At Swim

According to the Guardian today Flann O'Brien's surreal novel The Third Policeman has become a best-seller in America after it appeared briefly on screen in the TV show Lost. It seems fans of the show are desperate for clues as to what the hell it's all about. I'm glad I didn't get into it - I just wasn't impressed by the ten minutes I saw: the bits of the crashed plane all landing together on the beach rather than being scattered; the engine still running; the survivors walking around in their only-slightly ripped clothes; the all-American hero doctor rushing around saving lives left, right and centre...I laughed, threw things at the screen and switched over. If I wanted to be baffled by a great TV show I would buy The Prisoner DVD box set. (Or I would if I could afford it.)

But back to the book - apparently one of the publishers who rejected it said this: "We realise the author's ability but think that he should become less fantastic; in this new novel he is more so."

How's that for a rejection slip? Being told your novel is too fantastic!

Anyway, I did get round to reading The Third Policeman back in May 2004, and although I struggled to get my head round it - who wouldn't? - it was certainly memorable. (If it does represent a clue to unravelling Lost I can only think that the show's producer has been bashed on the head while trying to murder television and the whole shebang will end the way it started. Maybe it's just his revenge on society after he never got the bicycle he wanted for Christmas when he was seven.) However, it's Flann O'Brien's second best known novel At Swim Two Birds that I haven't got round to reading yet, and the plan was to read that before I tackled this:

At Swim Two Boys

by Jamie O'Neill

It was because of my interest in this book that I first heard of Flann O'Brien, what with the title of O'Neill's book being un homage to O'Brien, so I thought I ought to read At Swim Two Birds first, but I haven't...yet. One thing leads to another, and sometimes not-doing one thing leads to not-doing another. Kierkegaard would have understood.