The writing style of this book took a few chapters for me to grow accustomed to, but I enjoyed the unique format. The characters were well-developed and layered, and there were strong themes of growing older while life around you continues to change.

This was a horrible book. I absolutely could not get into the book. It is rare for me to dislike a book so much that I can't think of anything positive to say about it.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened with The Melody by Jim Crace.

Thank you to NetGalley for an ARC in exchange for my honest opinion.

Jim Crace is one of those highly unique authors whose themes and subject matter change, sometimes drastically, from book to book. His novel, Harvest, is among my favorites, since he does an outstanding job of creating whole worlds in sensuous, impressionistic prose. His newest novel, The Melody, took a little getting used to, but as I read on, the familiar (and intriguing) rhythms took hold. The main character, Alfred Busi, is an older, querulous character who falls prey to damaging external forces and then must struggle to make sense of what his life has become. As always, Crace poses challenging questions and isn't concerned with 'filling in' all the blanks. Recommended to readers who want to be challenged with novel-length fiction.

There were many times while reading this book that I stopped and re-read a sentence or a paragraph just to marvel at the beauty. This is a simple book about aging, grief within a world where progress and change are constant. It's also about community and kindness and being human. A lovely book.

The Melody by Jim Crace is about Alfred Busi, an old man, a widower still living in the villa he shared with his wife. This books leaves me confused as several threads carry along with no conclusion that I can surmise, and the narrator switches close to the end of the book. I am still looking for the connections and the main idea. The only thing I am sure of is that I clearly missed something in this book.

Read my complete review at http://www.memoriesfrombooks.com/2018/07/the-melody.html

Reviewed for NetGalley.

I'm not exactly sure why I'm giving this book its "OK" rating. The characters were palpably drawn and fascinating. The author's use of description was finely worded and absolutely beautiful. The story arch was intriguing. - And yet, I was never fully engaged while reading this novel, and I can't put my finger on the cause. The change of narrator towards the end was a bit abrupt and created some emotional distance, but other than that, it was a well crafted book. It just didn't quite mesh for me.

Thanks to NetGalley and Picador for making an advance reading copy available for an honest review.

I was looking forward to this book: while it’s the first I’ve read from Jim Crace, I know that he has received lots of acclaim for his work. I was expecting something like Arthur Truluv (which I liked a lot) but this book just left me feeling flat. It was a small story, set in a small setting to a limited group of people, and encompassing a short amount of time (most of the book over just a couple of days). But although it was well-written, I just didn’t find it interesting or compelling, and I found it hard to follow, in terms of what was real and what was fantasy. I guess the attack early in the book was supposed to have some significance, but I was never quite able to figure out what it was. While I’m definitely reading lighter for the summer, I think that this just wasn’t for me.

I received an advance copy of this book from NetGalley and the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

One person’s charmingly tricky writing is another person’s irritating narration. And so it proved with Crace’s clever but overbearingly self conscious prose and arch storytelling. There are serious issues at the heart of this novel, but only devotees of his style will get to grips with them.

Title: The Melody
Author: Jim Crace
Genre: Fiction
Rating: 3 out of 5

Alfred Busi, aging local singer, lives alone in his villa by the ocean. He’s lived in the house his entire life, but it’s empty now, since the death of his wife, except for himself and his piano. One night, after hearing noises in the courtyard, he’s attacked, bitten, and scratched. He never sees his attacker, but he feels it wasn’t an animal. And not wholly a man.

Bui’s account of the attack is exaggerated and used to revitalize the public outcry against the destitute and animals living in a public park. When the issue grows beyond him, Busi retreats, trying to decide if he will sing again, while still struggling to come to terms with his wife’s death several years before.

I was very intrigued by the idea of this mysterious attack by an unknown creature. That’s why I wanted to read this novel. But…I almost stopped reading before the attack even happened. And I kind of wish I had.

While the writing is lyrical and Busi is a semi-interesting character, this was a very slow read. And, frankly, I don’t feel like the author delivered on the promise he made. The synopsis of the story is focused on the attack and the mystery surrounding it, but it was a side-note in the book, with the rest of the novel centered on Busi’s internal struggles.

Jim Crace is an award-winning English author. The Melody is his newest novel.

(Galley provided by Doubleday in exchange for an honest review.)

