First I'm going to tell you what the Financial Times has to say about this book:"Bennett's writing is as lush and sensual as ripe mangos... The tone, which is perfectly pitched, and the exotic setting collude to evoke an era of colonial decadence"Remember this. Now I'm going to tell you "What I learned from this book" (I always wondered who was stupid enough to put that on top of the review box, but now I know. That's not the learning experience I wanted to tell you about though.)What I learned from this book is that when the Financial Times recommends a book and compares it to sweet, juicy fruits, it's most likely a "sensual tale about a man and a woman" written for desperate business men who know they can't exactly keep the playboy on their desk.In other words: Bennett writes porn. Oh, right, it's not really porn because the people aren't naked when the story starts, so technically I guess it's erotica, though there's an awful lot of porny bits, so lets call the horse by its name.It's tasteful porn, I give him that. The non-porny bits are good, too, the whole book is good, really. And you don't see me complaining about the porny bits either, no sir. It's just that I didn't expect it to be that porny. But see, those business men need something juicy to read in those long buiness class flights, and a book that pretends to be a love story set during the fight for the Congolese independence, with a cover that doesn't suggest porn at all and provides innocent, intellectual parts on every page that you can quote in case anyone asks you to, that's just the thing for those men. In other words, that's just the thing for Financial Times readers. There they are, in business class, imagining what it would be like to sleep with Ines, who doesn't like foreplay and gets "very wet very fast" (yes I'm quoting), settling the Financial Times a bit more securely down in their lap... and if somebody asks what they are reading: "Oh, it's this book about a writer (look what an understanding EMO man I am) who goes to the Congo because of a woman (look what a romantic I am) during the fight for Congolese independence (look what an intellectual I am).I still call it porn. It's also very male porn, which made it quite interesting, because it is written entirely from a man's POV, a man who thinks he is in love. Girls, do you think Bennett realizes how accurate his description of love really is? Man thinks he is in love=thinks about his sex life all the time?This is even cleverer than I thought.So, I think we've established that it's an intellectual book for business men who like to read porn while flying. But then I get to the last page and whow, Mr. Bennett, is that you in that EMO pose with the schoolboyishly ruffled hair and are you really wearing a thick, woolen turtleneck sweater? You look like Angel's Wesley. Only with less leather (they don't like black leather in business class). That totally makes me want to go out with you. But if I want to read about real men having sex, I go look for some good slash fiction on the internet. More leather, less of that pesky love stuff. Sorry.Back to the book: I had some structural differences with it, mostly because it takes place in the past but is written in a present tense first person narrator POV, which was a bit confusing in the beginning. I also wasn't as drawn into the love part of the love story as I had hoped to be, but the historical part made up for that. So, should you read this? Why not. It's not a bad book, it's probably even a good book. Except, if you are a woman, you might want something with a bit more depth, cause I can't help thinking that the whole story was just an excuse to write about sex and violence, Mr. Bennett. I'd still go out with you, though.Have I learned something else from this book?Yes. I don't use enough fruit metaphors to ever be writing reviews for the Financial Times. "Ripe mangos"??? Were they being served in business class while the reviewer wrote his review?
is December, 1960. The Belgian Congo is on the verge of independence. James Gillispie, a journalist and minor novelist, is in Leopoldville planning to reunite with his lover, Inez. James is Irish and she is Italian. They had an affair in Ireland and London, his normal home.The novel is an exotic foreign land politically based thriller and a story of unrequited love. Shortly after James reunites with Inez he meets Stipe, an intelligent, well-read American who works in a non-defined job at the U. S. Embassy. Still later James is introduced to Auguste, Stipe's driver. Auguste, a Congolese, is well educated and bears a card entitling him to privileges only enjoyed be whites including the right to eat in white restaurants.James and Inez attend a party hosted by a wealthy Belgian where they witness the Belgium Army's murder of several Congolese independence demonstrators. They are horrified, but as both are reporters, they realize they must write about and report what they saw. Independence and the love story unfold from the massacre. Both reporters have different relations with Patrice Lumumba, the short-lived Congolese prime minister following independence. James earnestly believes journalists should only report what they see and hear. Inez is a dedicated European liberal, perhaps a communist, and slants her stories to fit her political beliefs. Also, she becomes personally involved with the people she is writing about. These professional and personal differences lead to their estrangement. During an argument Inez calls James a catastrophist, Italian for someone who is totally objective, does not become involved and has no passion.Independence quickly sinks into civil war. James and Inez are separated. Stipe and Auguste have hugely different agendas. The story ends several years later in a small Italian village where James now resides to write, but actually to unsuccessfully try to reconcile his beliefs and love for Inez an impossible undertaking.Bennet was born in 1956 and raised in Belfast. After earning a doctorate in history, he turned to journalism. He has written several screenplays. The Catastrophist was chosen as a best book by the LAT in 1999.
