Study Guide

Kingsley Amis

Kingsley Amis Essay - Amis, Kingsley (Vol. 13)

Amis, Kingsley (Vol. 13)

Introduction

Amis, Kingsley 1922–

A distinguished English novelist, short story writer, poet, editor, and essayist, Amis won critical acclaim in 1954 with the publication of his first novel, Lucky Jim. He is a skillful satirist whose subject, in his own words, is the "relations between people." Amis's interest in science fiction has been sustained throughout his career: he was coeditor of the Spectrum science fiction anthologies and was the author of the first English full-length critical survey of the genre in New Maps of Hell. He has also written under the pseudonym Robert Markham. (See also CLC, Vols. 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, and Contemporary Authors, Vols. 9-12, rev. ed.)

W. Hutchings

Disconcerting his readers has long been a speciality of Amis. Since Lucky Jim (1954) announced a talent for inventively comic writing, he has seldom been content to stay still. Even in that early novel, the memorable and splendid farce of the burnt bed-clothes and drunken lecture has to take its place alongside the developing relationship between Jim Dixon and the neurotic Margaret, where the writing is less assured and more tentative as the material is less scathing and more weighty. A disturbing co-existence of two distinct types of writing is often to be found in an Amis novel. In I Want It Now (1968), for example, satire of the trendy and corrupt world of chat-show television celebrities goes along with celebration of one such man's triumph over the predatory upper-class world. The character of Ronnie Appleyard is not strong enough to support writing which is now appropriately incisive and now rather pretentious.

Amis, however, is a game enough novelist to keep experimenting with ways of confounding the reader who hopes for a single focus. Accidental death and voluntary therapy for the male of the species loosely hold together the characters and theme of The Anti-Death League (1966). Maurice Allington, a whisky addict and ageing, but imaginative, lover, becomes involved in a ghost-story which oscillates between farce and seriousness; between the Reverend Tom Rodney Sonnenschein … and God (The Green Man, 1969). Most recently, a detailed analysis of the way of 'life' of a household of geriatrics is flauntingly and surprisingly ended with the almost simultaneous deaths of all the characters. This is narrated in six paragraphs: the sudden switch from intricate detail to authorial arrogance is extraordinary (Ending Up, 1974).

What, then, are we to make of Amis's insistence on such perversity?… [Jim] Dixon is the first of a line of Amis heroes who stand for common sense rather than anger; for the belief that life is there to be made happy now; for the notion that, as Bradlbury puts it, nice things are nicer than nasty things. Patrick Standish, for example, in Take a Girl Like You (1960) finally achieves his goal of destroying Jenny Bunn's provincial 'Bible-class ideas'. Such destruction, he says, was inevitable, and Jenny can only reply that, even so, it seems rather a pity: nostalgia isn't much of an opponent for easy-going morality. Ronnie Appleyard similarly gets his girl despite the machinations of snobbish and arrogant Mummy (not to mention the efforts of the American police); and they walk off, if not into the sunset, then into a life where they hope to help each other to be not as bad as they would be without each other. Again, the victory goes to common sense and easy-going morality. (pp. 71-2)

It could be claimed that Amis's presentation of a liberal morality within a novel form which alternates the farcical and the serious, refusing to be tied down to a single focus, sets him in one line of English novel-writing. Henry Fielding may serve as an example: Tom Jones, like many of Amis's heroes, finally gets the girl in a triumph of good-heartedness over hypocrisy and meanness. But we are really in a different mode of writing with Amis: what has he to substitute for Fielding's exact relation to past values and literary norms in his use of picaresque and mock-epic? Amis's points of reference are uncompromisingly modern: hence the ghost story of The Green Man or (loosely) the science fiction of The Alteration….

[For Amis] the novel presents ways of making sense of a world both absurd and threatening. Death, which dominates much of his fiction (for example, The Anti-Death League, The Green Man and Ending Up), may be meaningless, but it cannot be viewed dispassionately. If death is horrible and God, should he exist, is either cruel or teasing, life has all the more to be lived for its present values. If we don't want it now, we'll never get it.

This is the nub of Amis's problem as a novelist. To like it now means to be superbly comic about the world's absurdity and to be serious about what makes the world worth living in; conversely, death has to be put in perspective as the end of a life worth living and has to be seen in all its meaningless horror. Hence the novels present a love of farce and satire and a belief in common-sense values; an insistence on life and a hatred of death. This may explain the presence of different kinds of...

(The entire section is 1852 words.)

