HEADLONG, Michael Frayn

July 2001, chosen by P

Points: 6

Blurb says: 

"Martin Clay, a young would-be art historian, suddenly sees opening in front of him the chance of a lifetime: the opportunity to perform a great public service, and at the same time to make his professional reputation - perhaps even rather a lot of money as well.  Thus he finds himself drawn step by step into a moral and intellectual labyrinth."

Shortlisted for the 1999 Booker Prize

They say:

"Dazzling ... horribly gripping ...  Michael Frayn is outstanding"

"there is no doubt about the sureness of Frayn's achievement in this black and brilliant comedy of uncertainties"

"It's brilliant ... I loved it"

We say:

Bit of a mixed bag old 'Headlong'.

The protagonist Martin Clay believes that he has discovers a missing Breugel stuffed into the fireplace of his uncouth, and therefore undeserving, neighbour Tony Churt, and believing that it would be better both for the world and himself if it were in his hands, rather than Churt's, he sets about to establish the likelihood of its authenticity so he can fleece his neighbour and see himself rather well.

Michael Frayn does NOT wear his learning lightly and whereas the various stages of scholarship necessary to establish authenticity in paintings was interesting enough in itself, it overweighted the book and sat uneasily bloatingly pregnant hogging the lion's share of the text.

Ultimately it was all something and nothing.  The characters were unconvincing on the whole, particularly the love interest, Laura Churt whose motivation was completely implausible and unfathomable.  Martin's own wife has a most thankless part, literally left holding the baby and other incidental walk-ons were merely caricature.

Having said all this, it romped along easily enough, had plenty of amusing moments and was pleasant to read.  But it is abundantly clear that Mr Frayn's talents lie in farce, which doesn't translate convincingly to novel form.  Words take too long to set the scene in which the farce must flourish and so a novel is too unweildy to sustain the impact in a way theatre can, the visuals can dispense with acres of paragraphs in presenting you with an immediate overview of the situation. 

And the ending?  Won't give it away, but its a shame there's a concession to tabloid morality at play ensuring that people just don't get away with things any more.  The rules have it that crime doesn't pay, that it's not quite nice to be rewarded for something, but after nearly 400 pages of chasing our man and his dream, I thought he deserved a little more.