In a publishing age where the "universal voice", that transatlantic pseudo-English, is the one most likely to gain traction with people who don't read books (which we all know is the only way to be successful), and where a novel written in accented English - or God forbid dialect - is frowned upon as not only a financially risky proposition, but also immediately tarred with the brush of "chav lit", Charlie Williams is the kind of author we desperately need. There are only a few authors as wilfully parochial as Williams - Niall Griffiths, perhaps, or Irvine Welsh before he fucked off to Miami - and even fewer who make that parochialism an asset. On top of all this, Williams is one of those rare comic novelists who manages to be funny. And I'm not talking about that "smile because I recognise the humour in this situation" kind of funny - I'm talking about the "I just spat on someone because I wasn't expecting to laugh" funny. That's difficult to do unless your readership is the kind of person who thinks Lee Nelson is side-splitting*.
One Dead Hen, the fourth book featuring former doorman, quasi-mercenary and asylum resident Royston Blake has been a while coming, thanks to Williams' former publisher losing either their faith, their taste or their bottle. Weirdly enough, it was picked up by Amazon Encore, the dangerous new publisher on the block, who have also reissued the trio of Blake's previous adventures. The publication of the Mangel books absolutely fits Amazon's remit of re-introducing "exceptional yet overlooked" work to new readers, but it's a real shame that they weren't hugely popular on their first go-round, because they were all gems and One Dead Hen is just as good.
Just as the book was a while in the wilderness, so was its anti-hero. Royston Blake, former pillar of the Mangel community, has spent his time living in the basement of his house, glued to the telly (the news in particular), beamed direct to his "professional" yet extremely pink satellite dish. But a man can't spend his life bearded-up and locked away, especially when there's a maniac roaming the town with an axe to grind against Mangel's ladyfolk. And so Blakey, with help from city cop DI Dave Borstal, sets out to bring the killer to justice. And he may well become one of them wossname maverick coppers into the bargain.
If One Dead Hen is your introduction, then you'll need to know a couple of things. Firstly, you're probably not going to understand either some of Blakeys "thought trains" or his dialect, but you'll understand enough to get a good idea of what's going on. Secondly, what's going on isn't what's going on - when you read Williams' books (including his fantastic satire on talent, Stairway to Hell), you're reading the first-person narrative of a character who is spectacularly deluded. As a result, you'll find yourself reading two books in one - what Blakey believes is taking place, and what is actually taking place. If all that sounds complicated, it really isn't. Williams' writing may be more complex than meets the eye, but it's by no means complicated, thanks to his obvious and abiding love of language.
To give you an idea, whenever I have a galley I want to review, I'll dog-ear the pages if there's something I like - with One Dead Hen, I might as well have folded the whole book over. Whether it's throwaway lines in a pub review - "Mangel's pubs are renowned throughout the whole of Mangel" - or a police statement to the press - "In front of all these reporters and wossnames here, I do declare that I'm treating this case as the most important thing in the world, at this time" - there is an overwhelming sense of Williams enjoying himself with the comic potential of the aggressively incoherent. Blakey is constantly using the wrong words for things, mangling idioms, misunderstanding what people are saying to him and refusing to believe he's in any way at fault. In lesser hands this would be immensely irritating, the equivalent of the sitcom character who's hard of hearing, but Williams has the ability to keep the plot cracking along and, as dark as it may appear, his comedy is never spiteful. For all Blakey's faults (and there are enough of them, being the unreconstructed man that he is), there is an obvious affection for him, not least because Blakey is obviously a frightened kid in a large, violent man's body. His impulse control might be all over the shop, but so are his emotions, and when the world catches up with him, it's often quite touching. For example, when Blakey comes home to find his basement trashed by the police, he finds himself at a "turning point, if you likes":
The one road led to a barmy place. You could see it were red up there and there were a lot of aggro going off. I could see meself raging at coppers for what they'd done to me house and meself locked up again, doctors looking at me swede and cutting it open again.
The other road led to a blue place. It were quiet that way, but for the sound of someone sobbing. And it were me, I soon worked out. I were sitting on me arse, feeling the weight of the world coming down around me lugholes, and I couldn't fucking cope with it. There were a big hole in the ground just next to us and I were looking down it, watching the tears fall and plop into the cold water down below. I were thinking about letting meself drop down there as well.
Later on, just as in the previous books, he finds himself talking to the ghost of his dead mother, and apologising for not turning out as good as she would've wanted. And while this might not hit the heart as much as his struggle with fatherhood in King of the Road, it still lends a certain emotional gravitas to a character who, without it, has all the potential to be a Viz character. At his core, Royston Blake represents every ugly little Briton with a chip on their shoulder and no way to express himself, but Williams is careful not to dismiss his viewpoint. Because no matter how profane Blakey is, he still deserves to be heard. And so does Charlie Williams. Believe me, you'll find a lot to like.
*If you're not aware of Lee Nelson (or Simon Brodkin, the former doctor who plays the character) - that clip should give you a full measure of the material. Whereas Ali G takes the piss out of white boys pretending to be gangster, Vicki Pollard is a grotesque Daily Mail horrorshow and Lauren Cooper acts like pretty much every teenage girl regardless of class, Brodkin just patronises the fuck out of his audience with occasional forays into comedy Asian blackface. God bless yer, BBC Three. And God bless his audience, who would laugh at a burning kitten if someone made a fart noise on the soundtrack.
Great review of a fantastic book, Ray. Charlie Williams deserves every success with his Mangel novels.
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