Chiff Chaff by David Barnard

Chiff Chaff

David Barnard

This is a book to be swallowed in quick indulgent mouthfuls, a fry up of a book, dotted with globules of Daddies sauce. Each item an erstwhile stranger to its neighbour, but belonging together, companions on a plate that confuses, delights and satisfies.
The narrator and central character of Barnard’s narrative is the idiosyncratic Alexander A. Alexander, resident during his early years of a Bu in God’s own kingdom of Birsay, West Mainland, Orkney.
Like the sky that rudely intrudes through the Kirk roof after the great gales of 1951 Alexander’s vision of the world has the commonplace and extraordinary existing side by side. The effortful interpretation of events and people by our hero is only one of the many jobs he must perform, there is also the collection of eggs, driving the tractor and the understanding of great scholarly works. Various homicidal impulses also interfere with the daily grind.
Bernard’s prose is pacy, disconcerting and demanding. It entertains with a rare freshness. The reader is fed puzzle pieces for ferreting away, to be collected like eggs that will eventually hatch and deliver the twists to his tale.
The second half of the novel immerses the reader in a Flann O’ Brianesque parochial and absurd world which suits our hero A.A.A down to the ground. Perhaps we should all think more about the molecular transference that occurs when we are sitting on our favourite chair. Perhaps we should feel more gratitude for the Big Sky and knowing our own time and place. Perhaps the lightness and brightness that glows like a fat gold watch as it flows along the shores of obsession should simply be marvelled at for its beauty rather than coveted.
Confused? Sometimes it’s good to be confused, very good. Relax and don’t let the chiffchaff bother you either.

Gabrielle Barnby
Orkney, 8th April, 2018