Billy Liar – Keith Waterhouse
The opening sentence: “Lying in bed, I abandoned the real world and was back in Ambrosia.” Ambrosia is a fantasy world where Billy Fisher possesses power and prestige; in the real world things are not going at all well. The novel covers one day in his life – “a day for big decisions.” His plan is to leave his Yorkshire town and go to London, where he’ll make a living writing jokes for the comedian Danny Boon. By doing so he can avoid a number of predicaments he’s gotten himself into (two fiancees, a huge stash of business calendars he neglected to mail and must dispose of). He can also escape a life that offers him nothing. He lives with his mother, father and grandmother, and all find him to be insufferable (in the case of his father, the disapproval has risen to the level of hatred). He works as a clerk at a funeral home, and his boss relishes the moment when he can nail Billy for pocketing the postage money for the unmailed calendars. Billy’s hyper-energetic observations of people and the town are often funny, but they have a dark side: he sees the real world as ugly. And he never rises above the muck around him. Those lies which he casually dispenses are mostly aimed at evading unpleasant situations or inflating his importance, but some show a disregard for the feelings of others. Billy cares for no one and no one cares for him – with a single exception: Liz. It’s interesting that the only person with whom he feels a sense of comradery is the book’s only unbelievable character. It turns out that Billy lacks the courage to get on the train for London (he was lying when he claimed that Danny Boon had promised him a job). At the end of the long day, as Billy trudges home with his suitcase, I contemplated his future, and I saw no hope for him. I was impressed by this novel’s freshness and originality – it was like an invigorating breeze. But behind the spirited fun was a character study of a flawed and thwarted man. As a result I felt conflicted about Billy – pulled one way, then another.

Paradise Postponed – John Mortimer
Mortimer’s first career was that of a barrister, a profession in which intelligence and precision are of primary importance. But he also possessed a gift for fiction. Though this novel is overpopulated, I was able to keep the six major characters straight because he imparts a distinct individuality to each one. In covering their lives from youth to middle age he jumps back and forth in time, no small feat. He kept my interest at a high level, and even his commentary on changing politics in England was palatable. But, though Mortimer has all the trappings of a traditional novel working nicely for him, he frames the story as a mystery. In the beginning Simeon Simcox, a clergyman, leaves a will in which his possessions go not to his wife and two sons, but to someone he seems to have no ties to and who is already wealthy. As six people fall in and out of love, as they rise or settle in the world, as their attitudes take shape and harden, the mystery of the will pops up at intervals. It’s handled as a teaser – though we get suggestions of something a bit murky going on, what motivated Simeon is kept in the shadows. When the end is near the mystery is suddenly promoted to center stage. With all this buildup, what was needed was a solution that would come as a revelatory surprise. But it’s a letdown, and so things close on a disappointing note. If Mortimer had handled this as a straight novel he might have provided a sense of closure for his main characters; as it is, he leaves them hanging. I wasn’t surprised to learn that he wrote a sequel to Paradise. It’s called Titmuss Regained, so it obviously concentrates on this book’s most compelling character, the implacably ambitious Leslie Titmuss, M.P. (Member of Parliament).

The Abbess of Crew – Muriel Spark
This odd little novel takes place in a convent, is about nuns, is saturated in the ceremonies and trappings of religious life, yet the plot deals with grubby worldly matters. At it center stands Alexandra, “a tower of ivory.” When the book opens she has been elected Abbess, a position she coveted with steely resolve. Her chief competition was a nun who was having sexual relations with a Jesuit priest; this act of rebellion attracted some followers to her side. When the wayward nun is defeated she leaves the convent, and in newspapers and other media outlets she presents a long list of moral transgressions committed by Alexandra (to which this unflappable lady comments, “A dazzling indictment, and, do you know, she has thought not only of the wrongdoings I have committed but those I have not done yet but am about to perform”). Alexandra’s underhanded maneuvering to get elected has repercussions, and when a nun dressed as man is caught in a men’s lavatory of the British Museum with a bag of payoff money the police get involved. A worldwide scandal ensues; reporters try to breach the convent walls (which are guarded by police with dogs). The novel ends with Alexandra being summoned to Rome; aboard the ship her serene self-confidence remains intact. What is one to make of all this? I felt traces of science fiction in the gleaming control room of electronic surveillance equipment which has been installed at Crew (even the trees are bugged). And no matter how demented – or vulgar or comic – things get, the prose never loses its lofty tone. I did a bit of post-reading research, and, to my surprise, the word “Watergate” came up (Sister Gertrude, the globe-trotting nun Alexandra calls to get advice, is Kissinger). This interpretation makes some sense, especially since the book was published at the time of the scandal (when it had a relevance that’s missing now). But why set a satire of Nixon-era shenanigans in a convent? And the parallels are weak (Nixon was no Alexandra). The book, which was obviously written with malicious intent, has an unsavory fascination, but little else.