Lanny by Max Porter was one of those happy accidents - nay, my amazing taste in books - nay, my good taste and a bit of luck - oh, and a Booker long list - that happen so very rarely, but when they do, boy do they make their mark.
Max is already well-known for his first book, Grief is a Thing With Feathers. I had heard of him, but the snippets I'd heard about the book put me off. People said it was confusing, a bit mad, a bit of a chaos, but still good, and the like. I guess I had in my mind something like Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49 or The Sound and the Fury by Faulkner, which are the only two books I attempted to read twice and twice I failed to finish. I guess you could say I'm not one for abstract things.
So why did I pick up Lanny? Perhaps, much like the eponymous character, it had some kind of weird and wonderful charm - the cover? Or the fact that the title says so little? I actually think it was part of a sudden influx of great books getting published at the same time, and it kept popping up in book shop newsletters.
Now, don't get me wrong. Lanny isn't abstract at all. There's a very concrete plot line: Lanny, the eccentric young boy living in a small village with his crime author mother, Jolie, and city-commuting financial sector father, Robert, is loved by all. Everyone is curious about him, find him a little strange but he's always so polite, so charming, so kind to everyone. Until one day he disappears without a trace.
What did I like about it?
Let's begin with the format. I am so glad that someone out there pushed his way through rigid publishing rules and was able to create a book where lines run over margins, lines overlap, lines curve and run across the page, stars take up a double-page spread. It is an experimental format in a very conventional, small hardback. (Don't be scared, the whole book isn't a mess - just sections.)
Same with the language: to the book's advantage, often we're not sure whose voice we're hearing, but we guess close enough - that's the power of Max's writing. And that often we'll only read responses to ugly remarks, and can guess very well at the type of person making the remark as well as the one we actually hear responding. "Edward, if you say anything to me about conspiracy theories or plots I swear to god I will divorce you", "Look me in the eye and tell me it's not exciting, the whole country watching", "I wouldn't say this to her myself, but someone should, that it might not harm her cause if she put some make-up on. She looks so rough it's hard to sympathise, you get me?"...
Besides the cleverness, though, the beauty itself is in the writing. "As the steep flank of the old wood meets the fenced rim of the managed fields there's a sparser hundred yards of thinner, younger trees." "There's a nervous charge in the air. Something guilty. Like when you meet a deer in the wood and the deer disappears and you're left standing there all clumping human noise, and there's shame in that." Max is also skillful in escalating tension just with his writing: it is because of the long, many-comma sentences that you feel your heart begin to beat faster, and the slower, more spaced out sections where you feel you can relax for a moment. It is clear that nothing, nothing at all, is an accident in this short book. Every word and space is purposefully placed.
Then there's the plot itself, with its will-it-be won't-it-be magical realism, its terrible darkness, its captivating power. Who can truthfully say they wouldn't get looped into an escalating kidnapping situation? We're all thinking, looking for clues and signs as we read the pages, as is the village, as are the parents. The story is often heart-breaking, human, terrifying, repulsive. The conclusion right before the end shoots up the emotional ladder like an arrow - my heart was pounding as I read through it, drawing very close to tears. All this in a reserved, quiet style and very few words.
Much like receiving a deadly embrace from Dead Papa Toothwort, all the elements of this masterfully crafted book loop you in, like vines.
What was I not massively fond of?
I can only think of one tiny plot change I would make - without giving away too much, just to say I would have had Jolie reckon with her endings towards the end too. See how you feel once you've read it.
Overall...
I want to read, and re-read, and re-read this book until I know the words by heart. Without exaggerating my enthusiasm, I genuinely believe this is a modern masterpiece, one to be kept and cherished and taught at school and studied on university courses and purchased for libraries in the hundreds and referenced and read again and again. With all my heart, I believe the Booker judges have made a huge mistake in not including this book in the short list.
But from me to Max Porter, all the recognition and all the fame.
10/10
