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charlottesometimes 's review for:
Richard
by Benjamin Myers
Flawed. Admittedly the author has taken on a difficult task, and certainly the best he could possibly achieve would be to portray one partisan version of Edwards and his disappearance, which would inevitably disappoint as many as it satisfied. But even within these boundaries Myers has significantly failed, as far as I'm concerned, to understand or represent Edwards and the people around him.
The text is further damaged by Myers' fundamental lack of understanding regarding mental illness, a topic which he has understandably but unwisely made the central pillar of this book. His dual-voice device to portray Edwards' mental health problems is so hackneyed as to be laughable, coming across at times more as a sort of Grand Guignol version of Multiple Personality Disorder than as any genuine mental illness. Certainly this theatrical Jekyll-and-Hyde posturing has little in common with any version of depression with which I am familiar.
To add to this the protagonist shows a complete lack of character development, or indeed characteristics other than mental illness. This insultingly one-sided portrayal leaves the reader with no explanation as to why this apparently featureless void of depression and angst is the focus of so many people's lives. Perhaps the author's intention was to show Edwards' personal inability to understand the respect he earned in life by depicting him through his own eyes only as a blank, unlikeable anti-character. However it would have needed a much better writer to carry this off. Instead the reader is presented with a mediocre, self-obsessed non-person almost completely lacking in charisma, who has inexplicably been idolised by thousands.
The text itself is dull and repetitive, so constrained by the reality behind the novel that sometimes it reads like nothing so much as a Manic Street Preachers chronology inexplicably written in first/second person. The events depicted rely strangely on known facts, with very little fleshing-out for literary reasons. Whilst this may be considered to give greater authenticity to the text, it also has the effect of limiting much of it to little more a lazy device to tie together known facts. Surely anyone who wanted to read a series of descriptions of Manics' tours and musical releases, highlighting notable gigs and statements, would pick up any non-fiction book (see [b:Everything A Book About Manic Street Preachers|858462|Everything (A Book About Manic Street Preachers)|Simon Price|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1312064399s/858462.jpg|843904]) or fanzine before this supposed novel? Certainly, the protagonist’s narratively inexplicable manner of remembering his life primarily in terms of the quotes and events best depicted in the popular press does little to help the reader understand his psyche or empathise with him as an actual human being.
Ultimately I think this novel has failed to justify Myers' decision to further his career by appropriating an on-going tragedy and condensing it into the story of one unrealistically miserable man and his nondescript friends who somehow manage to form a popular band. Perhaps the limited appearance of Edwards' family, whilst it plays down their importance in his life, is understandable given their private nature combined with the delicate handling of them necessitated by a regard for their feelings at seeing their son/brothers disappearance turned into a paperback novel. However the translation of the Manic Street Preachers from an angry, political, contradictory, intelligent band into basically background noise for Edwards' depression does all four of them a disservice. Neither Edwards nor what little we see of the other Manics traipsing through the novel display any of the wit, intellectualism, self-analysis or social consciousness they were known for. Somehow without Edwards' eloquence the impact of his depression and disappearance are blunted. The lack of depiction of any real bond with his band-mates or family lessens the effect of his decline. The failure to portray him as anything other than depression personified significantly devalues the poignancy of his loss. All-in-all, I would rather have had an eloquent portrayal of someone who I didn’t recognise who happened to be called Richie Edwards than this shallow string of clichés and old magazine articles hiding its hollowness behind Shakespeare epigraphs and real-life pain.
The text is further damaged by Myers' fundamental lack of understanding regarding mental illness, a topic which he has understandably but unwisely made the central pillar of this book. His dual-voice device to portray Edwards' mental health problems is so hackneyed as to be laughable, coming across at times more as a sort of Grand Guignol version of Multiple Personality Disorder than as any genuine mental illness. Certainly this theatrical Jekyll-and-Hyde posturing has little in common with any version of depression with which I am familiar.
To add to this the protagonist shows a complete lack of character development, or indeed characteristics other than mental illness. This insultingly one-sided portrayal leaves the reader with no explanation as to why this apparently featureless void of depression and angst is the focus of so many people's lives. Perhaps the author's intention was to show Edwards' personal inability to understand the respect he earned in life by depicting him through his own eyes only as a blank, unlikeable anti-character. However it would have needed a much better writer to carry this off. Instead the reader is presented with a mediocre, self-obsessed non-person almost completely lacking in charisma, who has inexplicably been idolised by thousands.
The text itself is dull and repetitive, so constrained by the reality behind the novel that sometimes it reads like nothing so much as a Manic Street Preachers chronology inexplicably written in first/second person. The events depicted rely strangely on known facts, with very little fleshing-out for literary reasons. Whilst this may be considered to give greater authenticity to the text, it also has the effect of limiting much of it to little more a lazy device to tie together known facts. Surely anyone who wanted to read a series of descriptions of Manics' tours and musical releases, highlighting notable gigs and statements, would pick up any non-fiction book (see [b:Everything A Book About Manic Street Preachers|858462|Everything (A Book About Manic Street Preachers)|Simon Price|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1312064399s/858462.jpg|843904]) or fanzine before this supposed novel? Certainly, the protagonist’s narratively inexplicable manner of remembering his life primarily in terms of the quotes and events best depicted in the popular press does little to help the reader understand his psyche or empathise with him as an actual human being.
Ultimately I think this novel has failed to justify Myers' decision to further his career by appropriating an on-going tragedy and condensing it into the story of one unrealistically miserable man and his nondescript friends who somehow manage to form a popular band. Perhaps the limited appearance of Edwards' family, whilst it plays down their importance in his life, is understandable given their private nature combined with the delicate handling of them necessitated by a regard for their feelings at seeing their son/brothers disappearance turned into a paperback novel. However the translation of the Manic Street Preachers from an angry, political, contradictory, intelligent band into basically background noise for Edwards' depression does all four of them a disservice. Neither Edwards nor what little we see of the other Manics traipsing through the novel display any of the wit, intellectualism, self-analysis or social consciousness they were known for. Somehow without Edwards' eloquence the impact of his depression and disappearance are blunted. The lack of depiction of any real bond with his band-mates or family lessens the effect of his decline. The failure to portray him as anything other than depression personified significantly devalues the poignancy of his loss. All-in-all, I would rather have had an eloquent portrayal of someone who I didn’t recognise who happened to be called Richie Edwards than this shallow string of clichés and old magazine articles hiding its hollowness behind Shakespeare epigraphs and real-life pain.