This is the author’s second novel and third book (following on the collection “Blood and Water and Other Tales” and his debut novel “The Grotesque”). At least for the moment, I am reading his works in the order of publication. I thought that the short stories were very good and fit their lengths well. As noted in my review, I liked “The Grotesque”, but thought that I could have appreciated it more. After more reflection, in addition to the reasons previously cited, I think that it was not suited to the length. Longer or shorter? I’m not sure, but I think going in either direction might have enhanced the book.With “Spider” the story and its length feel entirely natural. Is this because of the tale or the increasing maturity of the author? I do not know, but, for me, the whole thing hung together better; which is an odd thing to write about this novel. Here, we have a man, Dennis Cleg with who we have a firsthand view of his descent into deeper madness. I say deeper because he is not ever sane by any definition of the term.His is the voice that tells us of his past and present. Often interspersed, sometimes intertwined, as in this passage from page 68:Queer thoughts, no? I sighed. I bent down to pull my book out from under the linoleum. Nothing there! I groped. Momentary lurch of horror as I assimilated the possibility of the book’s absence. Theft? Of course – by Mrs. bloody Wilkinson, who else? Then there it was, pushed just a bit deeper than I’d expected; no little relief. My father was stumbling blindly through a fog, barely conscious of his whereabouts, the chaos within him further befuddled with the beer he’d just drunk. Great relief, in fact; what on earth would I do if she got her hands on it? Is the best place for it really under the linoleum? Isn’t there a hole somewhere I can tuck it into? The streetlights were smears of light in the fog, flecks and splinters of weak fractured yellowy radiance that picked up the glitter of wild light in his eyes, the fleeting blur of whiteness of his nose and brow as he charged by. Somewhere I’ve seen a whole, I know I have, but where, where? On he blundered until at last he saw a building aglow, and like a moth to the flame he drew near, and found himself outside the Dog and Beggar. In he went, into the dry warmth of the place, and suddenly there was the smell of beer and tobacco in his nostrils and the murmur of talk in his ears. I just can’t afford to take the chance.In this single paragraph we see the rich, descriptive prose that Mr. McGrath uses to draw us in and involve us in the story. There is little dialog and what there is focuses mostly on recollection of past events. With most characters the conversations are brief and with few words issuing from the mouth of our narrator. Instead we have an exposition of portions of his life: events from his early adolescence, his present-day life, and snatches of his past 20 years in “Canada”.We journey through his world of concrete objects and fanciful imaginings. His is a bizarre universe, filled with thoughts and suspicious that appear to have a tiny basis in fact, but quickly expand and develop into pure fiction. But we don’t know this at first; instead we learn in only as we take this trip through his Byzantine mind. The convolutions of thoughts and the compartments he has created finally make it unmistakable: this is not merely an unreliable narrator; this is a man who is mad and is getting madder by the sentence.“Spider” has references to the East End of London and elsewhere, but it does not have the English “in jokes” that I read but could not appreciate in “The Grotesque”. While both stories contain the disintegration of a man, I appreciated this book much more. Never having been schizophrenic or criminally insane, I can’t say if the internal “discussions” that Spider holds are accurate, but they easily convey how such a mind might think.I did not rush my way through this book. I have too many other demands on my time and I believe that this tale benefits from the savoring of it. Perhaps others have felt compelled to read it in a single sitting. I can understand that kind of compulsion with a good book, but this is one that I think is too dreary for that. And make no mistake; this is a good book, with excellent writing and a twisted, tortured soul for who we become the proverbial fly on the wall. A strong “4” stars.
This was an amazing book -- very well written and made me very uncomfortable -- but impossible to put down.It starts off as the journal of a man who obviously has some psychiatric issues and is living in a halfway house in the East End of London in the 1950s after completing 20 years in a prison psychiatric hospital. Gradually through his journal, you find out about his childhood, his living situation now and his wandering to fill his days back to the old allotments (gardens) and by the canal, both familiar to him from his boyhood, Both seem to spark memories and he is always talking about going to see his old house close by -- but for a long time never does.You get very drawn in to his story and feel sorry for him, then gradually about halfway through the book start to realize that you are in his paranoid psychotic reality -- and he is disintegrating fast. You then begin to speculate about what may have happened and about what will happen, The woman who runs the halfway house starts to turn (in Spider's mind) into the tart, Hilda, whom his father moved in to the house (Or did he? Was this really Spider's distorted view of his mother?)You never get everything explained -- you are left with many speculations and inferences from what is written -- and your own imagination fills in the blanks. A great read -- and thanks, Rich, for loan of the book.
Do You like book Spider (2002)?
A riveting internal tale told by the most unreliable of unreliable narrators. The novel's center, Spider, Dennis Clegg, trapped in his own mind, works through what may or may not have happened to him as a child to land him in an asylum and then a care home. He recounts the passing of his mother and his growing suspicion at, well, everything, as he tries to reason through his schizophrenic hallucinations and perceived persecutions and mounting horror. The narrative is terse and poetic in an austere way and the dreary near-constant rain of London really lays the atmosphere on this furtive and maddening story. It's really a fantastic character story that puts you into the space of a unique if absolutely frayed mind.
—Wells Oliver
!!!!!!GREAT GODDAMIGHTY THIS KICKED ASS!!!!!! This is the fifth book I've read by Patrick McGrath, and the dude has yet to let me down. Spider is another of his unreliable-narrator, Edgar Alan Poe-ish, modern gothic masterpieces, with just the barest fringe of black-as-Satan's-turds humor to keep everything in perspective. This guy is an absolute master at what he does, and he even uses exclamation marks on almost every page, and they all work. Spider, like Dr Haggard's Disease, is told from the point of view of someone crazy, but Spider is way crazier than Dr Haggard, and the way the reader is slowly let in on how crazy he is, and what really happened when he was a kid, is just genius, because the narrator is always certain about what happened, and we know by the end of the book he's totally wrong. Totally awesome, perfect book.
—Clint
This story is told from the mind of a 30-somthign man, Dennis Clegg, recently returned to London, where he has not been for 20 years. Living in a halfway house, he spends his time alone on walks as well as recounting his childhood which led to him being taken away from London. This story is beautifully written. You find out very quickly that Dennis is not all there but you cannot bring yourself to hate this character. The narrator brings you into his web of illusion and you come out feeling just as disturbed and confused as Dennis. This book was made into a film, starring Ralph Fiennes, Miranda Richardson, Gabriel Byrne and Lynn Redgrave. The film is beautifully made but it lacks the punch of the book. It was directed by David Cronenberg and from reading the book, you find some scenes could have been done for they had "Cronenberg" written all over them (yes that guy who directed the weirdness of "Dead Ringers", "Videodrome" and "Naked Lunch".
—Helen
