Blog Post 25: Back Trouble (1994)
I felt so groggy when I woke up that I decided to leave the hearse at Tim’s and walk home. I had been celebrating New Year’s Eve there with my brother Raymond who was over from Canada.
Clare Chambers is one of my favourite contemporary writers. when I first read one of her novels, ‘The Editor’s Wife’, I felt that finally I was reading the type of book I was trying to write. I soon devoured all of her novels. I recognised my experiences in the lives of her characters. The same childhood, the same teenage years, the same slightly dysfunctional families with Baby Boomer parents and Generation X kids. The aunties and uncles, the boring sunday afternoons, the humiliations of growing up. Heartbreak and loss and yet the possibility of new beginnings and a brighter future.
‘Back Trouble’ is a classic of Clare Chambers, with her usual narrative technique of the present sandwiching the past in a dual time frame. Her male narrator, Philip, is completely convincing as a man about to turn forty, forced to face up to his mediocre life when he slips on a chip and ends up bedbound for three months. During this time, he writes his life story and in so doing turns up some surprises and secrets which make him realise what is important and precious to him.
It’s such an accessible read, with deft humour and poignancy, like all of Clare Chambers’ novels. The characters are irrepressibly flawed but you completely want the best for them. I can’t understand why her novels aren’t more widely read and why they haven’t been turned into TV dramas or films. They encapsulate a class of suburban family that so many readers would empathise with – the extraordinariness of small, quiet lives.
Mum seemed to know only seven recipes, and they appeared inexorably on their designated day week after week, year after year. In fact it was impossible to forget what day it was in our house because we were always surrounded by indicators as inflexible as any calendar of our precise position in the routine’s pitiless cycle: what one was wearing, which relatives were visiting, whether or not one had recently had a bath, what was cooking on the stove or left over in the fridge. Habit was a sort of religion with my parents and there was no escaping its rigours. In fact the only way to avoid Saturday’s hotpot was to drown in Friday’s bath.
If you were born in Britain in the sixties into a lower class suburban family with some aspirations, you will identify with these novels. You will understand the petty squabbles between siblings, the harsh injustices of the school caste system, the chasm between adults and children and the frightening and confusing bridge of adolescence.
I should also add that Chambers uses the best verbs and imagery, and brilliant subtext. When Philips’s dad takes up DIY , he is somewhat slapdash, reflecting his approach to marriage, fatherhood and life itself.
…instead of stripping paintwork, or even washing it, he would set straight to work, brushing gloss over old gloss, dust, mould and even, in one instance, a dead spider which lay preserved like a Pompeian relic in its shell of green paint.
Every time I read one of these fabulous novels, I feel both comfortably and uncomfortably at home.