Brookyln

My Christmas day tradition involves avoiding what my mum watches (Queen’s Speech, Call The Midwife and Downton Abbey) by reading a book. Typically, I sit down and read a comedian’s autobiography (see last week’s blog) but, not having read any fiction in a while, I decided to get my imagination on and read Brooklyn.

I’d been looking forward to reading Brooklyn off the back of Mark Kermode’s movie review.  In his appraisal he praised the film’s subtlety, commenting on how it managed to move the viewer without resorting to an X Factor score. Having missed the film at the picture house, I put the novel on the top of my Christmas wish list. Needless to say I’ve been a good boy this year and the man in the red fulfilled his end of the bargain by delivering me some prize-winning literature.

The story centres on Eilis Lacey, a young woman unable to find work in 1950s Ireland. She lives at home with her mother and sister, Rose. Brooklyn begins with Eilis admiring Rose from her bedroom window, musing on her sister’s sense of style and independence. Eilis as observer is a motif that runs throughout the novel: unable to shape her own destiny, she is passivity personified. The fact we don’t get frustrated with this wallflower owes much to Toibin’s characterisation.

Eilis is over-submissive to her fate, but her Ireland, we must remember, was a long way off from the Tiger’s roar; the economy was parochial, work was scarce. Therefore, Eilis’ acceptance to give up the home she loves for New York isn’t a show of weakness but a pragmatic solution to prospective unemployment. Moreover, Eilis as 1950’s woman was yet to enjoy the trappings of free love and feminist revolt; consequently, her inability to determine the course of her heart is more society’s failure than hers.

Eilis's small town home of Enniscorthy, Ireland.

What is most beautifully etched in the book is the immigrant experience. In today’s media migrant workers are often cast as villains, threats to the human race in a dystopian movie titled, ‘Invasion of the Job Snatchers.’ Perhaps a truer representation is Toibin’s description of people longing for home. For many of us, homesickness is a temporary state: the holidays will come and we’ll be re-united again. But for victims of poverty and war, returning mightn’t be an option; home may never be reclaimed. The realisation that home is now a foreign concept is poignantly captured by Eilis in Brookyln:

She was nobody here. It was not just that she had no friends and family; it was rather that she was a ghost in this room, in the streets on the way to work, on the shop floor. Nothing meant anything. The rooms in the house on Friary Street belonged to her, she thought; when she moved in them she was really there. In the town, if she walked to the shop or to the Vocational School, the air, the light, the ground, it was all solid and part of her, even if she met no one familiar. Nothing here was part of her. It was false, empty she thought.

Unanchored and adrift, she is a boat against the current, borne back ceaselessly into her past.

Eilis experiences the big city in Brooklyn, New York.

I should hasten to add that the book isn’t an unremitting howl for home. It has wonderful moments of humour too. You’ll struggle not to laugh at shopkeeper Miss Kelly’s less than egalitarian approach to serving customers; more at Eilis’ mother hypocrisy at welcoming visitors into her home then assassinating their characters on them leaving. Further with Eilis meeting two men – one in Brooklyn, one in Ireland – we learn that love is not always all-conquering, that separation can defeat it.

Ultimately, this is a wise, poignant book that makes you appreciate how some people, through character or circumstance, don’t have control over their lives. For those of us who do, we should be thankful and support those who don't.

Christmas Special: a list of 100 great things.

