A review of a book which actually is about a different book, or maybe in fact about a movie

Okay, so this is my first book review, so I couldn't be expected to get the hang of it right away, could I? Anyway, I liked Nick Hornby's 'Juliet, naked', quite a bit in fact (considering fiction accounts for around 10% of the many books I have read for the last decade), but basically it has one massive flaw, which is that it is not Nick Hornby's 'High fidelity'. Then again, in its defence, no other book can, and perhaps it is unfair to hold it against the author, but I am cutting to the chase here. I will come back to blather at length about 'High fidelity' a little further down this page, but for now i will try and obey the rules of convention by sticking even temporarily to the book this post is supposed to be about.

'Juliet, Naked' is about a man, Duncan, who obsesses with academic precision and research about a singer-wongwriter, Tucker Crowe, who last released an album, 'Juliet', in 1984, before disappearing from the music scene completely. Ducan shares his obsession with a small but dedicatedly-odd fellow-Crowologists on-line, and the novel begins with him on a tour of Crowe-related landmarks in the US. By his side, mostly, is his weary partner Annie, who is tiring of a life which seems to have been fittered away with Duncan in the dreary seaside town of Gooleness (how can a name sound simultaneously so close and so far from 'coolness'?). Then an early copy of a CD of a new, unplugged (naked!) version of 'Juliet' arrives by post, and Annie and Duncan disagree vehemently about its quality (it appears to be the straw that will finally break this particular camel's back), and both post reviews on-line. Then Crowe himself, who turns out to be living a relatively ordinary life in the US, while very loosely connected to a diaspora of chldren and ex-wives and partners scattered around two continents, contacts Annie to say he agrees with her review, and a secret correspondence begins. Meanwhile, the increasingly loose shackles holding Annie and Ducan together finally slough off, the cracks in their relationship all joining up almost audibly, and the edifice crumbling away at last. Then, things get a bit soap-opera-ish and Crowe crosses the Atlantic for a reluctant reunion with his scattered family and a final meeting with Annie.

Now, there is no doubt that Hornby can write, understands people and popular culture, and can be very funny. His other books since 'High fidelity' have all been a disappointment to me, and 'Juliet, naked' is a definite improvment, perhaps due to moving closer to the subject he has shown a complete mastery of, in other words the places where music and relationships intersect. However, it felt a little insubstantial, and (a critical flaw) I could not imagine anyone being able to make a good a film of it (where 'High fidelity' so spectacularly succeeded).

Duncan is the best character by a mile, and the nerdishness and pseudoacademic rigour with which he approaches music is well crafted and believable. Annie, presumably the hero, is likeable and adirable but I have a problem with her which is hard to define, but I'm going to try; basically, I can't get a picture of her in my head, I cannot quite benchmark her or work out who would play her in the film (once again, see 'High fidelity' discussion below), which leaves her a bit enigmatic as a character. As for Tucker Crowe, I somehow didn't find him or his familial complexities either engaging or quite credible, and he ends up seeming a bit dull (maybe that's the point?). His music, as well, does not to me seem like it would have fit in 1984, and he seems more like a 1970s creation, except that this would make him now too old for the part he is to play in the book. Also, a lingering problem of mine with Horby is that his dialogue frequently totters on the edge between naturalistic and perceptive, on the one hand, and somehow artificial and unconvincing on the other.

When he talks about music, though, he is one much firmer ground. I love that he talks about music like a fan, not a critic, in untechnical and slighly self-conscious language, as he showed not only in 'High fidelity' (yes, I am getting there) but also in '31 songs', which was about a of songs (can't remember how many exactly) and what they meant to him.

This brings me, finally, to 'High fidelity', which I have no hesitation as describing as one of my top 5 (of course there has to be a list) favourite books of all time, and for which I will always always give Nick Hornby massive credit, and give every new book of his the benefit of the doubt. I vividly remember buying it in Eason's book shop on a work trip to Dublin and basically not being able to do a single other useful thing that day until I had read every word, and I think I started again the next day.

This book simply did (and still does) describe better than anything I had ever read before (or since) the fragile twin states of being (a) male and (b) a music-lover. Every single word it said about relationships rang astonishingly true, for better and for worse, and savage blows of recognition smacked my head every few pages. To have done this (climbing into a certain type of male psyche - self-aware and very much lacking in confidence and bravado - and laying out in plain witty English what lay cowering within) was miracle enough, but to have simultaneously situated the analysis in a world of music and love of music which summarised so much of my life was nothing short of incredible. And, of course, the complex intertwinings of the strands of relationships and music and life are beautifully captured, as in this piece (perhaps my favourite):

"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music."

The writing is mostly razor-sharp, and the cast of characters is far better and more varied that in any of his other books (and there is much more bile and bite to offest his later trend towards excessive niceness). Perhaps, in reflection, there are some passages that hint of the more melodramatic and unconvincing turns I feel he sometimes later took (the dinner party towards the end with Paul and Miranda never rang true to me, I admit), but it is still a very very important book to me.

When I heard they were transplanting the story to America for the film version, of course I was nervous, but the final film turned out, against my fears (and thanks to Stephen's Frears), to be wonderful and a (mostly) fully fitting adaptation, and one of my top 20 movies of all time. The best thing I guess they did was to take most of the lines directly from the page, and all the book's best lines appear unaltered and proud. The next thing was the casting, with John Cusack a perfect Rob in my mind, and his pseudo-employees, Dick and Barry, perfectly played, particularly Jack Black as the latter. The following clips from Youtube show their interaction perfectly, and are perhaps my favourute scenes about music in movies ever:

The musical snoberry and obsessive list-making are so genuine and identifiable, as is the capturing in book and film of the grand art of making a compilation tape, with all the associated rules and principles. What would these guys have made of iPods and Genius playlists and being able to carry thousands of songs around with them? I would dearly love to know.

The only flaw I have with the film is a pretty significant one, and it is a mark of how much I love the rest of the movie that I am prepared to overlook it, or at least live with it, and it is as follows. When you read the book, you get images of the characters in your head (far more easily than I could do with Annie, for example) and the male actors fitted each of them like a glove. However, I can honestly say that I do not think any of the female leads are even remotely right for their parts (Charlie, Marie and Laura), and just do not match at all what I had in my head, seeming to have wandered in from other films. Charlie is just awful (I guess that's the point) but I just cannot see Rob and this Laura together for real. I have asked myself many times in the years in between who I would put in these roles instead, and have still not got a good answer to that key question, but I think that with perfect casting in both genders, this movie would not be in my top 20 but my top 3.

Of course, the movie would not exist without the book, and the book is the spark which the movie just ignited and amplifies. I loved and love this book. It is wise and funny and oh so real. It is his masterpiece, and it is perhaps foolish to think any mortal could strike such a rich seam that resonates so unerringly with me twice There is somewhere in here a very philosophical point about how maybe Nick Hornby is a little like Tucker Crowe, and 'High fidelity' his own 'Juliet'.

As a final thought, I wonder what would happen if Barry ever met Duncan in Championship Vinyl. That encounter would almost be worth a movie of its own.