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Sparse tale from the badlands of Wales
John Evans not only writes a spare, tight prose but his plots
too are similarly stripped down.
He reminds one of another Celt, the well-renowned writer and film-maker
Breton Alain Robbe-Grillet. Evans also makes films.
As much as one would like to continue in this vein, the similarities
end there. While the mind of Robbe-Grillet wanders in more rich
and attractive landscapes, Evans inhabits the cold, derelict,
desolate topography of post-industrial, drug-infested estates
of south Wales.
These are the badlands where days go by without the sighting of
a police patrol.
This is the place where buildings break the skyline like dark
monoliths in a primaeval landscape.
Evanss Giants describes the bleakest of landscapes. Even the
relationships are harrowing, with interpersonal connection going
no deeper than the casual, raw, violent, masochistic sex.
Like Robbe-Grillet, Evans offers little in the way of a plot.
His prose drives us relentlessly through this nightmare world,
scuttling in the deeper recesses of the mind.
Theres a disturbing sense that something terrible has happened
to the novels central character and that there is something equally
dreadful awaiting him. It is this feeling that grips the reader,
who similarly becomes trapped in this dark, disorientating labyrinth
of urban and social decay.
Evanss work is set in the south Wales valley estates Penrhys
in the Rhondda and Gurnos in Merthyr come to mind.
But his observations are equally relevant to other parts of Britain,
anywhere where the demise of key industries has resulted in a
loss of confidence in the value of culture. - Morning Star, Gwyn Griffiths, 2000.
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