If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things
�This novel owes as much to poetry as it does to prose. Its opening, an invocation of the life of the city, is strongly reminiscent of Auden's Night Mail in its hypnotic portrait of industrialised society... An assured debut' Erica Wagner, The Times.
On a street in a town in the North of England, ordinary people are going through the motions of their everyday existence - st...more
A man with scarred hands stands transfixed in reverie staring at his oblivious daughter and wonders how she will ever discern the remarkable from the ordinary if the key to the beyond continues to be stubbornly hidden behind the obtuse quiescence of daily domesticity.
I reflect upon the invisible miracles that must have slipped through my fingers or been missed by my unobservant glance under the false prete...more
He says do you think there's too much of it?
I say I don't know, I mean some of it, some of it seems a bit, you know, less important.
He says he was talking about that a lot, before he went away, about there being too much, that's what all these things are about, his projects, he was trying to absorb some of it.
I say too much of what, he says too much of everything, too much stuff, too much information, too many people, too much of things for there to be too much of...more
Most of the characters are never named, but as the author gradually unveils t...more
The plot holds readers' interest but this novel's real gem is its characters. McGregor conjures up a residential city street and the people who populate it. From the old couple getting on the bus to the strange boy with the nervous tick, from the rambucuntious twins playing cricket in the street to the young adults recovering from a night of dancing, t...more
To be fair, I've never much cared for this particular style of writing. The present tense prose is a little too sparse for my taste. The narrative structure, a little too self-conscious. There's a deliberately generic quality to the setting and characters. I suppose this was done to emphasize the basic human condition. But, how can you love your characters if you don't even name them?
This sort of book alienates me, in a way, because everyone is gen...more
McGregor’s writing style is poetic; beautifully and meticulously structured. The story of a single day slowly unfolds through a series of little vignettes that slowly connect together, like projections on gauze. The narrative develops like...more
This was an amazing book. Gorgeously written, and it seems to bring forth some beautiful, eloquent version of reality. It’s set in the suburbs of England, on a single street, and alternates betwe...more
In a general, very oversimplified sense, the reason we, as humans, have names is as a way to distinguish us from one another. When I was a small writer, knee-high to a grasshopper (actually, as my parents will tell you, I was never less than knee-high to a baluchitherium, but that's beside the point), one of the things I always thought would be cool was to write a novel that had no names whatsoever in it, where everyone...more
If you are the type of reader that must re-read a beautiful sentence just for the joy of reading a beautiful sentence, or catch your breath when reading a description too perfect for words, then this is the book for you.
It's right from the begining, the text is more poem then prose. This is a really well written book, and it draws you right in from the begining - a description of the "song of the city" that you can hear if you just listen to the little sounds going on. very entranci...more
The trouble is it's a tough read, made tough...more
- the descriptions are second to none, I loved how McGregor described the city and the lives of the characters populating the story. In the best parts this is like poetry and puts you inside the created world.
- the writing really propels you onward with a sense of urgency, like a car with no b...more
It demands an awful lot from the reader: creative formatting, inference instead of neatly packaged conclusions, jumping between two periods with three years between them, characters...more
I fell in love from the very first page. The opening is beautifully poetic and although nothing really happened I was hooked and hoping that nothing continued to happen so that I could enjoy the prose.
Things did begin to happen, although they were every-day, mundane, unremarkable things made interesting by the writing.
The "chapters" alternate between the detailed, wonderful description of a typical late Summers...more
That's how it was for me with this book. Like a Michelin star chef, this book came with tons of brilliant reviews, but it never grabbed me.
I had no empathy with the characters, and the story - such as it was - didn't bother me either.
I finished it, but more in hope than enjoyment.
Perhaps it was...more
The fact that it is not the most action-packed novel you will ever read is testament to Jon McGregor's writing, because I could not put the book down, so despite the apparent lack of e...more
If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things is definitely one of my favourite books of all time. I first read it in high school, when I was at a point in my life where I felt like words constantly failed me. Nothing could describe the feelings this text evoked; and to some extent, I still have a h...more
That is exactly what If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things is. A little book, that didn't really amount to much, but that is so hauntingly beautiful you'll never forget it.
The naivety of several drugged-out teenagers, the wistful nostalgia of an old widower, and the mysterious obsessions of one boy are all focused on and centered around one awful crime that takes place that evening. Although the writing is absolutely beautiful in the way that only prose-poetry is, it’s concept is kind of odd and the way it transitions from character to character without placing names on anyone is kind of jagged and I didn’t find myself as emotionally invested in it as I could have...more
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The city, it sings.
If you stand quietly, at the foot of a garden, in the middle of the street, on the roof of a house.
It's clearest at night, when the sound cuts more sharply across the surface of things, when the song reaches out to a place inside you.
It's a wordless song, for the most, but it's a song all the same, and nobody hearing it could doubt what it sings. And the song sings the loudest when you pick out each note.”