Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Take out holiday reading insurance: stick to novellas

Rather than risk ruining your break with a big book you don't get on with, why not spread your risk with the novella?

If I manage to get away on holiday this year, two of the books I shall be taking with me are Thomas Mann's Death in Venice and Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Admittedly, their subject matter (cholera, ageing, homoerotic paedophiliac obsession, the depths of depravity the human spirit is capable of sinking to when cut adrift from civilization) may not be everyone's idea of holiday reading material, but they do brilliantly capture the singular state of mind induced when journeying away from the familiar comforts of home, travelling among strange company, customs and climates.

This is a state of mind which naturally bleeds into the reading experience, making even the rereading of a well-loved novel unique, and capable of colouring the entire holiday – or at least your recollection of it. My overriding memory of one trip to New York is of reading Saul Bellow's Herzog one sunny, hungover morning stretched out by the fountain in Washington Square Park, while all I can remember of a childhood caravanning holiday in Cornwall is being happily lost in Ian Livingstone's Deathtrap Dungeon for what seemed like the entire week. In both cases the internal world of the books are recalled now just as vividly as the places.

Obviously, then, the choosing of one's holiday reading material is of vital importance. And, as I discovered last year while on holiday in Berlin with Thomas Mann's Dr Faustus, if you choose the wrong book you could be in serious trouble. Not that there's anything "wrong" with Dr Faustus. The problem was simply that my unfamiliarity with the novel's many classical music terms and allusions was more than my concentration was up to. I had to abandon it, mid-read, mid-holiday, with no back-up book in sight. "The horror ... the horror" indeed. Now, before I'm rightly condemned to the Don't Know You're Born wing of the Marcel Proust Memorial Home for Sensitive Lambs, I'll quickly point out that I'm not saying my failure with Dr Faustus ruined my holiday. In fact, I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear that I still had a lovely time (swimming in lakes, going to the zoo, and so on). All I'm saying is that a particular aspect of the holiday I was greatly looking forward to wasn't there.

To this year then, and no more throwing caution to the wind by taking along a single doorstop novel. No! This year I intend to sally forth with a carefully selected collection of novellas.

I don't know why this has never occurred to me before. After all, as Richard Lea pointed out on this blog only last week, a good novella can be just as rich and rewarding as any novel, but can be read relatively quickly – in a day or two at most. And even if one particular novella fails to satisfy, very little reading time has been squandered – besides which, here's another one ready to go. Another fun bonus could be found by suggesting to one's travelling companions that everyone brings a selection of novellas which can then be swapped and discussed at length over the course of the holiday. Obviously some sort of spreadsheet will have to be employed here to ensure there are no duplications, short novels masquerading as novellas etc. (Never let it be said I don't know how to have a good time.)

What then, are the essential novellas that any travelling bibliophile shouldn't be without? A couple more spring immediately to mind: Henry James's Daisy Miller and Truman Capote's Grass Harp both stay loosely within the theme of travel and could act as a pair of palate-cleansers after the doom and gloom of Messrs Mann and Conrad. But we don't need to limit ourselves to novellas about travel here: a list of classic novellas can only be a good thing for this underappreciated art form I reckon. All recommendations greatly appreciated.


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