Scotland on Sunday // The Mysteries by Robert McGill
Jonathan Cape, £10.99
Puzzle why author lost the plot
By Andrew Ervin
It is unfair to expect too much from a young writer’s first novel, but some say there is no such thing as a bad review. Simply being given attention in a newspaper can help jump-start a fledgling career. In much the same way that Frankenstein assembled his creature, a savvy publisher can re-stitch quotes, so that even the most vitriolic attack can be twisted to make the book in question appear outstanding. Such might be the case, I expect, with my lukewarm appreciation of Robert McGill’s The Mysteries.
While not a terrible book, it could easily have been a whole lot better. It resulted, presumably, from the author’s time spent earning an MA in creative writing at East Anglia; the individual chapters read like they were composed on a grad seminar assembly line and edited by committee.
The basic storyline - woman missing and possibly murdered in small Canadian town, any number of likely suspects amid the diverse populace, a long-lost notebook that could reveal all - provides enough suspense to draw the reader in. But McGill, who is still only in his 20s, apparently does not trust his own storytelling ability.
He creates a roster of believably eccentric and unique characters and grants us access to a remote, fascinating setting. But he is not content to allow his plot to play out naturally. It repeatedly jumps back in forth in time, and the central character changes so frequently that even the most astute reader will struggle to put names, places and happenings in some kind of mental order. And, because a different person takes centre-stage in every chapter, there is no reliable guide to see us through, or in whom we can invest any real interest.
Then there’s the new Stonehenge built upon a native burial ground, and an escaped tiger that terrorises the population. The tiger gets its own chapter: "Eventually she came to a tract of grass and low stones where there were human smells. She followed them to the summit of a hill, and the scents congregated in a place of disturbed earth, so she settled there to take the summer breeze on her face and look out over the islands crouched in the bay. Something about them was enticing - their isolation, their sure boundaries. Even this green area, with its stone walls and its ordered slabs, comforted her in its desire to contain space."
McGill’s prose, as you can see, is brassy and insightful and occasionally spectacular, and I admire his willingness to gamble, to push himself and his readers. But those risks do not always pay off. It pains me to report this, but given the unnecessary and frivolous distractions from the core story, The Mysteries could have benefited from another round of revision - one aimed at simplifying the timeline for the sake of allowing the plot to shine on its own considerable merits.
I will be first in line to buy McGill’s next effort. By then, perhaps he will begin to rely more on his obvious talents and less on the kind of narrative gimmickry that undermines this otherwise promising novel.
Puzzle why author lost the plot
By Andrew Ervin
It is unfair to expect too much from a young writer’s first novel, but some say there is no such thing as a bad review. Simply being given attention in a newspaper can help jump-start a fledgling career. In much the same way that Frankenstein assembled his creature, a savvy publisher can re-stitch quotes, so that even the most vitriolic attack can be twisted to make the book in question appear outstanding. Such might be the case, I expect, with my lukewarm appreciation of Robert McGill’s The Mysteries.
While not a terrible book, it could easily have been a whole lot better. It resulted, presumably, from the author’s time spent earning an MA in creative writing at East Anglia; the individual chapters read like they were composed on a grad seminar assembly line and edited by committee.
The basic storyline - woman missing and possibly murdered in small Canadian town, any number of likely suspects amid the diverse populace, a long-lost notebook that could reveal all - provides enough suspense to draw the reader in. But McGill, who is still only in his 20s, apparently does not trust his own storytelling ability.
He creates a roster of believably eccentric and unique characters and grants us access to a remote, fascinating setting. But he is not content to allow his plot to play out naturally. It repeatedly jumps back in forth in time, and the central character changes so frequently that even the most astute reader will struggle to put names, places and happenings in some kind of mental order. And, because a different person takes centre-stage in every chapter, there is no reliable guide to see us through, or in whom we can invest any real interest.
Then there’s the new Stonehenge built upon a native burial ground, and an escaped tiger that terrorises the population. The tiger gets its own chapter: "Eventually she came to a tract of grass and low stones where there were human smells. She followed them to the summit of a hill, and the scents congregated in a place of disturbed earth, so she settled there to take the summer breeze on her face and look out over the islands crouched in the bay. Something about them was enticing - their isolation, their sure boundaries. Even this green area, with its stone walls and its ordered slabs, comforted her in its desire to contain space."
McGill’s prose, as you can see, is brassy and insightful and occasionally spectacular, and I admire his willingness to gamble, to push himself and his readers. But those risks do not always pay off. It pains me to report this, but given the unnecessary and frivolous distractions from the core story, The Mysteries could have benefited from another round of revision - one aimed at simplifying the timeline for the sake of allowing the plot to shine on its own considerable merits.
I will be first in line to buy McGill’s next effort. By then, perhaps he will begin to rely more on his obvious talents and less on the kind of narrative gimmickry that undermines this otherwise promising novel.
posted by Andrew Ervin at
11/07/2004
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