Denial in a dark and dystopian future — in Cornwall

Howard Jacobson is brilliant at making you wonder what a state of denial feels like
Going from strength to strength: Howard Jacobson (Picture: Rebecca Reid)
Rebecca Reid
William Leith14 August 2014

J by Howard Jacobson (Cape, £18.99)

At first, reading this novel feels like looking for the key to a mystery — you read carefully, searching for clues. Then you find the key, and find yourself reading with even more urgency. There’s a sense of mounting horror. We are in a world where people tell themselves that something terrible might or might not have happened in the fairly recent past. It’s a very specific mindset and, as the reader, you’re desperate to untangle it.

We’re in a place called Port Reuben, which, we are told, used to be called Ludgvennok. It’s a town in what might well be Cornwall. It’s the future — two generations or so from where we are now. It’s an old-fashioned future — rather low-tech, with rudimentary communications, no internet and so on. Old stuff — CDs, records, even furniture — is frowned on. There’s a Stalinist vibe about the place. People live ramshackle, provincial lives. And they all seem to have Jewish surnames.

We’re in a culture of forgetting — or, rather more pertinently, a culture of denial. The catch phrase is WHAT HAPPENED, IF IT HAPPENED? And this event, whatever it was, happened in the 2020s. People have shadowy parents and shamed grandparents. The Jewish names came after the catastrophe that everybody wants to forget. Or almost everybody. Jacobson is brilliant at making you wonder what a state of denial feels like. How it creeps up on everybody. And how it co-exists with an occult state of knowing.

The story concerns a couple. He’s called Kevern Cohen. She’s called Ailinn Solomons. Notice that people have Cornish-sounding first names to go with their Jewish surnames: Lowenna Morgenstern, Densdell Kroplick. There’s been a wholesale policy of renaming. Anyway, Kevern is a wood-carver. Ailinn makes arty flowers. Wood and petals: the symbolism is very Jacobson. Kevern has OCD; Ailinn is terrified of being pursued. They have sex. It’s the first time, she says, that she hasn’t felt invaded.

As the horrors of the past come into view, we piece things together. A conflagration in the Middle East, with appalling consequences, followed by generations of guilt and denial. A man writes on official notepaper printed with slogans: “LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE, THE OVEREXAMINED LIFE IS NOT WORTH LIVING, YESTERDAY IS A LESSON WE CAN LEARN ONLY BY LOOKING AT TOMORROW.” It’s an Orwellian world. Meanwhile, Kevern and Ailinn take a trip to London — “the Necropolis”. It’s faded, crumbling and dangerous. And the past is rearing up again. Denial doesn’t work.

Jacobson, as I’ve said before, goes from strength to strength. This is a new departure: futuristic, dystopian, not, it seems, the world as we know it. But as we peer through the haze we see something taking shape. It’s horrible. It’s monstrous. Read this for yourself and you’ll see what it is.

Go to standard.co.uk/booksdirect to buy this book for £15.99, or phone 0843 060 0029, free UK p&p

Create a FREE account to continue reading

eros

Registration is a free and easy way to support our journalism.

Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app.

Your email address

Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number

You must be at least 18 years old to create an account

* Required fields

Already have an account? SIGN IN

By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy .

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in

MORE ABOUT