Yes, you are right. Money is about ‘Money’. But not the everyday money one needs to go on with the daily business of living. It is ‘The Money’. The sort people go bonkers to attain to overcome their fears. To suppress the ‘thinking monster’ who is ready to rear its head at a moment’s notice, when the guards are low, those fleeting moments when lust or power hang on to relax, freeing the mind from their rein temporarily. But that freedom is ephemeral, for there is no escape from Money. John Self is a rogue. One, who is impatient to make money, more and more money in life to spend in excess. One who remains drunk all day long. Night too. For days at stretch. Indulges in sex. Want to make porn movies. To make more money. You get the picture, right? And what with the abysmal language Amis writes this work in? What can one expect to find? Why should it be rated five stars?Well, why shouldn’t it be? This isn’t a work to be disregarded. The writing may be despicable, the characters detestable, but it unveils the ugliness of a society doomed in the mire of lust and money. To render the effect of Money, when it becomes the only driving force of an individual or a society, how it blinds the senses, influences the mind and compels to stifle the conscience, seems the chief concern of the writer. And what better way to illustrate that other than writing it in an appalling language; making the ugliness still more evident. But the work isn’t only that. It is a struggle; a longing to find a meaning, a restlessness to make sense of the living amidst the chaos, while understanding too well that there is no solution to being born. Despair abounds.Morning came, and I got up ... That doesn't sound particularly interesting or difficult, now does it? I bet you do it all the time. Listen, though — I had a problem here. For instance, I was lying face-down under a hedge or bush or some blighted shrub in a soaked allotment full of nettles, crushed cigarette packs, used condoms and empty beercans. It was quite an appropriate place for me to be born again, which is what it felt like. Obviously it hurts, being born: that's why you scream and weep. John Self is deplorable, but he tries hard to think. But the hard he tries to think, the harder he tries to suppress it; getting drunk and fornicating. Number four is the real intruder. I don't want any of these voices but I especially don't want this one. It is the most recent. It has to do with quitting work and needing to think about things I never used to think about. It has the unwelcome lilt of paranoia, of rage and weepiness made articulate in spasms of vividness; drunk talk played back sober.He suppress it because he doesn’t know what to do with the thinking, how to answer the question when they keep popping. Frank, on the phone, the one who stalks him, seems to be his doppelganger, trying to make John think. Perhaps he is made up by John, so that he can still hear his own voice although trying hard to smother it. Martina too makes him think, although she makes him panicky.The thing about Martina is — the thing about Martina is that I can't find a voice to summon her with. The voices of money, weather and pornography (all that uncontrollable stuff), they just aren't up to the job when it comes to Martina. I think of her and there is speechless upheaval in me — I feel this way when I'm in Zurich, Frankfurt or Paris and the locals can't speak the lingo. My tongue moves in search of patterns and grids that simply are not there. Then I shout ...He tries reading books in order to be able to talk to Martina. Though he isn’t very smart, but he knows he is missing something in life which can be grasped by reading books. The bookish, the contemplative life. Martina, she's even cured my tinnitus. Not a squeak for over three hours. The big thing about reading and all that is—you have to be in a fit state for it. Calm. Not picked on. You have to be able to hear your own thoughts, without interference.But there is no escape from Money, its claws fastening more as one tries to escape. John cannot help it. He cannot hide from Money. And it is his greed, his inability to take control which brings his doom. When he sits there defeated, a part of me can sympathize with him, for the ruin he is faced with, is brought about by a being a part of the society where money is supreme and where ‘thinking’ spirals downwards as debauchery, greed and lust rise to unleash their power.This book is a masterpiece. Highly recommended.