What do You think about The Catastrophist (2001)?
I'd read and really liked a later novel by Ronan Bennett called Havoc in Its Third Year, so I was quite excited about reading one of his earlier works, The Catastrophist. The plot is fairly simple: an Anglicized Irish novelist named James Gillespie follows his quondam girlfriend Ines Sabbiani, an Italian Communist journalist, to the Belgian Congo in 1959, just before independence. Gillespie's induction into the complex world of Congolese politics and the ill-fated tenure of Patrice Lumumba as Congo's elected Prime Minister is a harsh one but he stays because of his nigh-obsessive love for Ines (and is provoked into a singular act of courage because of that love.)Bennett's description of the politics and the atmosphere of suspicion and betrayal is superb, and he's a very good writer in general, but this novel was fatally flawed by the character of Ines. First of all, she's incredibly annoying; complete moral certitude in a fictional character that is not only never changed but is ultimately endorsed by the author and the other characters is something I always find annoying, and Ines is a true-believing Communist (the daughter of a partisan etc., etc.) who never, for one single moment, expresses any doubt in her chosen ideology. I'm sure people like her existed (I know they did!) but it still grates on me that in 1959-1960 Ines can be so sure that Communism is the only path for Africa. (OK, I know this is before the secret XX Party Congress where Khruschev talked about Stalin, but jeebus, the Soviets invaded Hungary in 1956, so any thinking person had to be a little shaken in their belief in the equation of Marxism and freedom.) Secondly, I hate that Lumumba has to be given some kind of white woman "muse"; we mercifully never actually see Lumumba interact with Ines, but she's quite clearly the person who goads Auguste (a fictional native Congolese character) into political action, because apparently, he needed to have some Italian lady come tell him what he should be doing with his life. Thirdly, and perhaps most unforgiveably, Ines, annoying as she is, never rings true as a real character - she always seems to be half the product of Gillespie's (or the writer's) imagination, what with being always (ahem, how shall I say this tastefully?) primed and ready for the sexy times and never having to worry about getting pregnant and beautiful even though she's losing her hair and yadda yadda. Therefore, I never bought into Gillespie's consuming love for Ines, which basically made all of of his actions in the novel not ring true either. Oh well! (Incidentally, Bennett has written a number of screenplays, most recently that of "Public Enemies" - so I guess I do generally like his writing! Just not Ines!)
—Bibliophile
I pick up novels for any old reason: pretty cover, it's popular, it's on sale, it's Tuesday and it's there. However, over time and some experience, namely, not wanting to waste time when I've got a bookcase of to-be-reads, I've developed a couple of rules to determine books to never read:- Philosophical novels with flowery praise on the cover. (They no doubt have ridiculously thin plots, obnoxious symbols, or will make me want to hurl. See: Unbearable Lightness of Being, The Alchemist, Life of Pi, Sophie's World)- Books with titles that go: Male's Occupation's Female Relative. (Too many, but includes Memory Keeper's Daughter)And reading The Catastrophist added one new subsection of books I'll not read anymore, books of the novel genre I'll call:- White-person-comes-to-an-exotic-country-and-happens-to-witness-a-revolution. (Yeah, I'm looking at you Heart of Darkness and The Poisonwood Bible.)I'm sure the voice of a male, white, middle-aged Irish writer (and sometimes journalist) in the 1960s was difficult for male, white, middle-aged writer Irish author Ronan Bennett of the 1990s to assume. I'm sure having long stretches of his book all about how much sex said protagonist was or wasn't having with his hot younger Italian girlfriend is supposed to make the writing "literary". I'm sure having the protagonist have no stake in the political proceedings is supposed to make him an objective observer of the Congolese Revolution.But NO, just no. I'm sick of the exoticism; I'm sick of the 'first-world'-Caucaso-centrizing of stories that are not Caucaso-centric; I'm sick of self-conscious literary posturing. So thank you, The Catastrophist, for helping me figure out that I don't want to read anything of this genre anymore, you get a shiny extra half star. Rating: 1.5 stars
—Kaion
Bennett reminds me a lot of Graham Greene, in a good way. In The Catastrophist as in many of Greene's novels, a middle-aged European man goes to Africa in the last days of colonialism trying to salvage a doomed romance. Unlike Greene, the object of desire here is actually a fully realized character, not just an idea of a woman. Bennett creates a strong sense of place in his depictions of the Congo in 1960, and the failure of the relationship nicely follows the failure of Lumumba's dream for a strong, independent Congo. Sad, but nicely written.
—Jennifer
