Fans of Benjamin Myers’s Goldsmiths Prize winning novel, Cuddy, may be surprised to discover that his latest novel is a much more traditional affair. Whereas the critically acclaimed Cuddy spanned millenniums with stylish experimentalism, Rare Singles is a quiet work that unfolds over just one week in Scarborough.
Bucky, a former soul singer from Chicago, is plucked from obscurity by Dinah, a Northern Soul aficionado, to travel across the world to play for his first audience in 50 years. Arriving in England grief-stricken and addicted to painkillers, Bucky is forced to confront the past with Dinah as his guide. The analogy between the disenchanted seaside town, whose glory years are behind it, and Bucky, is forcefully drawn, but Myers is excellent at evoking the spirit of the past.
It is impossible not to eventually feel deep empathy for the kind-hearted Bucky who has been dealt a cruel hand by life, but there is at times an uncomfortable tone to his voice that veers towards caricature. This is not helped by Myers’s tendency to slip between points of view sporadically, especially when he attempts to slide between Bucky’s internal monologue and an omniscient narrator that is often verbose and overwritten.
Whereas metaphorical language should deepen understanding or clarify an image, Myers often obfuscates and overcomplicates in a way that disrupts the flow – at one point Bucky’s “exhaustion hung from his eyelids like chandeliers made of stone”. The extended descriptions of Bucky’s pain, and his withdrawal, also become very repetitious.
Where this novel is a success, however, is in its celebration of the redemptive power of music. In essence, the novel is a love song to love songs. The neatness of the somewhat contrived ending is a surprise, however, in its very predictability. The sweetness lacks verisimilitude, whereas a less Hollywood ending would have deepened the poignancy of this late-in-life romance. Nonetheless those who enjoy a love story set to a fantastic soundtrack should embrace this nostalgic trip to Scarborough. If David Nicholls and Nick Hornby had a literary love child, this book would be it.