Published by Doubleday/Nan A. Talese on June 19, 2018

Alfred (Mr. Al) Busi, a widowed, retired singer of modest fame, is at war with the realtors (including his nephew) who want him to sell the villa he has occupied his entire life and with the animals that tip over his garbage containers at night. Responding to frightening noises, he is clawed and bitten, perhaps by a cat or a feral child, and is nursed by the sister of his deceased wife as he tries to decide whether he longs for her or just for a life that isn’t lonely. The attack is only the start of a bad day that will soon include a robbery with another beating and an apparent end to Busi’s legacy as the town’s most valued singer.

Busi is philosophical rather than self-pitying as he considers the unfavorable ways in which his life is changing as he grows old. It certainly isn’t improved by the rabies shot he endures, by his nagging fear of a painful death after refusing the rest of the shots in the series, or by the journalist who mocks his belief that he was mauled by a naked boy. Where Busi was once greeted by smiles as he strolled through town, people look at his bandages, see him hunched over from the rabies shot as he walks, and view him with suspicion, if not derision. He has become “a sack of grimaces and reflexes, of tics and twitches, spasms and convulsions.”

His neighbors and nephew assure Busi that his home is about to be torn down, to be replaced by a planned development of pricey homes with ocean views known as The Grove, one of which has been promised to Busi. But it is Busi’s life that will be torn down when the journalist writes his article. Busi might be an icon, but the town discovers that icons are easily replaced. How Busi deals with his many losses, and how (by extension) the elderly cope with loss, is an underlying theme.

Property development that benefits developers at the expense of people who lose their homes (and at the expense of habitats for local fauna) is another theme. Local media cannot focus on “disparities between the ways in which the poor were treated in town and how the prosperous were sheltered and defended” because media cannot survive if they attack wealth and privilege. While “each gain is paid for with a loss,” only the gains are reported. The developers scheme to destroy the woods in which the ironically named The Grove will be built, while touting themselves as environmental champions. The homeless are evacuated from the aptly named Poverty Park, unseen and unremembered, so that the park can become a refuge for the wildlife displaced by the construction of The Grove. On the bright side, if one exists, the novel suggests that the people who are best positioned to survive an inevitable apocalypse are those who have been given “the gift of poverty,” for they have learned to scrounge like wild animals.

The first part of The Melody seems to be written in the third person, as an omniscient narrator tells us the inner workings of Busi’s mind, but there are hints that we are, in fact, hearing the first person perspective of a narrator who has been observing Busi closely. The second part, much shorter, takes place six years later, when Busi has turned 70. It is written in the first person, likely by the narrator of the novel’s first part. Jim Crace’s willingness to play with the conventions of the novel, perhaps to play with reader, is both interesting and unsettling. In the novel’s first part, we think we know Busi’s innermost thoughts, but perhaps we only know what the narrator has imagined those thoughts to be. The idea seems to be that we cannot be sure we know any person's thoughts, maybe not even our own.

The story’s many ambiguities (was Busi really attacked by a feral child? how reliable is the narrator’s account of Busi’s life?) give the reader ample opportunity to reshape the narrative, to decide what is true and false. Crace’s evocative prose makes it easy to picture the town, its quarrelsome residents, its flat-winged hawks and scavenging dogs. I’m not quite sure what point is served by the novel’s second part — the story could have ended without muddling it by shifting the point of view — but on the whole, I found great value in the contemplation of Busi’s senior years, reflective as they are of the fears and regrets and loneliness of so many people who are watching their productive life and relationships fade away in the rear-view mirror.

RECOMMENDED

“We are the animals that dream.”

Jim Crace is an award-winning author with an established readership, but he is new to me. Thanks go to Net Galley and Doubleday for the review copy. This book will be available to the public Tuesday, June 19, 2018. Those that love literary fiction should take note.

Alfred Busi is a singer, and he was famous during his prime, but now he’s old, living alone in his villa with just his piano to keep him company. At the story’s outset he hears a noise below late at night and goes down to run the animals or the whoever out of his garbage bins, but instead he is attacked. Something or someone flies out and bites him a good one; he thinks it was a boy, a half-feral child:

“Busi could not say what it was, something fierce and dangerous, for sure…before the creature’s teeth sank into right side of his hand, and, flesh on flesh, the grip of something wet and warm began its pressure on his throat, Busi knew enough to be quite sure that this creature was a child. A snarling, vicious one, which wanted only to disable him and then escape.”

