William Boyd

Years ago, an English teacher pointed our class towards a particular work by William Boyd called Long Story Short, which is on a certain level the story of William (similar to the author?), his brother Frank, and his girlfriend Louella. On a more interesting level, however, it is about the author’s control over representation and truth. For example, Boyd speaks himself about twisting fiction. He does it in the manner of a nervous lie, always reversing to try and become a bit more believable, but yet still not quite true. It’s sublime:

Frank. Frank was the sort of older brother nobody needs. Tall, socially at ease, rich, good job (journalist on an up-market Sunday). Very attractive too. He had a polished superficial charm which, to my surprise, managed to take in one hell of a lot of people. But he was a smug self-satisfied bastard and we never really liked each other. he always needed to feel superior to me.

“Pleased to meet you,” Frank said to Louella, holding on to her hand for longer than William thought necessary.
“Hi,” said Louella. “William’s told me so much about you.”

Frank laughed. “Listen,” he said. “You don’t want to believe anything he says.”

He didn’t say that, in fact. But it’s typical of the sort of thing I can imagine him saying. Anyway I only did that just to show how easy it is – and how different. I can make Frank bald, add four inches to Louella’s bust, supply William with a flat in Belgravia. But it’s not going to solve anything. Because – to cut a long story short (quite a good title, yes?) – I really did love Louella (we’ll still call her that, if you don’t mind – saves possible embarrassment). I wanted to marry her. And that bastard Frank steadily and deliberately took her away from me.

More recently, I wandered into my old house to find that Jack had been sent Boyd’s A Good Man in Africa by a friend at Penguin. I asked him what he though, and the immediate response was “he’s fucking brilliant!” Similarly, as much as I often deride wikipedia for being the product of hundreds of monkeys with typewriters, I have to give them some credit for stating that “Boyd, who is of the same generation as Martin Amis, Julian Barnes and Ian McEwan, has been, some people believe, “overlooked” as a novelist, largely because he has kept a low public profile. Although his novels have been short-listed for major prizes, he has never had quite the same publicity as his contemporaries, even though many consider his novels superior in technique and content.”

More recently I’ve stumbled across articles such as this one on World War II covert operations and this review of Downfall (a film about Hitler’s last days). Boyd shows that he’s clearly a more than apt at journalism and also no fool when it comes to some of the more complex periods of modern history.

Words cannot describe how much I recommend to anyone that they take a look at William Boyd’s work. There are three fantastic collections of short stories available; On the Yankee Station, The Destiny of Nathalie X and, most recently, Fascination. His most recent novel, Restless, is largely about a British spin and propaganda operation in the United States, trying to involve the country in the war prior to Pearl Harbour. Of all of those, and his other novels, however, I’d recommend Yankee. You can find it on Amazon here.