I felt rather strung up, and was on a bottle of scotch a day, but this had been standard for twenty years.” How rarely do we come across the really frightening ghost story now. Kingsley Amis's The Green Man was a rare and honourable exception, and Amis followed the classic pattern of earlier writers, letting the story progress carefully from a recognisable normality, through unease, to the rapid unfolding of horror that marks out the most successful and scarifying of all horror story writers. That afternoon, having left the scene of the failed orgy, Maurice suddenly finds himself in a strange time warp, as it were, in which all molecular motion outside his drawing room ceases. He finds himself in the presence of a young, suave man who it comes to be understood is God himself. The purpose of the visit is to warn Maurice against Underhill and ask him to aid in Underhill's destruction, but during the conversation, Amis has the young man elaborate an interesting sort of theology, explaining the Creation and God's powers within it. The young man leaves Maurice with a silver crucifix, as a sort of counter-weight to the silver figurine. The discovery of Underhill’s power brings Maurice to a deeper consideration of the question of survival after death and prepares him for a conversation with still another supernatural agent, of quite a different kind from Underhill. Amis personifies God as a character in his own right, in the guise of a young man who expresses puzzlement and a certain degree of helplessness over the events unfolding in the world of his creation. Maurice’s transformation from an alienated man to an unwitting hero who chooses to take on the responsibilities of an absentee God forms the dramatic core of the novel. Neal Ascherson, "Red Souls", London Review of Books, Vol. 2, No. 10, May 1980. Retrieved 20 June 2019.

I read the Green Man while heavily boozing in Berlin, and let me tell you, going drink for drink with the protagonist was a wake up call. Amis gives you an up and down horror/suspense story, set in a pub, obviously, as plotlines in Amis' stories tend not to happen more then ten paces from a drink. As it is an Amis plotline, the main storyline is bulked out by the heavy drinking of the protagonist, and his fumbling engineering of a three-way with his wife and her best friend. So something for everyone.I have no novelists, finding theirs a puny and piffling art, one that, even at its best, can render truthfully no more than a few minor parts of the total world it pretends to take as its field of reference.” So declares Mr. Maurice Allington while scanning the books of his personal library in the study of his rustic country inn, The Green Man. His biographer Zachary Leader called Amis "the finest English comic novelist of the second half of the twentieth century." In 2008, The Times ranked him ninth on a list of the 50 greatest British writers since 1945. [2] He was the father of the novelist Martin Amis. In the drunken, lecherous, God-fearing Maurice Allingham, the drunken, lecherous, God-loathing Kingsley Amis created a character who makes sin and redemption far more real and natural than they appear in the works of most professedly Christian novelists.” In 2008, The Times ranked Amis 13th on its list of the 50 greatest British writers since 1945. [23] [24] Personal life [ edit ] Political views [ edit ] The conversation with God. I do think it's really difficult to right one without it sounding awkward, though.

Michael Barber (Winter 1975). "Kingsley Amis, The Art of Fiction No. 59". The Paris Review. Winter 1975 (64). The last stages of the conversation were lengthened by my guest's habit of pausing frequently in search of some even more roundabout way of expressing himself than the one which had occurred first to him.' I remember a TV show based on this book, which I skipped based on how much the ads for it disturbed my peace of mind. Maybe I should have watched, because the book didn’t bother me a bit! I found Maurice to be completely unreliable as a narrator of his own experience—too alcohol impaired to be trusted—and since no one else shares in his visions/delusions, I was able to control my imaginative faculties and remain calm. As Maurice reflects a one point, “I thought to myself how much more welcome a faculty the imagination would be if we could tell when it was at work and when not.” But mine doesn’t work that way—it is often overactive when I would like it to mind its own business. Maurice has serious issues in his dealing with the other people in his life, his wife Joyce and his daughter Amy, just to name two. Turns out, toward the end of the novel, Maurice faces life-and-death challenges and unflinchingly take on the role of a hero. Such is the power of love. In this way, his relationship with Amy opens up and we have hints his own life will be transformed. To discover the details, you will have to read for yourself. Highly, highly recommended. Otherwise, it's an enjoyable story, but at the same time, it's far from superficial. Obviously, ghosts and death go hand in hand, but here death is treated largely from the existentialist point of view, as is, of course, life. So it makes one think about one's obsessions, fears, and actions, - but not in a way that would be incompatible with a drink :)A violent surfacing of adolescence (which has little in common with Tarkington's earlier, broadly comic, Seventeen) has a compulsive impact. In June 1941, Amis joined the Communist Party of Great Britain. [11] He broke with communism in 1956, in view of Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev's denunciation of Joseph Stalin in his speech " On the Cult of Personality and Its Consequences". [12] In July 1942, he was called up for national service and served in the Royal Corps of Signals. He returned to Oxford in October 1945 to complete his degree. Although he worked hard and earned a first in English in 1947, he had decided by then to give much of his time to writing. I'm a big fan of that style of particular British writing where the authors are hellbent on proper grammar and word usage. It's like a completely different language than the one I muddle about in. Martin Amis wrote in his memoir about heading up to his old man's house every Sunday and have the old bastard reading Martin's newspaper articles and telling how how he used the inferior, vulgar and utterly punishable newspaper meaning of a word, which has slowly taken over to become the word's only meaning (for further elaboration on this, try Martin's Experience: A Memoir or Kingsley's The King's English: A Guide to Modern Usage, where he sits with a dictionary and a drink and tells you in all sorts of ways how your writing wouldn't get you far as a 50's man of letters).