Lionel Asbo by Martin Amis
I’m halfway through Lionel Asbo by Martin Amis as an audiobook, which is critical to appreciating the English criminal argot. The action occurs in a fictitious blighted section of London:
In dusty Diston (also known as Diston Town or, more simply, Town), nothing— and no one—was over sixty years old. On an international chart for life expectancy , Diston would appear between Benin and Djibouti (fifty-four for men and fifty-seven for women). And that wasn’t all. On an international chart for fertility rates, Diston would appear between Malawi and Yemen (six children per couple —or per single mother). Thus the age structure in Diston was strangely shaped. But still: Town would not be thinning out.
Des is a 15-year-old being taken care of by his 21-year-old uncle:
[Lionel] was served his first Restraining Directive when he was three. Three years and two days: a national record … Lionel’s first Restraining Directive would have been called a BASBO, or Baby ASBO … ASBO, which (as all the kingdom now knew) stood for Anti-Social Behaviour Order.
During one of his periodic stays in prison, Lionel wins the lottery and becomes a rich celebrity. Des graduates from college and becomes a reporter, which does not endear him to Uncle Lionel:
“See, I’m a man in a predicament. I got this nephew. After his mum sadly died, I raised him meself. As best I could. Not a bad lad, I thought. Here and there he let me down. Loose tongue. Such is youth … Then what’s he do? Turns bent on me. Goes to the university, gets his head full of ideas. Studies uh, Criminology. And now he’s finking for a living …”
Lionel’s new wealth and fame gives him access to a broader class of female partners:
“DILFs, Des. All divorcees. The lot of them! You know how they do it? First they— first they get theyselves hitched to some old banker for ten minutes. Then they independent for life! And oh, they in gorgeous nick, Des. Superb. And I said to her, I said to this DILF, How old are you anyway? And guess what she said.” “What.”“Thirty-seven! Which means she’s probably forty-three! Think. She’s almost Gran’s age— and there’s not a mark on her. Pampered all they lives, they are. Beauty treatments . Massage. Yoga.”
Lionel settles on a celebrity/poetess named Threnody. A journalist comes over to do a profile on the couple:
“‘Pop the top off for us, love,’ murmurs Chris. ‘Threnody’ isn’t slow to oblige. And there are the famous boobs (first unveiled last year)— more like pottery than flesh, and pointing upward. “‘They weren’t cheap,’ says Asbo. ‘She told me what they cost. And that’s f*** all,’ he adds, ‘to what she’s blown on her a***.’
Lionel orders Champagne by the pint but has some trouble with a steamed lobster at a fancy restaurant:
then he went back inside to confront the scarlet fortress of the crustacean. … Bending low over the table, he positioned the jagged limb in the instrument’s clench; then he applied maximum force— and caught a jet of hot butter right in the eye! … The key moment came ten minutes later, when he threw down his weapons and reached for the enemy with his bare hands. “I’m sorry you seemed to have such trouble with your entrée, sir.” “… Well, you know how it is, Cuthbert. You win some, you lose some.” “Do take the napkin, sir. Take a clean one. Here … That looks really quite nasty. Might need a stitch or two.” … He swung himself down the steps and out into the alley, his tie half off, his jacket, shirt, and waistcoat colourfully impasted with butter and blood. He felt very hungry.
Amis is a great writer but I don’t think this book works as well on the page as it does being read by someone who can do the correct accents.
[I’m also in the middle of a book in print form: The Redistribution Recession: How Labor Market Distortions Contracted the Economy (seeing if the depth and persistence of the 2008-? recession can be explained simply by the fact that we chose to pay people not to work).]