Internet Review of Books - "Engleby"

My review of "Engleby" by Sebastian Faulks as it appeared in the January 2008 issue of the Internet Review of Books.

Horror writer Stephen King says “good art should make you uncomfortable,” and by this barometer Sebastian Faulks’ novel Engleby is good art. It is a vibrant journey through the mind of a character who, though appealing, is more than a little disturbing.

The setup for the story suggests we are about to enjoy the most basic of murder mysteries, yet Faulks and his narrator would undoubtedly feel they were cheating us if that were all we received. Engleby delights in sharing his wit, as when he is mulling the possibility of joining one of his classmates’ social clubs.

"I think I'll join this society of hers. It doesn't matter what it's for because they're all the same. They're all called something Soc, short for Society. Lab Soc, Lit Soc, Geog Soc. There’s probably a knitting group called Sock Soc."

We follow Engleby from a relatively poor working-class family in London to a prestigious “ancient university.” We are treated to the exact details of Engleby’s transition from studying literature—literature students will appreciate Engleby’s various assaults on the subject—to studying the natural sciences.

Engleby has a love of cold hard fact and an unusually dispassionate ability to observe other people. Faulks’ prose reflects this. At one point, the act of drawing a cigarette from its case, and lighting it, fills nearly a full page. The normally banal action takes on an almost poetic significance through the time invested in it.

Trouble begins for Engleby when his friend and fellow student Jennifer Arkland disappears and he becomes a suspect.

His ability to analyze the subtlest of events around him is not what makes Engleby the interesting character that he is. Engleby is interesting because he is an extremely unreliable narrator. From the beginning, his frequent “losses of time” confront the reader at every turn: from his recollections of school days to events following social gatherings, the reader is aware that Engleby’s memory is not what it might be. But this narrator has a capacious intellect, which is important in advancing a plot I don’t intend to spoil.

Not only are we reading an unusual mystery, Engleby offers us “internal criticism.” He provides a running commentary on social issues, with topics ranging from the rise of folk music to the proper way to study Jane Austen. Faulks takes a unique approach in describing Engleby's plea to the reader not to pigeonhole this novel.

"Don't patronise me if you read this thirty years on, will you? Don't think of me as old-fashioned, wearing silly clothes or some nonsense like that. Don’t talk crap about “the seventies,” will you, as we now do about “the forties.” I breathe air like you . . . So don't patronise me. (Unless of course you have completely overturned and improved my world, bringing peace and plenty, and a cure for cancer and schizophrenia, and a unified scientific explanation of the universe comprehensible to all, and a satisfactory answer to the philosophical and religious questions of our time. In which case you would be permitted to patronise primitive little 1973.)"

The staccato rhythms of Faulks’ prose will appeal to those who believe “brevity is the soul of wit.” Readers will relish the descriptive textures Faulks achieves by stacking staccato line upon staccato line. Despite the morbid subject matter, readers will delight in engaging with Engleby. The novel is rich in detail and never disappoints.