2011/19

Frederick Morel: The Ferris Wheel (192p.)

It takes great skill to write fiction in a language other than your mother tongue, and even those most successful at it have often started off in their own language (Koestler, Nabokov), Conrad being the exception, having written exclusively in his third language (English) only. (Koestler actually wrote fiction in three different languages.)

I therefore took an immediate interest in Frederick Morel’s The Ferris Wheel, as here we have a young Flemish writer just having made his debut (last winter) in English. In addition, he was born in Poperinge (very familiar to many Mountaintop regulars) and went to high school in Ieper.

Alas, and remember I’m the most benign of critics (in fact I’m not even a critic, as I have no interest in being the accountant of somebody else’s talent), The Ferris Wheel is poorly written, quite poorly even, to the point where it starts to frustrate quickly, begging the question (while reading) whether to proceed or whether to invest my precious reading time in another book.

The story is OK but plagued by too many Brat Pack infatuations. It is one thing to have favorite writers (we all do), another to emulate them in what inevitable becomes a watered-down caricature. The Ferris Wheel got turned down by 90 American publishing houses before having been accepted by a smaller outlet in Liverpool.

It’s a tell-tale sign that Belgian writer Paul Verhaeghen, even though he has lived in the States for ages, nevertheless decided to write his reputed masterpiece Omega Minor in Dutch (to great critical acclaim), before proceeding with the English translation himself. Morel didn’t take the clue, did it the other way around, which recently resulted in Het Reuzenrad – the Dutch translation. (Kristien Hemmerechts got started in English too, before quickly reverting to her mother tongue Dutch, where she’s been now for the rest of her career.)

The guy got press, even an appearance on Belgian national television, which can only make one wonder about the state of affairs of the present-day Belgian literary scene. I don’t think the mere fact of having written a book in English (as a Fleming) merits applause. I’d have been more impressed by a solid start in Dutch.