London Fields

A mistress of seduction, having `come to the end of men' and a belief in the possibility of love, seeks her own murder--and sets about ruining the lives of two very different men in order to bring it about. The narrator of the novel--a self-described failure at art and love--is terminally ill and now rapidly failing at life, too; he's set himself the task of chronicling the rather ignoble efforts of Nicola Six and her pyrrhic dual seduction. The proceedings are set against an ominously looming worldwide crisis of nuclear and climactic proportions.That, in maybe an eggshell, is the plot of *London Fields.* A nice enough hook, but as in any Amis novel, it's the execution that has you swallow the line and sinker, too. No one writes like Martin Amis. No one. Pity, too. It's poetry, in great parts, his style--an epic metropolitan voice as if Homer had been reborn in London with a wicked sense of humor, both castle and gutter, and a penchant for writing about deadbeats, sex-obsessed middle-aged guys, and a world gargling down the toilet-tube.How even a sub-intelligent reader can possibly run his eyeballs over this novel and see in it only cynicism, nastiness, disgust, and mocking hatred is beyond comprehension. Are they paying attention to what Amis has actually written right there on the page in black and white--or only what has been written *about* him?*London Fields,* like much of Amis' work is a deeply-felt and elegiac novel that is actually quite heartbreaking in its inimitable way. Rude, often crude, scalding and scornful, relentlessly, unrepentantly bleak--yes, that's all true, thank God, but Amis' style...and what a style!...is a corrosive that strips away all self-serving illusion and sentimentality to expose the skeleton of the last honest humanism still possible.Here is Amis on one of his characters in *London Fields*:`In the book, she stood for something. In the flesh, she was pointless: a complete waste of time. Or not quite. In the flesh, she broke your heart, as all human beings do. I watched her, an older man, failed in art and love. Fat ankles. Dear flesh.'A waste of time that breaks your heart. In a sense, that sums up Amis' view on life, love, history, and existence itself as presented in *London Fields.* But the vitriolic comedy and famous disgust that Amis directs towards and lavishes upon everyone and everything is, in fact, the lament of the idealist who sees how very very far short human beings fall from anything even a kissing cousin of humanity.His exaggerated characters, yes, arguably caricatures, are nevertheless uncomfortably familiar and that's precisely what makes their misdeeds and misadventures so uncomfortably compelling--and, I suspect, arouses so much wrath in those who consider the truth to be bad taste. These are, indeed, people we `know,' and sometimes even love; worse still, if we could stop the automatic monkey finger-pointing for five minutes, we realize these people are *us.*Five stars, if that's all I can give it. *London Fields* deserves at the very least a small constellation of them.

Amis at almost his best. The portrait of Keith Talent and his world, including the Black Cross pub, comes off well : rather than simply being the sort of obnoxious prole that most would cross the street to avoid, he has some redeeming features and even a certain dignity, and his self - defeating life as a cheater ( and constantly being cheated himself ) has a horrific fascination. Other characters are less well fleshed out and the unlikely ménage of Hope, Lizzyboo and the awful baby Marmaduke is too grotesque to be more than a caricature : Amis ( who is certainly from a similar affluent background ) finds some sympathy for them but not enough as its Keith who forcibly grabs our attention and keeps it.,

This book needed an editor. I had no idea what was going on half the time. Had it been about 100 pages shorter, maybe it would have been coherent. And I love Martin Amis. Alas.

I will apologize before I continue.That done, I downloaded this title to my kindle because I read a review of this author in Atlantic. He sounded like one of those very erudite wordsmiths that makes you think. That was the review. The book is confused, boring and pretentious. Sorry, I apologized already. I read a lot. A lot. I read History, novels, Science, Biography, Business, and assorted other. I average two books a week. I didn't finish this one. I couldn't.A previous review said this is an author that people love or hate. Allow me to add a third category: I just don't care. Not worth love or hate. I will, however, remember the author's name in order to avoid him.If Amis is your cup of tea I salute you. If you haven't tried him yet, check one out of the Library first so you can take it back and not have to pay a price for your disappointment.

Martin Amis is not for everyone and certainly few Americans unless they love English novels. I didn't find Amis to be like anyone else I had read except Charles Dickens and Jack Kerouac - the combination is pretty strange. I approved of his writing style so much and looked forward to each sentence, phrase and how he tied up a chapter. Also the way he moved from one character to another, including "the writer". I found the patois London speak unfamiliar, but could figure out what the puns and idioms were all about through the storytelling.Amis is hilarious and tragic at the same time. I looked up some photos of him over the years. He was a handsome man in his youth - no doubt that influenced his outlook and perhaps made him have a happier life than he would have if he was not as beautiful to look at.I have re-read some of his "sayings" and as is my practice, I don't read the ending until I have thoroughly digested the book.Sometimes that takes a few months... or longer. I'll probably read a more current work soon.

Everything arrived on time and as advertised

Amis at his best …

I've read several Martin Amis books (Money being my favorite, and considered his best, it appears), but I can't finish this one. Started out great, very exciting, and Amis is a master of the English language (but beware, he can get "wordy"). But it's just dragging on and kind of stuck at this point (I'm about 2/3 through). Frustrating. I wanted to like it. I love the character development and Amis nails the late '80's ennui and sterility, but I feel like the wheel is just spinning...

It is a book but it was in my mailbox and I expected it at the door

I've seen a few people leaving bad reviews for this lately, so I wanted to offer a counter argument.Don't go in expecting a brilliant plot or to be emotionally uplifted, and there's a 50/50 chance you may hate the book. London Fields, however, is one of my favourite books of all time. I can understand why people might not like it, but Keith Talent is one of the greatest literary creations ever. The book is hilarious, and Martin Amis's writing style is awesome and will have you scratching your hear in wonder (and confusion).His best novels are this, The Information, Time's Arrow and The Zone of Interest. I recommend them all (but you still might hate them).

Second book in Amis' London trilogy. Engaging prose, interesting characters, witty and intelligent. It doesn't get much better than Amis!

Il libro è arrivato tutto stropicciato e ha gli angoli delle pagine macchiati come se si fosse bagnato. Per nulla soddisfatto.The book arrived wrinkled and creased, it also has stains on the bottom of the pages, as if it was wet and then dried. Not satisfied at all.

Just got to the end of it. It's Amis being brilliant, compulsive and relentless. Not for everyone, but then Martin Amis never is.