Magazine article New Statesman (1996)

Double Dragon: Tom McCarthy and Kazuo Ishiguro-Modernist and Minimalist

Magazine article New Statesman (1996)

Double Dragon: Tom McCarthy and Kazuo Ishiguro-Modernist and Minimalist

Article excerpt

The Buried Giant

Kazuo Ishiguro

Faber & Faber, 345pp, 20 [pounds sterling]

Satin Island

Tom McCarthy

Jonathan Cape, 176pp, 16.99 [pounds sterling]


The philosopher Stanley Cavell once wrote that Ludwig Wittgenstein and Martin Heidegger represent polar impulses--reading "nothing" and reading "everything". Heidegger "assumes the march of the great names in the whole history of western philosophy". Wittgenstein, by contrast, might "get around to mentioning half a dozen names", and even then simply to identify some chanced-upon remark, "which seems to get its philosophical importance only from the fact that he finds himself thinking about it". What Cavell failed to explain is how the know-it-all and the naif arrived in the same place: both harbouring a "romantic perception of human doubleness", both taking "the obvious" to be the subject of philosophy, and both believing unlike the sceptical tradition that the fact of one's existence can be known.

We cannot help but wonder why Heidegger bothered. Our favoured image of genius is of something quick, sponge-like, sweatless. T S Eliot argued that: "Shakespeare acquired more essential history from Plutarch than most men could from the whole British Museum." Lex Luthor, thinking along similar lines in the 1978 Superman film, contrasted the people for whom War and Peace is "a simple adventure story" with those who "can read the ingredients on a chewing-gum wrapper and unlock the secrets of the universe". But what about the man who acquires a staggering amount of essential history from the British Museum who can unlock the secrets of the universe from repeated readings of War and Peace?

The English novelist Tom McCarthy prefers a read-everything approach. Heidegger's attitude, by Cavell's definition, is that "philosophy has still not found itself--until at least it has found you". That is pretty much McCarthy's take on literature. Although his canon is transhistorical, his emphases are ahistorical. Coming after futurism and Freud, Heidegger and high modernism, McCarthy feels able to identify themes such as transmission, simulation, encryption and repetition as far back as Aeschylus and Ovid. He has said that technology "reveals us to ourselves as we always in fact were: networked, distributed, laced with code". But he also evokes the process chronologically. Heidegger's work is "like a switchboard into which the Greeks all run, and through which their thought is transferred onwards to the likes of Levinas, Derrida and Virilio"--a line of descent that culminates in McCarthy's own novels, Remainder, Men in Space, C and now Satin Island.

For McCarthy, writing is a continuation of reading--reading's overflow. But reading isn't just fuel. It offers contextual proof that a writer "gets it". To excuse his fondness for the Rabbit books, he points to Updike's education in Paris and his love for Maurice Blanchot, though he must know that Updike went to Harvard and found Blanchot pretentious. Mainstream writers, slaves to "sentimental humanism", are dismissed because they "haven't read Beckett".

McCarthy's revolution is wholly one of content, with form a mere enabler. He likes the image of the Trojan horse; he has said that the historical-realist surface of C allowed him to smuggle in "modernist and avant-garde preoccupations". Satin Island is another Trojan horse, this one not so armoured. As he struggles to compose the Great Report for the Company, U, a corporate anthropologist, delivers a brain-box monologue in which he reflects on oil slicks, airports and buffering of digital data. It might seem odd that McCarthy should adopt such a familiar narrative method but it serves its function very well, providing a more accessible means of exploring circularity and between-ness than something that tries to enact or embody these ideas.

For much of the time, U's numbered riffs and vignettes are a model of crisp, chilly philosophical prose. …

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