Not one of us descended those stairs having come to the conclusion that life was a beautiful and precious thing; if anything, we were slightly more miserable on the way down than on the way up, because the only solution we had found for our various predicaments was not available to us, at least for the moment. And there had been a sort of weird nervous excitement up on the roof; for a couple of hours we had been living in a sort of independent state, where street-level laws no longer applied. Even though our problems had driven us up there, it was as if they had somehow, like Daleks, been unable to climb the stairs. And now we had to go back down and face them again.
-A Long Way Down
Four people on a rooftop, contemplating suicide. A a scandal-plagued television presenter, a foul-mouthed teenage girl, a never-was wannabe rock star, and a woman caring for her profoundly disabled adult son. Their problems vary, but they've all arrived at the same conclusion: they need to jump. They need to end their lives.
Hardly sounds like the premise for the most cheerful of novels, does it? The thing of it is, though: they don't jump. They don't leave the rooftop having come to an epiphany, nor do they necessarily feel even a tiny bit happier (as demonstrated in the passage* I excerpted). But they don't jump, and that's a start.
I can't say I was particularly enamored of any of the four main characters (the story alternates between all four parts of view). Jess, the teenager, was the most annoying - which is not to say she wasn't realistic. They all were, even if I found the American J.J.'s slang to be somewhat affected and silly-sounding (an over-reliance on "man" and "dude," which, I'll admit, is not impossible for an American). In general, Hornby portrays four pretty plausibly depressed people. Doesn't mean you necessarily want to spend any more time with them than you're given, though.
While it is about depressed people, I wouldn't call A Long Way Down a depressing book at all. It has its entertaining moments, though I would say it has at least as many when I was just annoyed at Jess. Really bothersome character, that one - one of those who says and does whatever she wants, no matter how it might affect others. It shows a core of self-loathing, no doubt, which makes her intermittently sympathetic, but man**, would she be annoying in real life. It's certainly a realistic-seeming idea of how depression could manifest; I thought Hornby was particularly successful in drawing distinct depressions for each of his characters.
Hornby is a good writer, but I feel this is the least engaging of his books that I've read so far***. I think this is partially based on how I feel about the characters, but also because of the plot, which basically follows their improbable time together. Although I think Hornby does an admirable job of avoiding any quick fixes for the characters, the plot still seems rather awkward (particularly the angel bit, for anyone who's read it). I can't see myself revisiting this one, but it certainly hasn't put me off looking into his other books in the future.
Up next: I've started the first Wallander mystery (my third), Faceless Killers. I was so engrossed in it coming home from work that I missed my subway stop. Whoops! (Excellent sign for how good the book is so far, however.)
*I did pick this passage because of the Daleks, yes. It's just such a great image, using those terrifying little pepper pots to represent someone's problems.
**Yes, I realize I am using "man" in an entry where I speculated that Hornby had overused it when in the speech of his American character. Oh well.
***And I've read quite a few: High Fidelity, About a Boy, Fever Pitch, The Polysyllabic Spree, and his story "NippleJesus." (The Polysyllabic Spree is a month-by-month account of all the books he reads, so, naturally, I loved it.)
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