1.    Kanye West on a cherry picker.
2.     Baileys before bed.
3.     The wordplay of Len Goodman.
4.     A pub with a quiz machine.
5.     Dancing under the Christmas tree.
6.     Sleeping more.
7.     Prawns.
8.     Pig-gate. (It might not be true but it gave us all a lift.)
9.     The changing face of my packed lunch.
10.  Having a banana.
11.  Wadjda riding her bike.
12.  Sepp Blatter getting Al Capone’d by the Feds.
13.  Inside out.
14.  Dev’s dad in Master of None.
15.  Viv Albertine.
16.  Maxine Peake.
17.  Corbyn's stance on Syria.
18.  How the news beat the tabloids on refugees.
19.  Leicester being top of the league.
20.  The Ighalo 'scoop.'
21.  Watford surprising everyone.
22.  The Hairy Bikers curry recipe.
23.  The Comcom pod.
24.  Kermode's savaging of 'Entourage.'
25.  The people I work with.
26.  Lance’s gold dance.
27.  Rob protecting Sharon in the cinema.
28.  Mark and Soph in the ball pool.
29.  Alpen aiding and abetting my digestive tract.
30.  Leslie Knope's winning speech.
31.  Getting an answer right on University Challenge.
32.  Getting an answer right on Only Connect.
33.  Getting a parking space near the front door.
34.  Running along the canal.
35.  My preppy cardigan.
36.  Living with The Girl.
37.  Re-watching The Office.
38.  My mates marrying good eggs.
39. Every Brilliant Thing.
40.  Vanilla Latte.
41.  The Christmas Radio Times
42.  Any issue of The Radio Times.
43.  Daniel Kitson up a tree.
44.   Serial dropping a new episode.
45.  Imelda Staunton in Gypsy.
46.  The acting in This is England.
47.  The love of a good woman.
48.  The Invisible Dot.
49.  Discussing Socialism with teenagers.
50.  Cards against Humanity.
51.  Having friends over to the flat.
52.  My brother living with someone he actually knows.
53.  June and Leon.
54.  Choosing the right tree.
55.  Realising the shop sells cream soda.
56.  Going to The Odyssey.
57.  Still loving Romeo and Juliet.
58.  Train changes timed to perfection.
59.  Seeing the Eiffel Tower at night.
60.  That caricaturist who said he was going to be kind but was anything but.
61.  Old schoolmates together for a Madrid state wedding.
62.  “Here’s, Carol with the weather.”
63.  Long drives for album listening.
64.  Dec playing the biggest gig of his life.
65.  JP being happy. 
66.  Discovering holidays abroad aren't all that bad.
67.  My car getting its annual stay of execution.
68.  A fridge that speaks of opportunity.
69.  The kettle on after work.
70.  Friday evenings where everything seems possible.
71.  The last book in the pile.
72.  Grayson Perry.
73.  Having a bit of time to read.
74.  Getting things done in the morning.
75.  Looking up at the Sistine Chapel.
76.  Visiting Bristol.
77.  Living with someone who accepts the notion of a bedside lamp.
78.  Having a bath.
79.  Watford being on Match of the Day.
80.  The Neville brothers in Spain.
81.  Teaching my class Bill Murray.
82.  Thinking a vegetarian breakfast is no bad thing.
83.  Living near water.
84.  Being in the shape of my life. (Worryingly. I'm still not in great shape.)
85.  Accepting my hair has gone and moving on.
86.  Still not learning my lessons about tequila.
87.  Richard Herring's emergency questions.
88.  The Durham girl's wit on Gogglebox.
89.  The Staff Christmas Party or ‘Contraband in The Greek.'
90.  Mulled wine.
91.  Having a partner that agrees Woody Allen quotes constitute home improvement.
92.  Getting older and growing less conservative.
93.  George Alagiah.
94.  The name George Alagiah.
95.  Beating Liverpool.
96.  The last bell on a Friday.
97.  Falafels.
98.  Pemberton and Shearsmith.
99.  My Nectar card.
100. Writing this blog.

Amy Poehler: Yes Please

Comedy memoirs are my thing. If you look at my bookcase you’ll find half of the books are by comedians. Part of the appeal is that a comedian’s autobiography is often more revealing than other celebrity memoirs. In an age where everyone is trying to promote their own Cult of Stalin via tweets, posts and Instagrams, the comedian through honesty inverts this. The comedian’s image is as contrived as any celebrity, but where the celebrity raises a glass to success, the comedian downs theirs to disappointment.

The veracity required for good comedy lends itself to the memoir form. Comedians are used to sharing ideas, values and opinions that others may find unsavoury, so they’re not going to stop when it comes to putting their feelings down into print. On top of this, the competitive nature of comedy means you need a distinct voice. The worst thing you can be called in comedy is ‘hack’ (a derogatory term for comedians that deliver crowd-pleasing but tired tropes of ‘have you ever noticed…?’ routines); consequently, this need to be different often makes the comedy memoir more revelatory and innovative.

I have one of these comedy books. For my own self-respect, I hope you guess correctly which one..

