arirang's review
4.0
Has anyone ever escaped and realised they wanted to go back? To be close in the mud, at least, to the person they can't be with.
Poet Chris McCabe’s first novel Dedalus – a tribute sequel to Joyce’s Ulysses, telling the events of the next day – was deservedly shortlisted for the 2019 Republic of Consciousness Prize (my review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2673417442). In addition to the writing, one distinctive feature was the beautiful physical production by Henningham Family Press, in their words:
Mud is a modern-day version of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, their roles played by Borak Smith, from Hackney, a failed wizard, and Karissa Trussle, aged 31 from Hampstead Heath.
As it opens they are seeking closure on their relationship:
- The only way for us to finish - with each other I mean - is to go into the mud.
Karissa looked at Borak: his wizard's hat slumped sideways on his head.
- Into the fucking mud?
- Into all twenty four kinds.
- There are twenty-four kinds of mud?
- That's not including rainpool, which aren't really mud, but yes.
- Twenty-four kinds of mud?
- Thin mud, slimy mud, black mud, branched mud, crumbling mud ( crumbled with worms, mould – whatever), soupy mud, boggy mad, dead mud, private mud (which can include all of the above kinds of mud), public (as with private) fun mud, grave mud, frozen med, fertile mud...
- That's only fifteen kinds.
- There are others too...
- And how will us going into the mud help us finish with each other? When the counselling failed and trying to hate each other for a bit was pointless?
- Somewhere in the mud – in a field in Berkshire or a park in Bethnal – there’s a cube of air. We have to find the air and let is out.
- We?
The other 9 kinds of mud are, I believe, mood, mind, mound, resolute, apocalypse, slippery, ashen, midnight, petrified and, my personal favourite, rich. Although that is taken from the publisher’s website. Something I have realised from other books I have read this year (e.g. see https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2696062099), is that, as a statistician I have a mathematician’s sensibilities not a poet’s. If a novel says it has twenty-four types of mud then I plan to read carefully and tick them off as I read: this isn’t that type of book.
Borak and Karissa proceed to journey, including one extensive trip underground, through various types of mud, tracked by a crew making a film of the experience, with an enthusiastic director and a rather more cynical crew:
Dragging us out here to film a Roy Wood tribute act and his unsteady broad in this empire of shit
Meanwhile above ground, Karissa’s friend Brissa, becomes increasingly anxious for her friend, but also forms a relationship of her own.
The accompanying art, in particular the mud prints, produced by Henningham Press in conjunction with the author, is a key part of the overall experience. See here for how it was produced: https://www.henninghamfamilypress.co.uk/deluxe-books-2/mud/
The deluxe editions are particularly spectacular - my edition of the novel is pictured below. note the 3D relief on the front cover, but the paperback copies also feature reproductions of 8 of the prints:
Mine also came with an original print of one of the mud types of my choice – rich mud. Rich mud is from the genus 'mound mud', and (per Henningham):
Overall, in narrow literary terms not quite as striking as Dedalus, but as an overall artistic accomplishment, recommended - 4 stars and one to watch for the 2020 RoC Prize.
Poet Chris McCabe’s first novel Dedalus – a tribute sequel to Joyce’s Ulysses, telling the events of the next day – was deservedly shortlisted for the 2019 Republic of Consciousness Prize (my review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2673417442). In addition to the writing, one distinctive feature was the beautiful physical production by Henningham Family Press, in their words:
the collaborative art and writing of David and Ping Henningham. We are both Artists and Authors, and we are curious about every aspect of writing, printing and publishing. We complete and represent our writing through fine art printmaking, bookbinding and performance.Mud is McCabe’s 2nd novel and raises the artistic element of printmaking and bookbinding to an even higher level.
Mud is a modern-day version of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, their roles played by Borak Smith, from Hackney, a failed wizard, and Karissa Trussle, aged 31 from Hampstead Heath.
As it opens they are seeking closure on their relationship:
- The only way for us to finish - with each other I mean - is to go into the mud.
Karissa looked at Borak: his wizard's hat slumped sideways on his head.
- Into the fucking mud?
- Into all twenty four kinds.
- There are twenty-four kinds of mud?
- That's not including rainpool, which aren't really mud, but yes.
- Twenty-four kinds of mud?
- Thin mud, slimy mud, black mud, branched mud, crumbling mud ( crumbled with worms, mould – whatever), soupy mud, boggy mad, dead mud, private mud (which can include all of the above kinds of mud), public (as with private) fun mud, grave mud, frozen med, fertile mud...
- That's only fifteen kinds.
- There are others too...
- And how will us going into the mud help us finish with each other? When the counselling failed and trying to hate each other for a bit was pointless?
- Somewhere in the mud – in a field in Berkshire or a park in Bethnal – there’s a cube of air. We have to find the air and let is out.
- We?
The other 9 kinds of mud are, I believe, mood, mind, mound, resolute, apocalypse, slippery, ashen, midnight, petrified and, my personal favourite, rich. Although that is taken from the publisher’s website. Something I have realised from other books I have read this year (e.g. see https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2696062099), is that, as a statistician I have a mathematician’s sensibilities not a poet’s. If a novel says it has twenty-four types of mud then I plan to read carefully and tick them off as I read: this isn’t that type of book.
