A review in which your humble reviewer learned not to judge an author by the attractiveness of their publicity photograph or the numerous accolades heaped upon their début novel.

Politics tells the story of a father and daughter. It also tells the story of a ménage à trois. Politics explores crucial domestic problems of sexual etiquette. What should the sleeping arrangements be in a ménage à trois? Is it polite to read while two people have sex beside you? Is it permissible to be jealous? If you have eczema, may you complain that undinism can be painful? Politics is a comedy about kindness. And, at the same time, it is also about Milan Kundera, blow jobs, Chairman Mao’s personal hygiene, Václav Havel, half-Jewishness, Bollywood, shopping, Hitler’s sexual fetish, selfishness, Osip Mandelstam, premature ejaculation, the late Queen Mother, thrush, Stalin on the phone, politeness, pink fluffy handcuffs, and Antonia Gramsci’s theory of hegemony. Politics is not about politics.

I feel like this blurb is the literary equivalent of a high school girl squealing “omg how random!!” about something which really isn’t random at all. Look at how wide and varied our young author’s knowledge is! This book is obviously going to be quirky and edgy, right?

Politics is the story of a couple, Moshe and Nana, and later on their friend Anjali gets in on the action. Moshe is a tubby actor, Nana is a sexually unsatisfied architecture graduate student, Anjali is a secret admirer of Bollywood films. Politics follows the formation and gradual complications of the relationships between all three characters.

There are a lot of sex scenes, and I can’t help but feel that most of these are intended to be outrageous. But, this is the age of the Internet, and none of these so-called perversions are particularly shocking any more. Thirlwell seems to find a sense of schoolboy-like glee in breaking these supposed morality rules. Surprisingly, he seems to be somewhat aware of the limitations of this repetitiveness here:

Sex is not specific. It is not original. You might think your perversions are all your own, but no. Perversion is general. Perversions are universal. You have to make them specific.

My main issue with this novel is the narrator’s constant interjections. The story is told from the perspective of an unnamed narrator, which isn’t an unusual narrative technique, but the execution here is all wrong. It is grating, as he constantly tells us what is going on and how it represents a major theme or how it signifies changes to come. He even, in the first paragraph when introducing the characters in a particularly awkward sexual situation, tells us that we should probably like them:

I think you are going to like Moshe. His girlfriend’s name was Nana. I think you will like her.

No worries, but ultimately, isn’t it up to me to decide? Every aspect of this novel is analyzed and pulled apart like this by the narrator. Every moment is given a running commentary. The story is never allowed to just flow. The only part of this novel that I actually liked was the anecdotes about various historical figures, used to compare and contrast with the situation at hand. Mainly because one of these asides introduced me to the fashion designer, Elsa Schiaparelli.

Stylistically, I think Thirlwell was trying for Milan Kundera and maybe even Jonathan Safran Foer; but is neither as illuminating of human experience or as genuinely touching as either of these authors. His work comes off as a lesser version of Kundera, and the conclusions he comes to are not particularly enlightening. Miscommunication is rife between individuals, we end up doing things because we think they make other people happy, etc. etc. It all comes across as rather trite, and seems to be speaking down to the reader rather than engaging them.

Romances are complicated. They involve more than one person. This means that every detail can be ambiguous. And I quite like that idea.

While I wasn’t taken with Thirlwell’s style (or theme, or characters), I am glad I stepped out of my reading comfort zone but I would not go out of my way to recommend this one to anyone – and I am terribly glad that I only borrowed it from the library.

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Then there is the anticipation of what to choose to read next. I’m working my way through Flannery O’Connor’s Complete Stories but I am in no rush to finish that one. Each story is definitely to be savoured as a treat – even if it is a treat that leaves you feeling a bit sickly afterwards. I’ve also been sitting stagnant with Sense & Sensibility (no Sea Monsters in sight) as part of my goal to read all of Jane Austen’s novels by the end of the year. I’ve been thinking about Zelda Fitzgerald a lot lately, so I might dig out Save Me the Waltz?