Recent examples of illuminating memoirs are Johnny Vegas’ Becoming Johnny, a cautionary tale of how Michael Pennington’s creation, Johnny Vegas, supplanted his creator. Ostensibly, the tale is told by Pennington, but with the vituperative Vegas never far away there's always the risk the thing will implode into Jekyll and Hyde. Observing how a charismatic character can overpower their meek master makes this a fascinating read. 

Further, Stewart Lee’s book How I Escaped My Certain Fate illuminates the creative process of comedy. Comedy as Art is rarely recognised in high society; you only have to look at how it is treated alongside other culture to see that. Take Alan Yentob’s reverential Imagine series: he often pays tribute to authors, musicians and painters – but rarely comedians. The Academy Awards often shortlist dramatic performances – but rarely comedic ones. The Booker Prize judges wouldn’t know a joke if an Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman walked into their Private Members Bar. Lee’s book demonstrates how a comic’s job is arguably more difficult than other artists, as the failure is all the more public. Unlike conventional writing, a comic performs their drafts live; the audience are the editors: green-lighting jokes with laughs; red-penning them with silence. For comedians, the stage is both light bulb and waste paper bin; it is a ladder to the muses and a trapdoor to the hounds. Lee articulates this life and death dichotomy brilliantly.

Amy Poehler’s Yes Please is another brilliant comedy memoir. Doing– like Lee and Vegas – something different with the format. Mainly known in this country for co-hosting the Golden Globes and starring in Parks and Recreation, Poehler eschews the formula of chronological life telling, opting instead for thematic sections titled ‘Say whatever you want,’ ‘Do whatever you like’ and ‘Be whoever you are.’ Traditional tropes of autobiography are here with recollections of childhood and jobs prior to comedy; but with polemics on sex, motherhood, privilege and technology the whole thing reads more like a humorous manifesto than A-B journey-destination tittle-tattle. Fans of Parks may be surprised with the candour of some of these opinions. Whilst her sitcom character, Leslie Knope, is the squeaky clean poster-girl for feminism; Amy Poehler is the mischievous moustache on the hoarding.  Like Leslie she believes in putting personality before appearance and doing what you can for the sisterhood; unlike Leslie she confesses to the recreational use of drugs and pornography. Whereas Leslie lacks self-awareness, Poehler is acutely familiar with the world around her. In one of the funniest chapters in the book, she skewers society’s pregnancy paranoia- exemplified in the 'birthing plan-' by outlining her own natal demands - (An annoying nurse with an unfunny and teasing manner on whom we can focus our anger would be a welcome addition. The mother would also like a punching bag, a screaming pillow, a mirror to smash and a small handgun. The father would like a George Foreman grill, just to have). Further, she satirises the shame of being a divorcee through imagined book pitches (‘Divorce: Ten Ways Not to Catch It!’ Divorce is contagious. Haven’t you heard? It’s like cancer but only worse because no one really feels that bad for you.) In reading Poehler’s book you get some of the glass half full optimism of Leslie, but you also get the glass half empty rage of a person who resents the pressures put upon her gender.

Poehler as Leslie Knope in Parks and Recreation.

One of the things that really shines through in Poehler’s book is her love for collaboration. She refers to Tina Fey as her ‘comedy wife,’ remarking: ‘we don’t compete against each other, we compete against ourselves.’ Anyone who has seen the two side by side at the Golden Globes knows how well they work to create something truly special. Recent reviews of their new festive movie Sisters corroborate this too. Her book is also a collaboration of sorts as she has friend Seth Meyers write a chapter, and in the section on Parks and Recreation has script editor Mike Schur add margin notes to what she is saying. There are very few comedians who would be happy to have other people contribute to their book; Poehler, you get the feeling, wouldn’t have it any other way. Her background at Second City (America’s seminal improv school) has made her appreciate that comedy doesn’t have to be done in isolation; it’s often funnier in conversation.

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler

Poehler’s book wears many hats moving from memoir to parody to feminist essays. The fact that this balancing act is carried out with such aplomb is perhaps no surprise to a woman who juggles filming, parenting and charity commitments. Poehler worked hand to mouth for fifteen years to be an overnight success. If you read this warm, witty book, you’ll agree Poehler is a rare example of someone who deserves their riches.     

Yes Please is out on paperback now.