The problem—beyond the injury itself—is that Busi is elderly, forgetful, and occasionally confused. His wife is dead, and he’s grieving hard. The only people remaining in his life are his sister-in-law and her son, his nephew, and they aren’t sure he isn’t delusional. Medical staff question his reliability as well; soon, a truly nasty journalist writes a smear piece making fun of him, and it comes out just as he is scheduled to perform for the last time at a concert where he’s to receive a prestigious award. It’s all downhill from there.

Concurrently there’s discussion among the locals about the homeless people living in the Mendicant Gardens—a place entirely devoid of foliage, where makeshift shacks are erected from cardboard, scrap lumber and whatever else is on hand—as well as the fate of the bosc. I find myself searching Google here because I am confused. I have never heard of a bosc, which turns out to be a wooded area of sorts, and my disorientation is compounded by not knowing where in the world this whole thing is unfolding. If our protagonist lives in a villa, and if we’re not in Mexico, then are we in Southern Europe somewhere? I am following language cues; the names of things and places sound like they could be Italian, or maybe French. Or in Spain. The heck? I go to the author bio, but that’s no help, since Crace lives in the U.S. I try to brush this off and live with the ambiguity, but I continue wishing that I could orient myself. It’s distracting. There’s a social justice angle here involving society’s obligation to its poorest members, but I am busy enough trying to establish setting that the effect is diluted.

Nevertheless, the prose here is sumptuous and inviting. Adding to the appeal is the clever second person narrative; we don’t know who is talking to us about Mr. Busi, and we don’t know whether the narrator is speaking to a readership or to someone specific. For long stretches we are caught up in the plight of our protagonist and forget about the narrator, and then he pops back in later to remind us and pique our curiosity.

I am surprised to see this title receive such negative reviews on Goodreads. To be sure, GR reviewers are a tough lot, but there are some angry-sounding readers out there. What they seem to share in common is that they are Crace’s faithful fans, and if this title is a letdown for them, I can only imagine what his best work looks like; after a brief search I added one of his most successful titles to my to-read list, because I want to see what this author could do in his prime.

And there it is. Many people won’t want to read this, because we don’t like thinking about old age and death. Busi’s whole story is about the slow spiral that occurs for most people that live long enough to be truly old. It’s depressing. Those of us that are of retirement age don’t want to think about it because it’s too near; those that are far from it are likely to wrinkle their noses and move on to merrier things. It’s a hard sell, reading about aging, physical decay, and dementia. And there are specific passages that talk about Busi’s injuries and physical maladies that caused me to close the book and read something else when I was eating. It’s not a good mealtime companion.

Crace is known as a word smith, and rightly so. If you seek a page-turner, this is not your book, but for those that admire well-turned phrases and descriptions as art, this book is recommended.

Alfred Busi is better known in his town as Mister Al, the singer/pianist. But his venues aren’t as large as they once were and he’s in mourning for his much beloved wife. He’s not keeping up his home very well and it’s getting a bit worn down. He’s often awakened in the night by animals raiding the garbage cans in his courtyard. One night upon hearing the noises in the courtyard, he ventures down to set things right. He’s suddenly attacked – scratched and bitten – and he’s sure it wasn’t an animal but had the sense that it was a naked wild boy. The report of the attack sets off a series of rumors of what’s living in the nearby woods and ignites fear and discord throughout the town.

This is a beautifully written tale of love and age and grief and reputation. It’s slow moving but very compelling and unusual and poetic in nature. It’s almost like a fairy tale or a dream that just carried me along in its flow. For all its poetry, it’s also political and makes a strong statement against the prejudices that many of those who are more fortunate have against the homeless and poor. The author is a past winner of the Man Booker Prize and I had read that he had retired from writing but then came out with this book. I’m glad he did and am looking forward to reading more of his work. This one will long remain in my memory due to its distinctiveness.

Recommended.

A man goes out into his backyard to chase cats out of the trash bins, and is attacked. By an animal? By a person? Scratches on his body certainly suggest claws, but no other evidence is obvious. Is there a race of people living in the nearby forest? Was the attack made by the town's poor and homeless?

A commentary on the existence of social ills which plague our world.

