I bought the book Netherland, by Joseph O’Neill, ages ago when I was still living in Cardiff, around 2010, but somehow I never got around to reading it until now. It’s an intriguing book, written by an Irishman about a Dutchman who spends his life between London and New York, and who loves cricket. I don’t know why I put off reading it for so long, but I definitely recommend it. It’s full of vivid descriptions of places and acutely observed people.
The jacket blurb for this novel does give the impression that it is some sort of murder mystery involved, and it the story is in a sense stimulated by the discovery of the body in a New York canal found with its hands tied behind its back. This event provokes the narrator and principal protagonist, Hans van den Broek, to reflect on the time he spent in New York in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. The man in the canal was Chuck Ramkissoon, a larger-than-life self-styled “businessman” who had befriended Hans in those days. They had met through a common interest in cricket; Chuck had grandiose plans to build a cricket stadium in New York. The narrative unfolds in flashbacks, partly about Hans’s childhood in The Hague, partly in London working in the City, partly about the ups and downs of his marriage to a lawyer called Rachel, and partly about Chuck Ramkissoon. We gradually realize that Chuck is a very shady character, perhaps more of a gangster than a businessman, whose death was probably gang-related.
But while these topic are woven into the narrative, Netherland is not really about them. It is really a contemplation of memory and personality and relationships and how these things are changed by events that you can’t control. I dare say many people found themselves and those to whom they were close unaccountably changed by 9/11. The novel probes the narrator’s sense of alienation as he comes to terms with the fact that while in New York he is in a kind of exile from himself. That sense is elevated by the way the narrative jumps backwards and forwards, as if the narrator is searching his memories for things to hold on to.
Most people in this novel, including the narrator, his wife Rachel, Chuck Ramkissoon, and a host of minor characters are basically unknowable and the author’s relationships with them always ambivalent. The only really constant factor are his love for his young son, Jake – the understated expressions of the unconditional affection he feels for his little boy are very moving – and for cricket. What I thought would be a murder mystery, actually turned out to be a kind of love story…