Karl Miller

The writing in [Jake's Thing] is determined throughout by Jake's manner of speaking, and it has all the virtuosity of Amis at his comic best, though there are those who will be offended by its strain of hostility and contempt. The prose is ultra-conversational, abusive, and yet allusive, too, and elegantly syntactic….

The description of [Jake's neighbor] Geoffrey has a … significance which relates to the underlying tensions of the present book. Here is a backward-looking chap forwardly using oaths which would not have been printed before the Second World War. The oaths used by the recent young, and the spirit of an age whose student activists mail him a plastic phallus, don't appeal to Jake, but the old oaths do. His swearing and womanizing form part of a liberation, in other words, but it has been overtaken by another that he can't abide…. The main question that emerges here, for a consideration of the book, is how far its attack on the new, 1970s permissiveness is also an attack on the freedoms which have made Jake what he is.

Mr Amis fastens reproaches on a character who will not always wear them, being, if you like, too likable, and some are reproaches which the novel tries to discredit. When Jake calls himself a male chauvinist, we might wonder whether this is another of its attacks on the kind of people who use that expression, which is one of the new oaths…. The novel could be read as that of a...

(The entire section is 427 words.)

Paul Levy

[Jake's Thing] is anti the Women's Movement. It's anti-Women's Lib, anti-feminist and anti-female. I can see nothing whatever sinister about being anti all those things, providing one doesn't hide these sentiments by dressing them up in a tatty little plot about what we all know are the lunacies of the sillier disciples of Masters and Johnson. When the scene shifts from Harley Street consulting rooms and the sleazy North London 'workshop' to Comyns College, Oxford … the plot improves slightly, for co-education seems to be a topic better suited to Kingley Amis's barbed pen than is coitus. And the real comic tour de force of the book is the scene where Jake puts on academical dress and raises a glass of sherry in his hand in front of the windows of his college rooms: he is posing for his photograph to be taken by the foreign tourists who have been in hot pursuit of a genuine don. That rings a great deal truer than all that Amisian waffle about 'genital sensate focusing', which sounds anyway like it has come straight from a clinical guide, and would be quite funny enough on its own—funnier than when it's endowed by Amis with indignity.

There is, in Jake's Thing, something that is new though; a gritty, tough and difficult style of writing, that is sustained through the whole book. A refined stream-of-consciousness manner informs the whole of the narrative, and Amis has got it very nearly perfectly right, so that Jake's Army obscenities—the genuine contents of his thoughts—contrast comically with the conventionally polite words he actually utters. Technically very well done—I wish it had been more worth doing. (p. 8)

Paul Levy, in Books and Bookmen (© copyright Paul Levy 1978; reprinted with permission), October, 1978.

Melvyn Bragg

Jake is an Oxford don, approaching 60, which he finds almost impossible to believe and, equally incredibly, out of libido. His "thing" isn't up to it and his other "thing" is to be prepared to find out why. What he is left with is the thing itself which makes him live. The course of [Jake's Thing] follows Jake's quest….

Jake ends up with a view of women such as might have been held by Thor and might nowadays be most commonly expressed by a drunken Celtic supporter whose wife has left him because of his addiction to football. Jake's view of life—particularly of life in London today—is scarcely less despairing. His only real pleasure is in finding his expectations of dirt, decay,...

(The entire section is 600 words.)

Tom Paulin

Traditionally John Bull is a bloody-minded, insular, beer-swilling, xenophobic philistine with a thick neck and a truculent manner. He hates wogs, he hates the young, and he wishes women would disappear as soon as it's over. This choleric figure has been lying low of late, and I'm sorry to report that he has dictated a novel to a battered amanuensis called Kingsley Amis. His novel [Jake's Thing] has half-a-dozen good jokes, a brilliant title, but it is often tedious and sometimes insolently stupid. (p. 52)

As Amis—or John Bull—charts [his] banal hell of rancid grievances and utterly average sensuality he has the cheek to suggest that undergraduates today are a poor lot who are vandalising...

(The entire section is 304 words.)

V. S. Pritchett

As a comic novelist Kingsley Amis still practices the revival of the robust masculine tradition of English farce with its special taste for the sententious that skids into the vernacular and the joke of the flat tire. Not for the dramatic flat, but for the rising paranoia of the slow puncture. He is the connoisseur, even the pedant, of the air going out and things running vulgarly down. One looks at the thing at first with the healthy impulse to give it a kick and then have a drink. The object may have started its life as a gleaming example of contemporary ersatz, but the rapid onset of repairs shows it to be on the way out just as it came in, and a deceiver of hopes. Then a doubt enters the owner's mind: is the flat...

(The entire section is 285 words.)