Straight White Male is the portrait of the artist as a drunken mess. The novel’s anti-hero is Kennedy Marr, the youngest ever winner of the Booker Prize, a toxic, talented, charming concoction of many of his literary heroes – those straight white males of the title – a Groucho Club-frequenting Frankenstein monster of Fitzgerald, Yeats and Kingsley Amis with the nuts and bolts of James Joyce, Amis junior, Graham Greene et al.
After several years as a penniless writer supported by his first wife Millie, Kennedy’s debut novel Unthinkable catapults him to literary superstardom. Suddenly, still just 27, he’s the voice of a generation and a hero to TLS readers and undergraduates alike.
But his success and wealth stir up deep-rooted neurosis that no amount of whisky or women can smother. Two divorces, a move to LA and a money spinning career as a screenwriter led him further down a path strewn with discarded Laphroaig bottles, models’ underwear and bloody noses as he tries to run away from death and, in the process, life.
Now with a colossal unpaid tax bill and an equally impervious writer’s block, Kennedy is offered a lifeline when’s he’s awarded the FW Bingham Award worth half a million pounds. The downside to this apparent windfall? He has to leave LA for the Cotswolds and teach creative writing to a bunch of undergrads at Deeping University, the very same institution where his ex-wife Millie teaches. Having gulped from the poisoned chalice of success and wealth, can he settle into academic life in rural England and become a better father, son and brother?
Despite Kennedy’s unrelenting pursuit of pleasure, Straight White Male isn’t an ode to hedonism. There’s no judgement, but we’re not encouraged to admire Kennedy’s wandering eye or mid-Atlantic brawls, although it’s difficult not to sympathise. That you only want him to become a better person for his own sake rather than to fit neatly into society’s moral straightjacket is credit to John Niven for making Kennedy more than a one-note selfish, drunk philanderer. He’s engaging company, a shambolic charmer with a heart as big as his drink problem. He is also, like the novel, funny and clever, two of the most important things in life and literature.
Straight White Male pays obvious debts to the dead white men Kennedy worships as well as their natural living heirs, but I also heard Zadie Smith’s voice in Niven’s pacy dialogue that, like Smith, captures everyday speech with a writer’s flourish. Kennedy’s heightened realism reminded me of many of the characters in Smith’s novels, people we recognise with added padding from those wielding the pen.
Straight White Male is a sharp, intelligent satire that may not quite hit the same literary heights as Kennedy’s (and can we assume, Niven’s?) heroes, but is a richly comic page-turner with brains.
by Suzanne Elliott