MARTIN AMIS'S London Fields INTERNATIONAL Martin Amis is well known on both sides of the Atlantic as the author of London Fields, Einstein's Monsters. LONDON FIELDS by. Roberta Hanley Based on the novel by Martin Amis October 4, MUSE PRODUCTIONS 15B Brooks Ave. Venice, CA P ( ). Martin Amis's acclaimed novel—now in a twenty-fifth-anniversary hardcover edition—is a blackly comic murder mystery about a murder that.
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PDF | Through analyzing the structure of a narrative, the process of character The article has aimed to analyze Martin Amis's London Fields according to the. PDF | On Jan 1, , Petr Chalupsky and others published The City's Lines of Force – The Image of the City in Martin Amis's London Fields. London Fields is a black comic, murder mystery novel by British writer Martin Amis, published in .. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version.
Many of his screamingly hilarious anecdotes are about going to nightclubs or whorehouses with his old friends from Princeton. There are always some difficult moments on these evenings with London Fields: the cringe-inducing narcissism, that inevitable rape joke. London Fields is not a guy you'd ever bring around most of your other friends, especially the hot female ones, or the highly moral ones who'd stop talking to you for consorting with someone so clearly distasteful and, they'd be sure, purely evil to boot.
But you love this guy. You really do.
Honestly you consider him one of your greatest friends. London Fields isn't someone you'd call for comfort during a 4am crisis, and you wouldn't talk about politics with him, or probably even about books, even though you both read. You talk about The World.
You talk just to Talk. You love London Fields even though he's an asshole -- you love London Fields, maybe, because he's an asshole, because secretly, deep down, you're an asshole too.
LF's sort of a bad friend, even, you know, sort of a bad guy. He's That Guy, but you love him.
Because he's hilarious. He's made a Manhattan spray out your nose before -- it hurt -- the things that he says are so hysterical. Plus, even if he's always getting up and running out to the bathroom and therefore missing vast and crucial sections of the movie that's Reality, on certain vital points LF is absolutely dead on.
And, let's be honest here, he's got amazing style.
He's got style like crazy, and sometimes that's all you care about. And maybe most nights you get dinner with respectable people, with other social workers and teachers, who are honest and kind. But that shit can get boring, and boring's what you can't stand.
There are better books out there than your friend London Fields. There are libraries full of them. But there are not many books that are this much fucking fun. The story is a sort of inverted murder mystery following the intersection of four central characters: Nicola Six, sexed-out trainwreck femme fatale rushed direct via SST from Central Casting; psychopathic pre-chav-era dart hooligan and anti-villain Keith Talent; moneyed nothingburger father and husband Guy Clinch; and Samson Young, an ailing, unsuccessful writer from New York who's done an apartment swap and who narrates the action as everything unfolds.
The plot, such as it is, is mostly stupid, and really sort of beside the point. Who cares? Reading this book made me realize something, which is that the world is really ending; it's ending all the time, all around us, just like in the book! I do appreciate fiction that helps me figure out something useful like that, but really what I appreciate is being entertained.
Despite some obvious flaws, this book is FUN.
To me it was a page turner, and would be perfect reading for a transatlantic flight! This is the first book I've read by Martin Amis, and I've heard that his stuff varies a lot, but based on this one I think of him as a sort of Sidney Sheldon figure for people who are pretty pretentious.
If that sounds good to you, I would say give it a go! Well, I might say that. But maybe I shouldn't. Or not writing. Of course, he's obsessed with a lot of other things, too: nuclear weapons, ecological disaster, sex, love, death. But even these are grist to his mill.
Even these become metaphors for writing. Amis's well-publicised opposition to nuclear weapons exemplified in his last collection of short stories, Einstein's Monsters has given rise to a lot of speculation about new directions in his fiction, but on the evidence of this novel these are yet to be explored.
London Fields comes on as a novel of ideas about the post-Einsteinian world but in fact it's the same mix as before: baroque and savagely funny low-life episodes alternating with lyrical descriptions of the moronic inferno. Stripped of its superficial concern with millennial anxieties, it's the usual boy-meets-girl or, in this instance, girl-meets-boy stuff, given a sardonic twist.
All that is left in doubt is the identity of the killer: will it be yobbish Keith Talent, petty criminal, 'cheat' and darts fanatic, or Guy Clinch, rich, good-looking and hopelessly ineffectual?
The opening scenes establish the scenario she knows where and when but not who ; the rest of the book plots the trajectory of Nicola's - and the century's - journey towards annihilation. Despite attempts to establish her as a real person the reader is invited to accompany her not only into the bedroom but also into the lavatory, to discover the truth of Jonathan Swift's horrified realisation about Caelia for himself Nicola remains an automaton, a beautiful puppet with a nice line in black lingerie and literary criticism, whose death can arouse no terror or pity because it is a foregone conclusion.
Nicola, like her creator, is a bit of a tease.
As part of her strategy for systematically humiliating both men in order to provoke one of them - Keith or Guy - to murder, she cons Guy out of a large amount of money, on the pretext of helping her childhood friend 'Enola Gay' to escape from war-torn Cambodia.
Simultaneously, she works him up into a frenzy of lust, in what must be the most interrupted coitus in literature. Since neither she nor the reader know which of her two admirers will be the one to administer the coup de grace, Nicola is obliged to practice similar tactics on the luckless Keith, satisfying his craving for pornographic videos and flattery just enough to keep him coming back for more. More than once in the course of the book Amis's unease at the deterministic nature of his fable betrays itself.
Nicola's king-sized deathwish 'Begging for it. Praying for it' is stated, never explained. Instead, Amis takes refuge in that familiar device for disowning authorial responsibility, the writer as a character.
Samson Young, his Bellovian alter ego Jewish, American, with a bad case of writer's block is the fall guy left with the messy business of disentangling motives and attributing blame, while the real author gets on with the enjoyable part of the job: describing the set-pieces; doing the police in different voices.
It has to be said that what Amis does well, he does better than anyone else you can think of.