If you only read one book in your life....I strongly recommend you keep your mouth shut.
Ok ok, stolen Simon Munnery jokes aside, let's say rather, if you only read one book in the near future, I strongly recommend you make it this one:
I loved this novel. For me it felt like a true return to form for Will Self. After being slightly underawed by
Dr Mukti & Other Tales of Woe, and then becoming slightly lost in the middle of the rather overambitious
Book of Dave (although DO persevere with this for the fantastic ending, where it will suddenly all make sense with a big jolt to the senses), The Butt is well-written, well-developed, and doesn't drop the pace. Yes, it is peppered with Self's usual vast range of pretentious vocabulary and absurd metaphor, but to me that is all part of the charm. I love writers who can mess with the English language like he does, and really make you think about every word you are reading.
However, I must add one qualification to this recommendation: I strongly recommend you do NOT read this book whilst endeavouring to discover Australia for the first time.
Billed by the author himself as an allegory of the invasion of Iraq (or rather, of the US/UK liberals' reaction to the invasion of Iraq), the novel tells the story of American abroad Tom Brodzinski. Whilst holidaying with his dissociated family at a bland, sanitised resort in a vast, apparently troubled continent, he resolves to become a better man by giving up smoking. After enjoying his ceremonial Last Ever Cigarette, he flicks the butt absent-mindedly over the edge of the balcony, where it lands on elderly fellow American Reginald Lincoln, who is hospitalised as a result of the burn. Unfortunately for Tom, as a result of his marriage to the young, nubile Atalaya, Lincoln is a member of a mystical desert tribe, who don't believe in accidents. Since the customs of the tribe are incorporated into the country's national civil law, Tom must make reparations for his 'crime' by delivering goods to their base, deep in the desert. Thus Tom begins the lengthy road trip that forms much of the narrative, along with unbearable companion Brian Prentice, who also must make reparations to the same tribe. Although the law prevents each man from knowing the details of the other's crime, the goods to be delivered reflect its nature. Tom becomes therefore convinced he is sharing the journey with a convicted paedophile.
The land in which the story takes place and through which the pair travel is fictional, and many of Tom's experiences there are grotesque distortions of reality (my favourite section has to be the chapters with the pet-food shooters!). However, it is clear from numerous hints in the text that Self has Australia in mind as a starting point for this absurd terrain.
There is the use of the term "mob" to describe the indigenous tribes - "mob" also being the term used to describe a group of Australian Aborigines. There is the clear tension between the indigenous tribes and the white people - and open racism on the part of many of the white people Tom meets. There is the geography of the land: the big, cosmopolitan city of Vance, an oasis of commodity and air conditioning (although with a cockroach problem), set apart from the miles of desert, nothingness, and small settlements that seem to make up the rest of the island continent. And most amusingly, there is Tom's recurring irritation at the natives' habit of lifting the end of every sentence into a question?
What you get from the novel is some sort of cross between Iraq and Australia; a twisted, exaggerated Australia gone wrong, but a depiction which you cannot help but feel is at least partly based in some kind of fact (albeit a subjective take on the facts). Spending my first days in a new continent, accompanied on the one hand by conventional guide books, but on the other hand by the influence of this novel, led to an odd, rather disconcerting first impression!
