Paperback: The Girl Who Was Going to Die, By Glyn Maxwell

Tom Boncza-Toma Szewski
Sunday 02 March 2008 01:00 GMT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

At some point Glyn Maxwell's satire on the media and celebrity culture, told entirely in dialogue, must have seemed a good idea. That neither he nor his editor wised up to the sad truth of these poor pages constitutes a steely case of denial indeed.

Susan Mantle is a rather useless London tour guide. Following a terrorist atrocity she is seen crying on a park bench, and images of her are reproduced in the news under the headline "beautiful but crying" so often, she comes to symbolise the mood following the tragedy. She is actually crying because she's interpreted a fortune-teller's advice to mean that she is going to die.

Among the many unflattering things that could be said about this book are two key flaws. Perhaps the first is arguable, but it seems unlikely that any decent news editor would think up a phrase such as "beautiful but crying". The second is more clear cut: the way the story is told through dialogue, with Mantle's voice in roman text and everyone else's in italics, is a confusing, maddening festival of self-indulgence.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

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