Читать онлайн «The Mighty Walzer»
Автор Говард Джейкобсон
Howard Jacobson
THE MIGHTY WALZER
A Novel
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
BOOK I
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
BOOK II
ONE
TWO
BOOK III
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
BOOK IV
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FINALE
ONE
Imprint
For the boys of the J. L. B.
and G. O. S. J. ping-pong teams,
remembering the glory days.
This mature novel has the sustained exuberance and passion of his youthful writing but within an epic ... an achingly funny book ... an amazing achievement ... There are few novelists today who can imbue the trifles of life with such poetry’
‘Jacobson writes with an agility that gives pleasure akin to humour even when it isn’t actually funny. It is the sheer charm of his intelligence that feels like wit. It is unlikely that anybody has ever written this well about table tennis before ... a superb piece of work, enormously enjoyable’
‘A refreshing look back at Jacobson’s formative years, an era teeming with highly comical escapades and heart-breaking moments of solitude and pathos. The deeper insecuritites of a young man are brilliantly illuminated by Jacobson’s humour ... Raucous, funny and strongly recommended’
‘A largely autobiographical rites of passage novel ... Much more than just a novel about the unlikely grace of a minor sport, this is Jacobson’s most tender and gentle comedy yet’
‘Jacobson writes about ping-pong with fine, tender wit ... And genuinely funny, excoriating, warm and fantastical this book is too. At times, Jacobson’s writing reaches dizzy heights, fizzing and spinning like the balls Walzer hits’
‘A very entertaining novel ... Jacobson has the gift of impeccable timing. This is a writer whose prose style is as close as possible to oral delivery and who yet maintains a standard of fluent precision impossible for any stand-up comedian ... remarkable’
BOOK I
ONE
The racket may be of any size, shape or weight.
4. 1
SMALL BEGINNINGS. The principle of the oak tree, and the secret of the successful artist, politician, sportsman. Nice and easy does it. A box of Woolworths watercolours for your birthday, a volume of Churchill’s speeches, a cricket bat or a pair of boxing gloves in your Christmas stocking.
And then the slow awakening of genius.Softly, softly, catchee monkey.
No small beginnings or slow awakenings for me, though. My sporting life was shot through with grandiosity from day one.
Grandiosity was in the family. On my father’s side. Normally, when I speak of ‘the family’ I seem to mean my father’s side. Make what you like of that. My mother’s side went in for reserve. And that too was something my sporting life was shot through with from day one. Can you be simultaneously grandiose and reserved? Not without great cost to yourself, you can’t. But let’s stick to my father’s side to begin with, if only because my mother’s side wouldn’t want to be intruding itself on anyone’s notice so early in the piece.
And let’s pin it to a date. August 5, 1933. Dates are important in sport. They remind us that achievement is relative. One day someone will run a mile in zero time; thanks to improved diet and training methods they will cross the tape before they’ve left the blocks. But back in the fifties four minutes looked pretty fast. On August 5, 1933, the first ever World Yo-Yo Championships were held in the Higher Broughton Assembly Rooms, not far from where the River Irwell loops the loop at Kersal Dale, on the Manchester/Salford borders. From my grandparents’ chicken-coop house in Hightown my father could walk to the Higher Broughton Assembly Rooms in twenty minutes. That was on an ordinary day. On August 5, 1933, he walked it in zero time. Excitement. He was twelve years old. And carrying his Yo-Yo in a brown Rexine travelling-bag.
