(www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4156/is_20060115/ai_n15999681)
CHILD ABUSE, HEROIN
ADDICTION AND A FAILED MARRIAGE, EDWARD ST AUBYN
Sunday Herald, The, Jan 15, 2006 by Alan Taylor
OF all
the monsters in modern fiction, few are as monstrous as David Melrose. We first
meet him in Never Mind, the overture to Edward St AubynÕs trilogy about the
Melrose family, which has been republished under the title of the third novel
in the sequence, Some Hope. David Melrose belongs to that section of society
which may be described as the Òidle richÓ As Sir Kenneth Clark said of his own
clan, there may have been families richer than the Melroses but there were
surely few who were idler.
After
marrying into wealth, David has abandoned a medical career and opted for a
routine of studied indolence. He treats his alcoholic wife, Eleanor, as if she
were something heÕd just coughed up. His sense of his own superiority is
spectacular and made manifest in the sort of Pavlovian snobbery patented by the
English upper classes. More malevolently, David is a child abuser, repeatedly
raping his own five-yearold son, Patrick. ÒDonÕt ever tell your mother or
anyone else what happened today, Ò he tells him, Òor youÕll be very severely
punished.Ó Not surprisingly, Patrick elects to stay shtoom.
ÒThe core
of the subject matter, acknowledges St Aubyn, Òis cruelty and the consequences
of cruelty and the possibilities of freedom from the consequences of cruelty.
Snobbery is related to that as being the kind of frivolous and comic aspect of
pretending you can discount other people.
ÒItÕs the
most frivolous enactment of cruelty, of treating people as if they didnÕt
matter, which is the essence of snobbery.Ó
St Aubyn
knows what he is talking about because Patrick is modelled on himself. We meet
in a cafe in Holland Park, a swanky part of London where you canÕt buy a bedsit
for less then pounds-1 million. En route to our rendezvous I bought a copy of
the Evening Standard, in which St Aubyn was pictured wearing a penguin suit at
the 1999 Whitbread Book Awards accompanying Jerry Hall, Mick JaggerÕs former
wife. Today, though, he is dressed casually, in black suede shoes, tweedy
trousers and open-necked shirt. He has a high forehead and hair the colour of a
fugitive fox. He is 43 and, given what he has experienced, laughs more than one
might expect. In common with his fictional alter ego, he has a sly Wildean wit.
Though
born in London, he hails from Cornwall, the stomping ground of generations of
St Aubyns, who can be traced back to the Norman Conquest. His father, Roger St
Aubyn, died in 1985. He was, St Aubyn has said, Òunbearable, very violent.Ó
ÒWe
couldnÕt be in the same room together for more than a few minutes without
insulting each other, Ò he says. St Aubyn attended Westminster public school
and was hooked on heroin by the time he left. Nevertheless he was accepted by
Oxford, where he read English.
ÒI got
the worst degree in my year, Ò he says, as if it were the Nobel Prize for
Physics. It is amazing he got any degree at all. He arrived for the exams with
a stash of heroin and an empty ballpoint through which to snort it. He did not,
however, have the foresight to bring a pen to write with.
The
extent of his addiction may be gauged from Bad News, the second novel in the
trilogy. Set in New York, it is Dantean in its depiction of drug hell. It is
also hilariously, scabrously funny. Think of Bret Easton Ellis in cahoots with
Evelyn Waugh and you may have some idea of its tenor. By now David Melrose has
died and Patrick has gone to collect his ashes. The novel is saturated in fear
and loathing towards his father. Carrying whatÕs left of him in a brown paper
bag along Madison Avenue, he realises Òit was the first time he had been alone
with his father for more than 10 minutes without being buggered, hit or
insulted.Ó When one of his fatherÕs friends tells him what an exceptional man
he was, Patrick ambiguously replies: ÒIÕm pleased to say that he was
exceptional. IÕve never met anyone quite like him.Ó You get the feeling heÕd
rather snort his fatherÕs ashes than scatter them.
ÒI
certainly did lots of research for that particular book, Ò says St Aubyn. ÒIf
youÕre familiar with the over-researched book, well, thatÕs one of them. ThatÕs
one of the enjoyable things about writing a novel about something thatÕs been
praying on your mind: when youÕve finished it, it does achieve closure, if you
like.Ó
Tothat
extent, St AubynÕs novels are cathartic, each one throwing off an albatross
clinging to his back. In Some Hope - whose title can read be read as an
expression of optimism or the opposite - Patrick is able to unburden himself of
the abuse that had haunted him and driven him to addiction. No longer does he
puncture his arms with needles or drink himself into oblivion. Eight years have
passed since he retrieved his fatherÕs remains. Yet he is still ÒhypnotisedÓ by
his fatherÕs memory and terrified that he may turn into him.
ÒThe
claim that every man kills the thing he loves seemed to him a wild guess
compared with the near certainty of a man turning into the thing he hates, Ò he
writes, adding: ÒSarcasm, snobbery, cruelty and betrayal seemed less nauseating
than the terrors that brought them into existence.Ó