The Hippopotamus

"There's none so evil-minded as those with a moral mission, and none so pure in heart as the depraved." Those words, spoken by curmudgeonly, ribald, rabble-rousing Ted Wallace, aptly summarize the philosophy of this most entertaining read. And blustery, hard-drinking Ted charges through the pages of Stephen Fry's novel, THE HIPPOPOTAMUS, like a stallion on steroids. And there is some "horsing around" in this book, to be sure. Fry's writing style, as he uses Ted to wax philosophical on everything from the battle of the sexes to drunken politicians, is an abolute delight. The author's words flow smoothly and precisely, culminating in a punchline guaranteed to prompt a snicker, if not a robust laugh. Ted, a washed-up poet down on his luck, is paid a handsome sum by Jane, his god-daughter, to investigate some very strange events taking place at the estate of her uncle, Lord Michael Logan. Seems Michael's teenage son David, who also happens to be Ted's godson, is at the center of a bizarre series of "miracle healings." And the manner in which young Davey is healing. . .well, let's just say it is not for the faint of heart. With cranky and skeptical and irreverent panache, Ted gets to the bottom of the mystery, and presents his conclusions to Michael's loved ones and house guests in a scene that had me rolling on the floor. Unfortunately, Fry's ending is a little weak, with Wallace slipping out of his nasty character; but this flaw was not enough to proudly rate this work five stars. THE HIPPOPOTAMUS, as mentioned before, is not for the faint of heart. There are some passages that many may find extremely disturbing, so readers with a "moral mission," as described above, should best look elsewhere. Stephen Fry has a remarkable gift for writing comedic novels; for those who enjoy the genre this book is a must-read. --D. Mikels

I was doubly fortunate to listen to the audiobook read by the author, and found it to be a breathtaking tour de force. Wonderful characterisations, both in the text and as read. The plot is fanciful - some may find it too much so - but it all hangs together and is far beyond the run-of-the mill creation. I advise you to skip all the reviews here that retell the story, and just read it yourself. Part of the fun is not having any idea how Mr Fry is going to resolve the impossible story he has contrived. I was put off somewhat by the very frank descriptions of male sexual function, but I got used to that. In retrospect, my primary criticism is that the lengthy digression into Logan family history is unnecessary. It's as if the author has another whole saga in him on that subject, and wanted to do at least part of it here. He certainly demonstrates his skill, but it breaks the focus on this tightly crafted house party comedy-drama. First rate entertainment, and literary and verbal art. Highly recommended.

THE HIPPOPOTAMUS is the second and best of Stephen Fry's three novels. If you have read and enjoyed THE LIAR or MAKING HISTORY you will adore this book. If you enjoyed THE LIAR but were frustrated by it's poorly contrived ending you just may want to make love to THE HIPPOPOTAMUS. Fry's wit is razor sharp yet hearty, his humor will slap you in the face and then give you a hug. It is rare these days to stop reading just because you have to laugh so hard, then sit quietly for a moment pondering the art, craft or trick of genius that made you laugh so hard before laughing again. Fry is an artist, a craftsman, and a supremely clever rhetorician with quite a few tricks up his sleeve.Fry's protagonist here is much the different fellow from the twentyish Adrian Healey of THE LIAR. Ted Wallace is sixty-six years old, "an unregenerate snob," and a once notable and occasionally anthologized minor poet, whose physical form in motion "resembles in sight and sound nothing so much as a bin-liner full of yoghurt." His mental form has not been all it's cracked up to be either, the story opens with his dismissal with cause from his theatre reviewing job: he was shouting out his criticisms while the performance was still in progress. Just when it looks like malt whiskey-induced cirrhosis can't be far down the road, his long-lost goddaughter offers him a chance at redemption. A chance he'd never take were it not for the hefty check she gives him to perform the task from which the rest of the book derives it suspense--visiting the summer house of his other godchild, younger son of an incredibly rich and powerful former British army reserve buddy, and reporting back on the mystical goings on there. And what twisted fun we have accompanying him on this summer in the high country!As a story, THE HIPPOPOTAMUS demonstrates a handsome integration of the accidental and the intentional. It is happily free from contrivance, and is made all the more hilarious and alive by its being written, for the most part, in letter form. Fry also finds a few well-placed moments to proclaim his own theory of art: "It is the only thing that not only cannot be disproved, but can actually and tangibly and incontrovertibly proved." Damn the psychotherapists, priests and druids all to Vienna, Hell, and Avalon--give a man Shakespeare and he will be saved!Fry's style is richly allusive and admirably erudite. It also savagely satirizes its own pretentiousness. Fry has it both ways and knows it--not a bad trick. THE HIPPOPOTAMUS is both bestial fun and glorious art. If you can handle both, this book is simply not to be missed.