Borak and Karissa proceed to journey, including one extensive trip underground, through various types of mud, tracked by a crew making a film of the experience, with an enthusiastic director and a rather more cynical crew:
Dragging us out here to film a Roy Wood tribute act and his unsteady broad in this empire of shit
Meanwhile above ground, Karissa’s friend Brissa, becomes increasingly anxious for her friend, but also forms a relationship of her own.
The accompanying art, in particular the mud prints, produced by Henningham Press in conjunction with the author, is a key part of the overall experience. See here for how it was produced: https://www.henninghamfamilypress.co.uk/deluxe-books-2/mud/
The deluxe editions are particularly spectacular - my edition of the novel is pictured below. note the 3D relief on the front cover, but the paperback copies also feature reproductions of 8 of the prints:
Mine also came with an original print of one of the mud types of my choice – rich mud. Rich mud is from the genus 'mound mud', and (per Henningham):
Mud Mound began as a concrete poem by Chris, so we built the rest of the genus on the phonics: ‘ou’ and ‘nd’ creating two lesser muds: Rich Mud and Dead Mud. There is a lot of found text littering Chris’ novel. This genus was an opportunity to use newsprint and other discarded print. Rich Mud (ou) is painted with a Cu/Zn suspension on Japanese paper. The frame is printed with wet mound mud.
Overall, in narrow literary terms not quite as striking as Dedalus, but as an overall artistic accomplishment, recommended - 4 stars and one to watch for the 2020 RoC Prize.
jackielaw's review
3.0
Mud, by Chris McCabe, is billed as a re-imagining of the Ancient Greek myth of Orpheus & Eurydice, set in contemporary London. Its protagonists are Borak, a failed wizard, and his girlfriend Karissa. When the tale opens they are breaking up having tried living together. To mark their separation Borak asks Karissa to go down with him into the mud, of which he tells her there are twenty-four kinds. They must seek a cube of air and let it out, then they may leave each other forever.
Obviously this is a weird request. To add to the strangeness, Borak wishes to make a film of their journey and has funding for the small crew needed. Karissa agrees to take part and tells her friend Brisa, who may have been more concerned had she not been worrying about a potential date. Watching Borak and Karissa’s love fall apart has made Brisa feel lonely.
The team set out to find the different types of mud. They film on Hampstead Heath and in Wales. They follow tracks that sink into the earth with mud rising to either side. Eventually they go underground and disappear within caves and tunnels that exist beneath tree roots and collapsing graves.
Brisa grows worried about her missing friend. She starts digging for clues, seeking her whereabouts, following voices she hears. She is pleased when her new boyfriend offers to help.
The story plays out in various forms: dialogue, emails, cutouts, and narrative sections. There are descriptions of mud in its various guises. There are strange similes.
“Leaves blew back down the heath like live-fried fish.”
“Brisa’s mind filled up on anxiety like a cat carrier thrown out to sea.”
Recurring items and characters appear in disparate scenes. The Postlude (The Head of Orpheus, Still Singing) is a quick fire rap type dialogue filled with pop culture references.
This playing around with sense and composition can be disorientating to read. The language and flow are not difficult and the story remains somehow compelling but the threads wander at will in directions it can be a challenge to comprehend. For example, a mole appears dressed in a suit and acts as compère for one of Borak’s magic tricks. I remain unclear how this should be interpreted.
As long time followers will know, I enjoy reading literature that pushes boundaries. Mud feels playful and is undoubtedly witty but I wonder if it is perhaps a tad esoteric.
Obviously this is a weird request. To add to the strangeness, Borak wishes to make a film of their journey and has funding for the small crew needed. Karissa agrees to take part and tells her friend Brisa, who may have been more concerned had she not been worrying about a potential date. Watching Borak and Karissa’s love fall apart has made Brisa feel lonely.
The team set out to find the different types of mud. They film on Hampstead Heath and in Wales. They follow tracks that sink into the earth with mud rising to either side. Eventually they go underground and disappear within caves and tunnels that exist beneath tree roots and collapsing graves.
Brisa grows worried about her missing friend. She starts digging for clues, seeking her whereabouts, following voices she hears. She is pleased when her new boyfriend offers to help.
The story plays out in various forms: dialogue, emails, cutouts, and narrative sections. There are descriptions of mud in its various guises. There are strange similes.
“Leaves blew back down the heath like live-fried fish.”
“Brisa’s mind filled up on anxiety like a cat carrier thrown out to sea.”
Recurring items and characters appear in disparate scenes. The Postlude (The Head of Orpheus, Still Singing) is a quick fire rap type dialogue filled with pop culture references.
This playing around with sense and composition can be disorientating to read. The language and flow are not difficult and the story remains somehow compelling but the threads wander at will in directions it can be a challenge to comprehend. For example, a mole appears dressed in a suit and acts as compère for one of Borak’s magic tricks. I remain unclear how this should be interpreted.
As long time followers will know, I enjoy reading literature that pushes boundaries. Mud feels playful and is undoubtedly witty but I wonder if it is perhaps a tad esoteric.
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