The Hundred and Ninety-Nine Steps

Every now and then I'll find a writer whose work I enjoy, read a couple of books by them, and then - for whatever reason, and certainly through no fault of theirs - they slip off my radar.

Such was the case with Michel Faber, whose debut novel Under The Skin and short story collection Some Rain Must Fall I read and enjoyed back around the turn of the millennium... and then, nothing. Despite the fact that Faber has been extremely prolific, having published a further three novels (with another scheduled for later this year) and a second anthology... for some reason, I've just not sniffed them out.

Two things happened which brought him back to my attention. The first was an article in The Guardian, a review of Mark Evanier's new Jack Kirby biography. I'm not the world's biggest Kirby fan but I respect his contribution to the four-colour world, and it's always nice to see "serious", "literary" authors paying proper respect to the comics medium. (Rabbit ears because I'm standing against genre snobbery alongside Lucy Fishwife at the moment.) The second... well, I'm not going to say, but regular readers of this blog might be able to work it out from previous posts.

So anyway, I decided to wade back into Faber (must be rather annoying as a writer to have the same name as a famous publisher - unless they're your publisher, I suppose) and see what I've been missing. The Farenheit Twins, his most recent short story collection, is still waiting on the bookshelf, but having just finished the Adam Marek, I decided instead to go with The Hundred and Ninety-Nine Steps, his 2001 novella set around an archaeological dig at Whitby Abbey. Yep - Whitby, one of my favourite places in the world... how could I resist?

The story involves Siân and Magnus, a couple who meet on Whitby's famous steps and begin a tetchy relationship based around mutual loneliness, a friendly dog, and an ancient murder mystery sealed in a bottle. For a book that's barely more than a hundred pages in length, Faber weaves layer upon layer of story, combining historical drama with contemporary romance; a fascination with myth, dreams and the supernatural; and spot-on characterisation. The spiky banter between the two protagonists is wonderfully realised - they remain drawn to each other despite the fact that their every conversation ends in argument or misunderstanding. There's also a rich contrast drawn between Whitby of the past (7th Century abbess St. Hilda, Stoker's famous vampire, and the tragic confessions of Thomas Pierson, circa 1788) and the cafes, arcades and drunken stag party louts of the modern day seaside town.

Like Whitby's best fish and chips, I relished every page. It's a great piece of writing, and I'd also hold it up as a fantastic example of how to pack a novel with theme and incident and character whilst also keeping the pace light and fast throughout. I'm looking forward to continuing my reacquaintance with Michel Faber soon...