British Public School jargon. But then we, too, get totally lost with the seemingly incomprehensible rules of baseball, and the unintelligible street talk of American youth.

Stephen Fry has a razor sharp mind and a very special wit. His story won't disappoint, and his storytelling is a literary treasure.