If you're considering the purchase of this novel because of its author's portrayal of Jeeves in Masterpiece Theater's productions of Jeeves and Wooster, be warned! You may wish to reconsider. Whereas Stephen Fry's writing style may pay homage to the late great P.G. Wodehouse in its verbal effluence, his chosen main character, Ted, or Tedward as one character calls him, is a far, far cry from the irreproachable and virtually infallible "gentleman's personal gentleman" that was Jeeves. He is a grumpy, flatulent ex-poet who has become disillusioned with . . . well, just about everything really. One is left wondering how much Mr. Fry shares this man's opinions for they are at once outrageously cynical, overtly snobbish and-at least in the case of his diagnosis of male sexuality-devastatingly accurate. Such questions are of course ultimately futile and meaningless but one can't help wondering. To be honest, however, few of us couldn't find at least a little of ourselves in this crotchety old fart. And I suppose that's what makes him ultimately so endearing.In short, this is a dirty, smutty book chock full of outrageous social faux pas, cynicism, sacrilege, irreverence, vulgarity and crudeness . . . and I enjoyed it very much. It's extremely well written, extremely frank in its discussion of human sexuality and the evils of opulent interior design, and above all extremely British.So, if you're after the genteel machinations of the upper class twits of yesteryear, stick with the source and pull out that trusty old copy of Jeeves and Wooster. If, on the other hand, you're after a healthy dose of modern English outrageousness, this would be a good bet. Pour yourself a glass of whisky and get ready to read the juicy bits to whoever's close by, because you'll be hearing a lot of, "What? What was it this time?" from them. Oh, yes, it's also good for the complexion. I read it on my last visit to the seaside and couldn't stop reading long enough to get into my swimwear. The sun never touched my pearly white skin. Saved a bundle on sunscreen, too.

Reading this excellent novel while on a train I was more than once scolded by a fellow passenger for laughing out loud too often! Apparently my 'laugh count' was at least 3 laughs per minute. Now considering that I very seldom laugh out loud while reading I think this proves what an exceptionally funny book Fry's "Hippopotamus" must be. Indeed, at no point in the book was I bored. Fry successfully managed to keep even the long necessary narrative passages, in which nothing of relavance happens, interesting by using cynical remarks, sparky anecdotes and constant change of perspective. Although the protagonist is seemingly "an old, sour, womanising, cantankerous, whiskey-sodden beast of a failed poet and drama critic" (taken from the back cover) he immediately becomes sympathetic to the reader because of his outrageous honesty (he was fired from his post as a drama critic for shouting out what he thought of the play he was watching). He uncovers the hypocrisy of the others staying at Swafford Hall, who are all only there to find out more about David Logan, a 15-year-old rumoured to possess incredible healing powers. During his stay at the Logan's country house, Ted Wallace witnesses the remarkable recovery of a horse, whom (as the reader finds out) the mystical adolescent had had sexual contact with the night before (a scene, which even managed to shock me - and that is quite hard). But undeterred by this apparently supernatural experience, Ted, being the down-to-earth atheist that he is, refuses to believe what he sees. "The Hippopotamus" is incredibly entertaining and must be recommended to the open-minded. Yet I must warn the more conservative of you that this book could make you want to exorcise Fry and burn him publicly!