The Late Hector Kipling

The story of an artist whose talents don't extend to the simplest matters of adult, human interaction. This is full of laugh-out-loud send-ups of modern art and the details of Hector's love and family lives may make you cringe with no small measure of recognition. The action is a little repetitive and the ending gets very dark, but Thewlis really knows what he's doing.

David Thewlis may be the best-kept secret in the arts today. Film buffs already know what a gifted actor he is, but with his first novel, The Lake Hector Kipling, he demonstrates an impressive knack for transferring his intellect and warped sense of humor to the printed page. His protagonist, artist Hector Kipling, seems stable enough at the start. He loves his girlfriend and his parents and produces high-quality, well-received paintings. It's his jealousy for his friends (and fellow artists) that gets him into trouble. Throughout Hector's alarming journey from success to catastrophe, Thewlis' first-person narrative is not only endlessly inventive but scream-out-loud funny. It's the first novel I can recall that I couldn't read in public without causing a scene. I just couldn't read it quietly. It's true the plot gets a bit Grand Guignol toward the end, but who cares when it's so much fun getting there? (One caveat: this is adult stuff, not for the Harry Potter crowd.) Those readers who remember Thewlis' breakthrough (and almost entirely improvised) performance in Mike Leigh's Naked will recognize his dark but refreshing voice in Hector's every rant. But one thing is clear: this isn't a book by an actor who decided to write. It a novel by a born writer who also happens to be a gifted actor. Do yourself a favor and read this book. It will open your eyes.

My favorite film is Mike Leigh's Naked - Criterion Collection (1993). If you have not seen it, you should run - not walk - to the library or video store to secure a copy. Aw, just go ahead and buy it here. David Thewlis gives the standout performance as Johnny, a curiously endearing n'er-do-well who can impress the ladies in spite of his terrible personal hygiene while philosophizing the knickers off the philosophers. Well, I don't think Johnny is interested in philosophers without underpants, so perhaps I should rethink the above trope. While I am doing that, you could perhaps place Thewlis by recalling some of his other roles: Edward Douglas in The Island of Dr. Moreau (Unrated Director's Cut) (1996), Peter Aufschnaiter in Seven Years in Tibet (1997), Knox Harrington in The Big Lebowski (Widescreen Collector's Edition) (1998), and Remus Lupin in the Harry Potter films. When I discovered that Mr. Thewlis had published his first novel, I ran - I did not walk - to secure a copy. What I got was a novel that does so much right, even those things that much more seasoned authors can never seem to do. The Late Hector Kipling is, in part, about death, but not actually the death of its title character - not his literal death, if I can give that much away. Kipling is a successful painter whose renown falls somewhere between that of his friends Lenny Snook, an installation artist nominated for the Turner Prize, and Kirk Church, a struggling visualist who commits to canvas images of kitchen cutlery. Thewlis suggests here that great art comes from suffering: the book's inscription from Edvard Munch claims "illness, insanity, and death" as his muses. But Kipling, by middle age, has never really suffered; he has a wonderful support network, still anchored by his doting parents. His one real brush with tragedy, discovering the corpse of his neighbor, delivers him an enviable flat, a perfect girlfriend, and a subject for his painting: his God Bolton begins a successful series of "large head" portraits. But Kipling begins this book by weeping in front of a Munch at the Tate Modern, and you get the sense that Kipling really believes himself a fraud. He simply stops dealing effectively with life's sundry complications, and this behavior - or lack of responsible behavior - invites tragedy. Before the end of the book, Kipling has more tragedy than anyone could handle, and Thewlis questions whether this makes him a more genuine artist. His monstrous conflation of art and life, the perfect performance sought by the surrealists, makes us question just what we expect of an artist - and what might be the furthest extension of the audience's desires. This is, in many ways, a serious book about art. But it is so funny, you could be forgiven for not noticing. I have never in my life laughed aloud so much when reading. Thewlis is pitch-perfect in describing the absurdity of real life: take, for example, the passage when Kipling's aged mother, high on

David Thewlis has a way with words. If words were a woman they would fall at his feet in complete surrender! From the first chapter on I was totally captivated by the world of Hector Kipling. At first I was all about Hector. I even understood his resentment of the less talented yet more successful artist Lenny Snook (albeit Lenny was his best friend). He's only human right? I was really pulling for Hector. Even as he began to self-destruct I was pulling for him to get it together. After a while my affection for Hector turned to annoyance. The desire to snatch him up and bitch slap him overcame my desire for him to rally. Though I have read criticism of the ending I felt it was brilliant, and really, for Hector, the only way out. Thewlis' writing has a natural flow that just sweeps you along. The conversations between Hector and friends (and Hector and himself) are hilarious! Do yourself a tremendous favor...READ THIS NOVEL! I enjoyed it so much I have read it twice within a month's time. This book is a treat in which I strongly suggest you indulge!

How often do you come across a book that makes you laugh out loud? David Thewlis has penned such a marvel--a sharp, brilliant story that retains a marvelous sense of wit, along with being dead-on accurate at nailing the inner angst of the artist. Do not miss this one.