Paperback reviews: Idiopathy, The Anatomy Of Violence, Scotland: The Autobiography, Orkney, New Penguin Book Of English Folk Songs

Idiopathy by Sam Byers (Fourth Estate £8.99)

Many contemporary male novelists, particularly comic ones, are incapable of depicting an unsympathetic female character. Perhaps afraid of being thought sexist, they load all the vices on to the guys, making them shallow, selfish, mean, emotionally stunted, etc, while the women are angels of sweet reason. Sam Byers isn’t going down that road. Katherine, his brilliantly drawn protagonist, is bitter, sarcastic, spiteful, bad-tempered, argumentative, and rubbish at emotional commitment. At the same time she’s witty, funny, painfully intelligent and self-aware. The novel crackles with life whenever the viewpoint is with her. But it also crackles with life when the viewpoint is with one of the other two central characters. There’s Daniel, Katherine’s ex, comfortably settled with a sweet girlfriend and a good, if slightly controversial job (PR man for a company researching GM crops), anxious to please, riven with doubt, almost-but-not-quite-a-match for Katherine in their ceaseless sparring matches; and there’s Nathan, an old friend and drug-supplier who emerges from rehab after some serious self-harming. Against the background of an emerging bovine plague, Katherine’s relationship with the sex-addict Keith, and Nathan’s mum’s new career as a misery memoirist, these three re-converge. The writing is so great you could read the pages in random order and still enjoy it.

The dialogue is as sharp as a series of fencing matches, but much funnier. Anyone who’s ever been involved in an argument with their partner about what the “Real Problem” is, will find themselves wincing and laughing simultaneously. The skewering of contemporary mores is a joy – Byers pokes fun at thirtysomething couples, office life, environmental protesters, and the therapy industry. A brilliant three-hander. But Katherine steals the show.

*****

The Anatomy Of Violence by Adrian Raine (Penguin £10.99)

In the 19th century, the Italian prison doctor Cesare Lombroso theorised that crime had a biological basis, originating in the brain. This theory of the born criminal turned out to be “socially disastrous, feeding the eugenics movement”, and in the second half of the 20th century Lombroso’s theories were anathema to criminologists. But Raine here offers compelling evidence that Lombroso may have been on to something. He considers the evolutionary roots of violence, the structure of the brains of psychopaths, and the existence of violence-predictors such as a slow resting heartbeat and a long middle finger. He also factors in environmental causes of violent behaviour, such as poor diet and early exposure to neglect or abuse, in a sociobiological approach which views violent crime as a social health problem. The combination of meticulous research and Raine’s humane, personal voice make this compellingly persuasive, and suggest that there is scope for radical, non-retributive ways of treating violent criminals.

*****

Scotland: The Autobiography edited by Rosemary Goring (Penguin £12.99)

In a year which will see the Scots vote on independence, this book is a timely reminder of their country’s fascinating past. It’s composed of writings by and about Scots throughout history – from Professor Vere Gordon Childe’s description of a Neolithic settlement in the Orkneys, to an account of Andy Murray’s 2013 Wimbledon win. Along the way you can read of the executions of William Wallace and of Mary Queen of Scots, James Watt describing how he invented his steam engine, Adam Smith’s tribute to David Hume, Samuel Johnson’s first impressions of Scotland, and reviews of Billy Connolly and Irvine Welsh. I can’t help hoping Scotland doesn’t opt for independence; but on 18 September we shall find out.

****

Orkney by Amy Sackville (Granta £7.99)

A 60-year-old professor takes his twentysomething bride to the Orkneys; and gradually comes to see how elusive is the strange, selkie-like woman he has married. The prose is rich with marine imagery, and there’s a haunting atmosphere of mystery and melancholy. However, I can’t quite join the chorus of praise this book has received. The writing seemed self-consciously fine to me, and rather repetitive. I couldn’t warm to either character, and the ending was so inevitable it felt a chore to have to wait for it. Also, Sackville’s editors don’t seem to know the difference between lay and lie, sank and sunk, rang and rung, or who and whom – minor matters, but the narrator is supposed to be a Professor of English Literature, after all.

***

New Penguin Book Of English Folk Songs edited by Steve Roud and Julia Bishop (Penguin £9.99)

This marvellous collection of English folk songs is a synthesis of work done by earlier collectors between 1870 and the 1980s. It’s divided by theme into sections such as “Soldiers and Sailors”, “Animals and Nonsense” and “Lust, Infidelity and Bad Living”, and contains all the old favourites like “The Derby Ram” and “The Lincolnshire Poacher”, as well as lesser-known songs like “Cupid the Pretty Ploughboy”. There’s also the anti-Semitic ballad “Hugh of Lincoln” – a reminder that “folklore is not always nice and cosy”. The two introductory essays are scholarly and readable, and each song has a commentary on its sources and meaning. And every entry includes the music, so you can invite your friends round for a sing-song.

*****