{"id":1600,"date":"2012-02-17T16:12:06","date_gmt":"2012-02-17T15:12:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/blog\/?p=1225"},"modified":"2016-01-23T18:52:01","modified_gmt":"2016-01-23T17:52:01","slug":"socrates-adams-everythings-fine-transmission-print-899-188pp","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=1600","title":{"rendered":"Socrates Adams, Everything\u2019s Fine<\/em> (Transmission Print) \u00a38.99"},"content":{"rendered":"

Charting the travails of a call-centre salesman suffering under a demented boss, Socrates Adams\u2019 enviable debut takes its place in a line of bleak workplace satires that runs from \u2018Bartleby\u2019 through to Christie Malry\u2019s Own Double-Entry<\/em>, something like Douglas Coupland but far more surreal and far, far funnier.<\/p>\n

The novel begins with Ian, the hapless narrator, punished by his boss (a man who \u2018would love to play rugby with the heads of human beings\u2019) for his recent sales figures. The bizarre punishment is being forced to imagine a tube is his baby. He must carry it with him at all times and nurture it. Whenever he fails to do so, his boss, as Argus-eyed as Orwell\u2019s Big Brother, sends him a text, even when he\u2019s in the shower.<\/p>\n

From this weird beginning, Ian\u2019s life spirals downward into a nightmare existence whose humour gets blacker and blacker. His job title changes to Tiny Shit Head. He\u2019s forced to work in a different office, manacled to the desk and given the task of counting numbers on a screen. He gets pulled into a sales scam for \u2018AquaVeg\u2019, a miracle food supplement that tastes of fish. He goes without food to try and save enough money for a trip to the French Alps, but, overcome by desire for the travel agent, lets her book him one to the Italian Alps instead.<\/p>\n

Through all of this, he still has to nurse the tube, which he christens Mildred. But what Ian doesn\u2019t know is that Mildred is a conscious object, with a scornfully superior attitude to human beings. Her narrative starts to intrude on Ian\u2019s as she plans her escape to a life where she can fulfil her function of carrying things from one place to another (But she may not know as much as she thinks she does \u2013 with a diameter of only 2.5 inches, any plumber would tell her that any dreams of transporting excrement are likely to end up blocked).<\/p>\n

The plot and the black comedy are justification enough alone to read it, but it has to be noted that Adams also manages to introduce some pithy observations about the modern world, where, \u2018all human interaction is sales\u2019. For, like all the best black comedy, this bleak book does have a certain human tenderness at its heart, as evinced by the (slightly hurried) ending. It challenges us to consider what our lives have become amidst all this technology and idolatry of business. For example, the scene when Ian discovers his boss suspended by wires in front of numerous TV screens has a nightmarish reality that should make every reader in a multi-TV, multi-computer household shudder. There is also some brilliant riffing on business speak, but this will unfortunately go over the heads of anyone who\u2019s ever done an MBA or believes people really do get excited by blue-sky thinking, etc.<\/p>\n

If I have one gripe about the book, it\u2019s the slightly repetitive style, which consists mainly of short single-clause sentences that often loop around the same idea to the point of exhaustion: \u2018This neighbourhood is not very welcoming. The people around me do not look very welcoming. I do not feel welcome.\u2019 While this style had numerous adepts, and may well be a reflection of Ian\u2019s monotonous existence, I can\u2019t help feeling it soon feels samey, and ignores some of the possibilities of the English sentence. You can pare down and pare down, but after a while the sentences become a deadbeat succession that sacrifices some of the richness of simultaneity. Perhaps Adams realises this too, for the book does have plenty of textual intrusions, ranging from text messages to domestic accounts, sales leaflets to computer screens, but there\u2019s a real sense of relief towards the end of the novel when the comma is allowed in from its exile.<\/p>\n

Overall though, this is a highly enjoyable and assured debut. It is also testament to the powers of dedication and enthusiasm of independent publishers: Transmission Print is a one-man operation publishing one book a year, yet this dust-jacketed paperback is so lovingly produced that it puts most of the offerings of the big publishers to shame. The text is clear, the paper crisp, and the novel a joy to both hold and read \u2013 the perfect tonic next time you pull a sickie from the office.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Charting the travails of a call-centre salesman suffering under a demented boss, Socrates Adams\u2019 enviable debut takes its place in a line of bleak workplace satires that runs from \u2018Bartleby\u2019 through to Christie Malry\u2019s Own Double-Entry, something like Douglas Coupland but far more surreal and far, far funnier. 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