UPDATE: Did I really not give this five stars? What the fuck was I thinking? I rate all other books on Goodreads in terms of as-good-as-MONEY, not-as-good-as-MONEY, and possibly-better-than-MONEY-in-some-ways-but-then-again-not-really.I don't know what book I thought I was going to find out there, that was going to be an entire star better than Martin Amis' MONEY, but I haven't found it yet.(If I ever do encounter such a mindbusting blockbender of a book -- I hear "Twilight" is good -- then I may be forced to come back here and revise Martin Amis' MONEY back down to four measley stars, in order to give that new one five, since it's important that all books in my library someday be shelved linearly from "best" to "worst" so I can prioritize which ones to heat my house with. But that occurrence seems unlikely. For now: five stars. Consider my previous rating "pilot error.")As an aside, tho, if any Goodreads Developers happen to be reading this: they should consider developing and releasing into the wild another star, a discretionary sixth star -- specifically, the power to harness such a star (in extraordinary situations only) for the purpose of reviewing those rare few books that are just thermonuclearly great. But this power should be granted only to certain users: only those users who have demonstrated consistently exceptional dedication, taste, subtlety, restraint and eloquence in their Goodreadsing. Myself, for example. Possibly others, too. But I would be willing to beta test this new star. Here is why:Stars are excellent motivators. They are shiny, pointy, universally recognized as commemorative of achievement. Many Americans were trained at an early age to produce well-written text, or at least the correct answers to multiple-choice questions, in exchange for shiny adhesive decorative gorgeous gold stars. Did I mention shiny? certain individuals (hi!) are inordinately hypnotized by them, especially when wasted after a nice night rocking out, and I would like six of them to play with, please. This new sixth star -- the initial sighting of which, like a tenth planet or a third leg, will send shockwaves of startled awe though the Goodreadsphere, and perhaps mark the dawning of a "new era" in Goodreads "history" -- ought really, I think, to be markedly different, better in every way, than the current barely-adequate "starter quintuplet" of self-similar, mildly drop-shadowed, vaguely Carl's-Juniory stars. The sixth star should be larger, with more bling. It should blink, or rotate, or respond to clicks in a trendy Web 2.0 fashion. Perhaps this new sixth star should be six-pointed, in order to symbolize the number six, as well as maybe Jewishness in some way. For instance: I could use this sixth start to review Joshua Cohen's Witz, if by chance I read that book and it turns out to be significantly better than Martin Amis' MONEY. That would be a great day for several different symbolic systems, if that were to happen -- although perhaps a melancholy one for Martin Amis. (But, BTW, if there are cultural sensitivity issues that might arise from Goodreads handing its first six-pointed star to a gentile (hi!) then I would totally understand, and a seven-pointed star would be totally acceptable instead, assuming it was sufficiently awesome.)
Do You like book Money (2005)?
В първата 1/3 от книгата богат арогантен дебелак от рекламния бизнес снове между Лондон и Ню Йорк, подготвяйки първия си филм и се опитва да задържи една жена до себе си. За разнообразие се пуска и на всяка срещната (почти без успех) и някакъв го тероризира по телефона. Непрекъснато говори за пари, яде по 7+ хамбургера, пърди, бие се, повръща, прави си чекии, оригва се, пие литри алкохол и т.н. Обаче нито може да пие като Буковски, нито да пише като него и затова не знам (въпреки някои интересни находки) има ли смисъл да губя време и нерви за останалите 2/3, в които може би нещо ще се случи - ще започне да снима филма, любимата ще го разори и ще разбере кой го тормози. А може и да не се случи.Ако това е най-добрият му роман (според критиците), нямам желание да се боря с останалите.
—Diana
How about a story where the narrator is an absolute pig who spends most of the novel blind drunk as he careens from blackout to blackout while being a completely self-absorbed and oblivious asshole who survives on a diet of fast food and pornography? He’s also the kind of guy who gets in bar brawls and occasionally smacks women around. Sound like fun?Actually, it is. John Self is a British director of crass TV commercials who is about to make his first movie with an American producer. John ping-pongs between New York and London as he deals with incredibly difficult actors and an increasingly demanding girl friend. Along the way, he also meets a writer named Martin Amis, and he’s hounded by threatening phone calls from someone who claims that John ruined his life. All the while he spends vast amounts of money to support his lifestyle and buy his way out of trouble.Alcoholic John is completely clueless as to what a massive asshat he is and can’t understand anyone not motivated by greed. He’s just smart enough to realize that money is the only thing that allows him to act the way he does and to feel vaguely disgruntled with his life, but he’s so committed to constant instant gratification that he can’t imagine living any other way. He’s Hunter S. Thompson without the intelligence and rage. He’s Charlie Sheen without the tiger blood and a webcast. He’s that drunken fucktard you hope doesn’t sit next to you on the plane, but if he does, you’ll have stories to tell your friends for hours.The reckless adventures that John has frequently end in humiliation for him, although he’s not always smart or sober enough to understand that he should be embarrassed. Amis does a magnificent job of making his points through John’s musings without beating the reader over the head with them. My only complaint is that there were points that seemed to get a bit repetitive with multiple blackouts and humiliations that John suffers.If you can’t stand books with unlikable characters in the lead, then stay away from this. If you’ve got the stomach to hear out a booze soaked moron in order to get a blisteringly funny take on a culture that worships money, then check this book out.
—Kemper
This is a very smart bit of literature, and Martin Amis's prose is a pure delight to read. The narrative is indulgently postmodern and very sophisticated; the entire novel is a giant, dizzying hall of mirrors. I saw crazy funhouse reflections of the narrator in many of the main characters, which gave me a very strange feeling of having seen just one character from a million different angles at the end. Amis's own cameo is clever and another funhouse mirror, and the script being written in the book is not only a funhouse mirror, it's incredibly Freudian to boot, giving you even more mirrors to peer down. Masterfully done. My only beef is that Amis tries a little too hard to get you to appreciate the staggering genius of what he's done - the narrator's name is John Self, for chrissakes. The intertextualities that emerge from the books that John Self dimly reads are far from subtle - Otello, Animal Farm, Freud - and the very last chapter felt anti-climatic, pedantic, and necessary all at once.
—Syzygous Zygote