I read this EARC courtesy of Net Galley and Doubleday. pub date 06/19/18

A slow-moving, contemplative kind of book. More about the “off ramp” years of a life than anything else. And the unknown woods and woodland life seems to me a metaphor for the unknowing realm we all are faced with as mortal creatures. There’s either creepy, sentient stuff in it, or nothing we can see.

I’m still not entirely sure what to make of this book, and whether I enjoyed it or not, but it’s definitely a thoughtful read.

I’m a bit surprised that I didn’t enjoy this book more, considering all the other books I have read about lonely old men and their eccentricities. This one gets off to a confusing start and just never seems to get back on track.

The story is about Alfred Busi, a musician and singer who is grieving the loss of his wife. Busi has an attentive sister-in-law that he is somewhat attracted to, a nephew who he doesn’t care too much for and a young neighbor who he eventually comes to think of as a daughter.

On the surface these things seem to be the making of an entertaining story, but it never evolved into that. Early on, Busi is attacked by a “naked child” or some such creature. There was so much written about this attack that I thought it was an important part of the story and that eventually we would learn what had attacked him. But no--Busi is attacked again, only this time it is by a man who wanted his wallet and shoes.

Near the end of the story, in comes another narrator and readers have no idea who it is, or how he connects with Busi. Eventually we learn that Busi is his landlord and neighbor, but his entrance into the story really served no purpose.

I’m just not sure what the author was aiming for when he wrote this book, but whatever it was, it fell flat for me.

Thank you NetGalley and Doubleday Books, Nan A. Talese for allowing me to read an advance copy and give my honest review.

Alfred Busi also known as mister Al, as the story unravels be called by other names, as his integrity comes under attack in an article in a newspaper, after he himself becomes physical attacked of the indescribable kind, an animal or a destitute boy?  Used to be a thriving singer and pianist in youth in this tale of a coastal town of no known name but in a time possibly before 1930’s and he’s getting old, a show here and there, but time will tell and as the story unravels, and he is still to set aside his wife that lays in ashes, he is to be up against many challenges and changes and just how he takes them on has you in the tale, the town, the somewhat cleansing of it, and the moving forward progression of one kind and singling out of another.
The main protagonist Busi, of whom has a few battles of the heart, of loss, safety, of losing home, and dignity, wife gone he has his sister in-law on his tail, and his nephew has him caught in a dilemma.
For those that care for some lucid prose to read with some simplicity and great characterisation, a kind of denizens of a town study that just serve up some pleasant easy reading in old storytelling sequence in a kind of Dickens and Balzac strain.

I'm starting to think Jim Crace might be one of the best novelist out there. Then I'm reminded of Quarantine and I question that assertion. Then I think of Harvest and my faith in that assertion is re-fulfilled. Then I read The Melody and I'm certain he's one of the best out there. Quirky and imaginative story lines filled with wonder, humanity, humility, and mystery. Spread his novels out on the carpet and rank them in order. I'd slot this one in right near the top. Well done, my son.

Alfred Busi, as well as this story, takes a while to warm up to but once you spend a bit of time with both you can feel the solitude and the mourning coming through the pages. The writing was subtle and the little details and descriptions are what I enjoyed most. I was a bit disappointed with the way the last part of the book went though. It seemed to change tone and become less endearing.

I'm convinced I really missed the boat on this one. In fact there's a definitely cognitive dissonance between the intriguing premise and the dense lifeless book I read. Did I not recognize the allegorical condemnation of xenophobia? Did I not appreciate the meditation on grief and aging this novel was? Did I not care for the supposed cleverness of it all? Well, f*ck, guess I did not. Probably was too busy staying awake to get through the pages. I wanted to like it, I was interested to try out the much lauded author, whose last book nearly got the prestigious Man Booker prize. But this was just tedious. Well written from a technical perspective, but unbearably dense, all narration, nary a line of dialogue, story of an aging crooner who was attacked by something/someone, which sets his neighborhood agog. That's about it, there's a bunch of characters I didn't really care about and a few events that elicited about the same amount of emotional investment. In fact, the only thing gotten out of this entire reading experience was the definition of the word bosk, which is used very, very, very frequently. Bosk is a thicket of bushes or a small wood. Now you know. Otherwise, this was just en entire disappointing read, albeit a relatively brief one. Thanks Netgalley.

This novel is a beautifully written story about an aging singer who is bitten in the night be a creature that he imagines to be a small, poor child. An interesting study on perception, aging and prejudice.