Fiction - hardcover; Jonathan Cape; 328 pages; 2013. Review copy courtesy of the publisher.
Roddy Doyle's Barrytown Trilogy — The Commitments (published in 1987), The Snapper (1990) and The Van (1991) — is one of my favourite ever volumes, so I was falling over myself with excitement when I heard he had a new novel out that turned the "trilogy" into a "quartet".
Back with the Rabbitte family
The Guts is set in modern-day Dublin — there are references to Whitney Houston's death, boxer Katie Taylor's gold medal in the London Olympics, and Christy Moore, Sigur Ros and The Cure playing the Electric Picnic, which suggests the date is 2012.
Jimmy Rabbitte, the man who invented and managed the soul band The Commitments in The Commitments, is now 47. He's married to the lovely Aoife and has four kids — all named after soul singers.
While he's not rich, he has managed to survive the collapse of the Irish economy via an online business (www.kelticpunk.com), which he founded with his wife, selling long-lost Irish punk songs as downloads. After paying off the mortgage, he sold 75 per cent of the business to a partner, Noeleene, but keeps his hand in by managing reunion gigs and other associated projects.
But now things aren't so great: Jimmy has been diagnosed with bowel cancer. He needs an operation and a series of chemotherapy treatments. And just when it's all looking pretty grim he stumbles upon three things to distract him — the gorgeous Imelda Quirke, who was a singer in The Commitments he hasn't seen in 20 or so years; trumpet lessons; and a project to find punk-like music recorded in the same year as the International Eucharist Congress held in Dublin in 1932.
It's been a long time since I've been in the company of the Rabbitte family — and I have to say I enjoyed every minute of it. I knew I was going to love this book when I got my first laugh on page 3. From then on, I pretty much tittered my way throughout it.
Occasionally Doyle does waver into sentimentality, especially where cancer is concerned, but he usually reigns it back in with a good dose of black humour — I especially loved that Jimmy's purple velour tracksuit bottoms, given to him as a Christmas present by his wife, are dubbed "cancer trousers" and that the book Chemotherapy & Radiation for Dummies sent to him as a joke actually becomes bedtime reading material.
There are some delightful set pieces involving the family that particularly tickled my fancy. For instance, when 10-year-old Brian, nicknamed Smoke (presumably after Smoky Robinson), requests a sat nav for Christmas, his parents buy him one even though he "doesn't have a fuckin' car". And this is what happens on Christmas morning:
He walked down the road with Brian and got excited with him when they came to the first corner, and there it was, on the sat nav.
They took the left and watched themselves taking it.
—Here, Smoke, tell it where we're goin' and it'll tell us where to go.
Brian impressed Jimmy, the way all his kids did, with his ability to negotiate the buttons, the confidence, the effortless speed. No grunting from this boy.
—Where we goin'? he asked.
—The Spar, said Smokey.
—It's only over there.
—Drive forward, said the sat nav.
The voice was posh and reassuring, like an Aer Lingus pilot's. [...]
They found the Spar and were going on to Brian's school. [...] Brian turned right.
—The wrong way, Smoke.
—Turn left, said the voice.
Brian kept going.
—Turn LEFT, said the voice.
Brian looked down at the sat nav.
—Fuck off, he said, and laughed.
He looked at Jimmy. And Jimmy laughed too.
—It's brilliant, Dad, said Brian.
A musical project
The main story arc charts Jimmy coming to terms with his cancer treatment and reconnecting with the people he loves, including his long-lost brother, whom he manages to trackdown via Facebook. He also re-establishes contact with Outspan, another character from The Commitments, who has lung cancer and is in far worse shape than him.
But the real highlight is Jimmy's musical project in which he hunts for tracks to include on a record of controversial Irish songs from 1932, the idea being to sell it during the 50th International Eucharist Congress held in Dublin in the summer. As he hunts about in people's attics, looking for old recordings, he can't quite find the song he's looking for — one that will sum up "the great escape", one that will "say things that weren't allowed" — and because of that he hits upon a rather radical idea: he will simply write one himself and find someone to record it.
What ensues is a kind of modern-day farce, involving YouTube and social media "buzz", culminating in a very public, very surreal performance at the Electric Picnic music festival.
A heartfelt story
I think it's clear from The Guts that Roddy Doyle has written this one from the guts: it's frank and funny, it's about things that matter (love and family and friendship), and it crackles with feisty Dublin dialect and richly comic exchanges. And the endless music references are just brilliant.
Despite the tragic illness at its core, the story is largely optimistic and upbeat, though it does stray into the saccharine every now and then.
But on the whole I loved spending time with Jimmy, a middle-aged man getting back in touch with his emotions and enjoying what he loves: women, family, pints and music, not necessarily in that order.