Sunday Morning at the Centre of the World

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An excellent, fun read - Rated
I stumbled across this little gem a while ago in my local bookshop, and found myself fascinated by the excellent characterisations and idiosyncracies. It is probably a little expensive for what it is, and yes, it's self-indulgent, but it's still an entertaining read, and I would love to hear the radio play.

Dylan Thomas goes to London with a Greek chorus! - Rated
...Apart from 'Red Dog', the shorter texts [...] were all written some time ago. This suggests that de Bernières has always written such idiosyncratic pieces alongside the novels, and the difference now is that publishers want them. Anyway, some of them are good: 'Labels' is a gem. He can write what he likes, can't he? How terrible it would be to have to churn out writing to the same formula all the time to satisfy a stern and rapacious readership: the quality would certainly suffer. However, although it is evocative, has some good observations and jokes and it's fun to trace the influences, I agree that 'Sunday Morning' doesn't work particularly well on the page. It's better on the radio. The music is wonderful, although the fake sarf London accents of the middle-class actors didn't fool me for an instant.

Disappointing self indulgence - Rated
Let's be honest: if this had been written by anyone else, it wouldn't have been published. This type of thing (see also 'Labels' and 'Red Dog') is not what made de Bernieres rich and famous and the sooner he stops writing them the better.

I can understand de Bernieres taking his chance to indulge himself and try other styles and forms, but it really doesn't become him. And unless he returns to writing his stupendously good fictions, he is in danger of alienating a large part of his hard won readership. People are going to get tired of buying short stories about cat food, independent dogs, or unlikely people in Earlsfield.

Maybe I'm being harsh. After all, Sunday Morning was written to be heard rather than read, and maybe it sounds great on the radio. But in that case, it shouldn't be marketed to an unsuspecting readership.

Overall, it was barely okay, and I won't throw my copy away, but I certainly wouldn't recommend it. I also feel let down and wish de Bernieres would write another real novel that I could truly enjoy.

Nogood Boyo - Rated
Alan Bennett was recently criticised (I forget who by but it was, I remember, in a recent Sunday Paper if that helps) for leaving his regular trade as playright to attempt the story teller's art. An argument could be put forward that Bennett wavers uncomfortably between tenses in his stories however his unmistakable voice and unique humour make his excursions rewarding. Louis DeBernieres has 'gone the other way'. Moving from storytelling into a genre that hovers somewhere between poetry and performance. Still telling a story, yes, but now he asks us to leave the page and follow him into the open. Unfortunately he asks us to follow him through the familiar streets of Llareggub past Milkwood but asks us to ignore the view until we reach London where he drags in a truculent Eastenders cast for a weekend's sabbatical to work over a masterpiece. Amid the derivative clamour distant whispers of L.dB. can be heard in Cockle Row but other voices shout him down, such as the black dog joke 'borrowed' from Berkoff's one man show.
Louis dB. and players gave a hearty performance last night and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself, mouthing everyone's lines like an excited child in a school play. All power to him, he's done what he wanted and to hell with those clammering for the next novel. Did he give himself (was he granted) enough time for this project? I doubt it.
I'm off to collect my signed copy, well you've got to admire his (moth) balls. You'll have to get your own copy to get the last joke.

What a wonderful panoply of characters! Hugely enjoyable. - Rated
Have just heard this book read aloud on the radio and must get a copy for myself! Louis de Berniere succeeds masterfully in painting a huge ranging panoply of contemporary characters in life (and death) with unabashed, sometimes insolent, always sharply-observed humour. His lyrical language sweeps swiftly from scene to scene and we get taken on a virtual tour of a single Sunday morning in Earlsfield ... or Anyfield! lifting the ordinary into the extraordinary and making us laugh at ourselves along the way.