It's so interesting coming to this novel having read and admired – but not entirely loving - much of David Mitchell's fiction. His novels encompass a wide range of subject matter and diverse group of characters. Yet there's something so distinct about his writing style which I thought was exemplified in his most recent (uncharacteristically short) novel “Slade House”. Mitchell often builds realistic stories about the lives of individual characters into a larger fantastical narrative that bends time and dips into the ethereal. This new novel celebrates the psychedelic music scene of the late 60s by recounting the formation, rise to fame and short-lived career of Utopia Avenue, a fictional band that combines different folk, jazz and rock musicians to make a unique sound. This environment is fertile ground for a David Mitchell tale as it captures a certain sociopolitical shift by delving into the lives of each band member and explores how their music reflects this era of protest and evolving consciousness. Out of their individual stories of drug use and psychological breakdown emerges a larger tale set on another plane of reality that includes incorporeal battles and spirit possession. This also provides a direct link to Mitchell's past fiction; given that one of the band members is named Jasper de Zoet it's not hard to guess which source a branch of this story grew from. It's certainly not necessary to have read Mitchell's previous books to appreciate this novel but there are specific references which will excite his fans.
I enjoyed this very engaging and readable novel, but a personal issue for me is that I'm not that familiar with this particular period of history and don't have a special interest in this genre of music. Those who feel the nostalgic pull of this era will revel in the story because an extremely pleasurable aspect of this tale is all the cameo appearances from famous personalities of the time. If you've ever fantasised about bumping into David Bowie in random locations, having a heart-to-heart with Brian Jones, moving in Francis Bacon's social circle, drinking “special” cocktails with Janis Joplin or tripping with Jerry Garcia you'll be thrilled by this journey. Some of the encounters are pure coincidence but most naturally arise from the band's growing fame so there are brushing encounters or distant glimpses of Little Richard, Nina Simone, Washboard Sam, Marc Bolan, Allen Ginsberg, Syd Barrett, Jimi Hendrix, John Lenon, Leonard Cohen and Frank Zappa. It's a lot of fun playing spot the celebrity amidst the band's wild tale.
The story moves at a good pace but I feel like Mitchell has written an account of a band from this time period exactly as you'd imagine it to play out. The group's rise to celebrity is both driven and hampered by the members' personal setbacks, sexual liaisons, political battles, warring egos and interpersonal conflicts. So, although I greatly enjoyed the novel, it didn't feel that surprising how their story plays out. There are plenty of delectable moments riding this “backwards flying memory train” but I didn't find much that's especially revelatory in the book. Even when it reaches a point where what's psychologically real melds so teasingly against the supernatural it felt expected rather than astonishing. Mitchell has such an interesting perspective about time so when it reaches the end where band members consider the legacy they've produced it does feel poignant. But I feel like the author has bigger statements to make with his unique artistic point of view.
Part of me wonders if his greatest book is one that no one living today will ever get a chance to read. In 2016 Mitchell wrote a novella titled “From Me Flows What You Call Time” for the Future Library project. This won't be printed until the year 2114 using trees which have just been planted. As Mitchell said of this project, hoping there will still be trees or even readers a century from now is “a vote of confidence in the future.” It's the perfect quirky experiment for this writer so concerned with the subjectivity and elasticity of time to be involved in. Yet it's frustrating for us readers who hope to be more affected by the power of his writing to not get the chance to read it.
