Review: The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman - Angela Carter

Angela Carter

First off, I'll answer the question, 'Andy, why did you read it?'

I had to. Firstly to see what it contained because I didn't want to be be plagiarising ideas. I have a notion for a novel and wanted to be sure that my take on a theme wasn't derivative. I think not. And secondly to see if Angela Carter is as good as I remember (I read this work before, a long time ago). She is.

So, what's it all about? It reminds me of the start to the film The Grand Budapest Hotel. I think it's the tone and utter absurdity. It also draws you in.

Old Desiderio recounts how he saved his city from the - yes, you guessed it - the infernal desire machines of Doctor Hoffman. We're told a few details about Desiderio's life prior to the meat of the events which form the book, and a little after, but the prose is most certainly a narrative. As the reader, we forget that we're reading autobiography and become immersed in young Desiderio's lived experience. The other principal character is Albertina, Hoffman's daughter and Desiderio's love interest. It's not a spoiler that the protagonist reveals it is he who killed her.

So what's to enjoy about this tale? Well, it's a magnificent banquet of strange goings on, characters, events, intrigue and rococo imaginings. From the outset, after the introduction, we join Desiderio as he embarks on his mission to thwart Doctor Hoffman. I don't want to reveal too much about individual segments, as it would spoil your experience, should you choose to immerse yourself within its pages. Angela Carter relishes conjuring up Peoples, their social structures and daily life - she provides a stunningly crafted ethnography of each tribe which Desiderio encounters. It is this shaping of new and self-consistent social conventions that one knows Carter is focussed upon, rather than conventional story structures and tropes. There is jealousy, there are betrayals, there are alliances and there are dangers, but they play second fiddle to the author's relentless and imaginative evocations of alternative lifestyles.

The sentences are a joy to read and flow effortlessly off the page. What a cruel world to rob us of such a talent at the tender age of fifty-one. The style is contrived and so brings to mind the melodramatic tendencies of Charlotte Bronte - indeed, I've read that a synopsis was written by Carter for a sequel to Jayne Eyre.

I'm sure there are countless theses on Carter's works and many on this novel alone, for the author was a feminist, intellectual and free-thinker. Consequently I won't delve into the academic impact she's had on literature. It's sufficient I think to point her out as a towering writing landmark.

Oh, go on! Just a few things. The bawdiness comes across as very genuine, and as with all the rest of the book, it's exquisitely written. She's very unrestrained and unashamed to call a spade a spade and a thing a big, hard thing - if you get what I mean? And it suited her purpose to use a male protagonist so she could wax lyrical with the sexual desire elements more freely than perhaps she could with that of a female. The nonsensical, or seemingly nonsensical philosophical underpinnings of Hoffman's assault on reason, rationality and reality read as more cogent and plausible deconstructionist postmodernism than Derrida himself. Not only is Carter more comprehensible, she is wittier and more intellectually versatile. I don't know if she saw the bullshit coming at us all in the side mirror and was pastiching it, or she was offering up her version, or - most likely - playing in the sandpit of ideas and seeing what she could come up with for her creation which was fun and engaging. Whatever. She turns out ludicrous screeds to rival 'Transgressing the Boundaries: Towards a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity'. Bravo.

She evokes within the reader's mind settings of indelible charm and variety. It's a disappointment to come back from her vivid lands into the real world via the printed page. As with my theses conjecture, I imagine there have been numerous attempts to reify her visions in paint on canvas. There have been two films made of her works - The Magic Toyshop and A Company Of Wolves.

As with all strengths, there are. of course, weaknesses.

Although the story is a sumptuous, rollicking read, the main characters of Desiderio and Albertina come across as polished fictions. Mere vassals to Carter's whims. Desiderio goggles at what he needs to goggle at, explains what he needs to explain and performs his perfunctory function as raconteur with efficiency. One can imagine, our author towards the end of her writing session looking at her watch and shrieking, "Shit! Is THAT the time? I need to get this story wrapped up." To say the denouement is brief is to massively understate the truth. Albertina - the love of his life - is dispatched conveniently, and Hoffman, the supposed genius behind the whole mayhem, comes across as a quickly drawn caricature. A previous character was much more engaging and repellent.

Who should read it?

Anyone who likes a vivid adventure story. serious students of feminist literature, those who want to be mildly titillated by intellectual dabbling into pornography, and those who want to see a writer generate worlds of unbelievable presence with arguably some of the most sublime language the English tongue has to offer.

Stars? I see plenty.

Guardian article by her biographer