Word: burgesses
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This dual publication appears to be as reckless as it is immodest. In 99 Novels: The Best in English Since 1939, Britain's Anthony Burgess sets up a personal pantheon of later 20th century fiction; then, in Enderby's Dark Lady, or No End to Enderby, he offers the latest sample of his own handiwork in that line...
...disagree violently with some of my choices," writes Burgess in his introduction to 99 Novels, "I shall be pleased." Of course. Why put together such a list unless it is idiosyncratic and provocative? His selections, each defended in a brisk essay of a page or so, include such eyebrow raisers as Erica Jong's How to Save Your Own Life and Ian Fleming's Goldfinger. "It is unwise to disparage the well-made popular," he warns...
...democratic Burgess incorporates most of the canonized major figures (Joyce, Faulkner, Nabokov, Hemingway), but he is in his gadfly glory when he argues for the underrated. At times he pays tribute to a neglected master like Joyce Gary, of whose The Horse's Mouth he writes: "Depicting low life, it blazes with an image of the highest life of all-that of the creative imagination." At other times he elevates a merely unfashionable craftsman like Budd Schulberg, for whose The Disenchanted he makes the dubious claim: "No fiction has ever done better at presenting the inner torments...
...Burgess's most personal predilections come into play not only with the lopsided Englishness of his choices but with his embrace of verbally experimental books (Mervyn Peake's Titus Groan, John Earth's Giles Goat-Boy) and of sci-fi or futuristic visions (Kingsley Amis' The Anti-Death League, Aldous Huxley's Ape and Essence). His list is as striking for what it leaves out as for what it includes. Every reader will have his favorite omissions-after all, that is half the fun of literary parlor games like this-but just to name five...
...further omission is anything by Anthony Burgess, though the author coyly hints that one of his 27 novels might round off the list nicely. If so, Dark Lady is not the one. The book is too casual and sketchy, with a string of improbable, scurrilously farcical episodes serving for a plot. It measures up to only one of the criteria that Burgess applies in 99 Novels: the novelists' capacity to create "human beings whom we accept as living creatures...