The proposer began by referring to two members of the group not present who had sent messages implying that they had found this book boring, perhaps not persevering to the conclusion. On the other hand, it had reached the shortlist for this year’s Man Booker Prize, and received glowing reviews in the press. In fact, the proposer had found the book while browsing a list of recommended new novels for 2016 several months previously. Rather than a set of short stories about different characters, he saw the book development as that of ‘Everyman’, a continuous development of a single and often chastening life experience.
The others who were present had not found the book boring, although one reader expressed the view that it was more like a collection of short stories, and he would have preferred more unified plot development in a novel. Others liked the way that the book’s structure was more thematic than plot-driven. The proposer revealed that in an interview published in The Guardian, Szalay had revealed that the book began as a single short story, and he later had the idea of expanding it to be about disparate men at different stages of their lives in different parts of Europe. One member of the group remarked that having started with expectations of a more conventional novel, he adjusted quickly to what he saw as more a series of portraits than stories. He felt the social situations of the characters were well delineated, and the drifting nature of the narratives reminded him of Murakami’s writing. All the men (there are nine principal protagonists in the book, and one re-appears in the last story) were ‘outsiders’, not well-adjusted to society or relationships. In this respect he was reminded of other European novels such as Camus’ ‘L’Etranger’ and Barbusse’s ‘Hell’.
Some of us were quickly drawn into the book because the first story resonated so strongly with our own experiences of inter-railing as young men. It was noted that Simon, the protagonist of this first section, was referred to as the grandson of Tony in the final part of the book. However, this seemed only a perfunctory gesture towards the conventional unity of a novel’s narrative. (Another is Murray’s glimpse of what might well be the character Aleksandr’s yacht). We did see many links between the characters however – for example the proposer suggested that Aleksandr, with his business empire, could be James twenty years on. Also most of the men were failures – even the ‘successful’ ones – and the book was strongly tinged with melancholy overall. As a general observation, we felt that the characters illustrated a predominantly male inclination to focus on ‘things’ (status, career, money, sex) rather than relationships, and so they suffered the consequences.
Some of the characters had redeeming features – for example Balazs begins to interact sympathetically with the prostitute Emma rather than simply lusting for her, and in general one felt sympathy for the characters’ troubles. An exception was the tabloid journalist Kristian. It was pointed out that he has no moment of revelation or change or failure to deal with. He doesn’t come unstuck, unlike the other characters, and instead it is his victim, the government minister, who engages our sympathies. There was some parallel here with Karel’s story. We feel sorry for his girlfriend, rather than for Karel. James, too, is one character who exhibits a faint inkling of what he is missing in not paying attention to his son at the end of his story. Karel is another who may – it’s not clear – emerge from his selfish bubble. Others – like Kristian or Aleksandr – seem irredeemable.
The women in the novel were minor characters, but cleverly delineated in such a way that the reader could understand and sympathise with them, even though the male characters with whom they interact generally could not. This was best demonstrated in Karel’s story, in his brutish response to his girlfriend’s revelation.
It was also interestingly evident in the exchange between James and Paulette in Part Six:
James: “Love,” he says, “It messes everything up, doesn’t it?”
Paulette: “Isn’t love the whole point?”
James: “The whole point of what?”
Paulette: “Of life.”
Many of these men have weak emotional bonds, and this is what is tragic. Their failure to seek or cherish love means that there is no glue to bind them to society. One reader pointed out that humans are stronger and better together – that this is even a biological imperative, an aid to survival.
“Carpe Diem” was also a key theme. It’s introduced in the first story, when Simon is reading Henry James. (“Live all you can: it’s a mistake not to.”) Throughout the book characters have flashes of intense experience of the present moment. Even Murray, the most abject of all the losers in the novel, has a moment of euphoria looking at the light on the sea near the end of his story. The last story, seeing life from the perspective of a man in his seventies experiencing health problems, ties up the threads of this theme. Tony can now see how short life is, and how essential it is to live in the moment.
We enjoyed the moments of humour in what is predominantly a somewhat depressing book. Bernard’s sexual encounters in Cyprus, and Murray’s visit to the fortune-teller were particularly funny – although not without pathos. We also discussed the theme of responsibility – it was pointed out that the earlier characters have no responsibilities, but then things start to pile up on the later characters.
To conclude: ‘All That Man Is’ is not – in spite of its title – all that man is, unless you have a very cynical view. The absence of love is the common trait of these particular men; they are more focused on their activity in life than on relationships and they suffer accordingly.