An anti-capitalist novel?
Demo
By Alison Miller,
Hamish Hamilton, 2005, £12.99
Reviewed by
Phil Burton-Cartledge
THE SO-CALLED popular politics sections of many a
bookshop are saturated with titles pitched, in a variety of ways, at an
anti-capitalist audience. Some reply to the ‘no-alternative’ mantras of
apologists for global capital. Others offer theories and analyses that
seek to influence the direction of the movement. Then there are radical
travelogues, which see our author(s) embark on journeys around the world
in search of diverse and ‘exotic’ examples of resistance. However there
has been a slight gap in this burgeoning literature: novels.
Into this space comes Alison Miller’s Demo, a
piece of work described in the blurb as "a stylish, intimate and
politically charged novel of our times". The story begins with Clare
Kilkenny, a 16-year-old schoolgirl who accompanies Danny, her older
brother to the inaugural European Social Forum gathering in Florence in
November 2002. In Glasgow the duo hook up with Julian, a dreadlocked
southern acquaintance of Danny’s, and in Florence with Laetitia,
Julian’s some-time partner. The novel turns around these four characters
with the authorial voice switching between the two women as a variety of
plotlines progress.
These threads unfurl themselves over three parts.
The first section focuses on the developing relationships between Clare
and Julian and particularly his visceral seduction of her, set against
the backdrop of demonstrations and activity. Laetitia’s experiences of
Florence are dealt with in the second part as she takes over the
narration. She meditates on the complex affections she feels for Danny
(who she had a brief fling with at the ESF) and Julian. Returning home
she uncovers the journal of her Aunt Laetitia, a long-dead namesake
whose radicalism around the Suffragettes and hint of hidden lesbianism
proves enthralling, drawing Laetitia into her life. She continuously
reflects on this as she travels to Glasgow to spend time with Julian as
the anti-war mood begins to intensify. The final part of the book
switches between Clare and Laetitia as the pace picks up and hurls the
characters from the February 15, 2003 demo in Glasgow to Clare, sitting
on a bus, in January 2005.
It is in the final part that Miller introduces a new
thread: Farkhanda, Clare’s best friend and a Muslim. Clare relates how
Farkhanda started wearing the hijab in the aftermath of September 11.
Both see this as an affirmation of her identity in the face of
widespread Islamophobia rather than bowing to reactionary religious
currents. This is not to say Clare comes to this view without any
problems. Miller portrays Farkhanda as someone trying to strike a
balance in her life: scenes such as her assisting Clare with
Julian-inspired dreads throws into relief the pain and exclusion Clare
feels as she observes Farkhanda spending more time with other young
Muslim women. This is particularly interesting as the strengthening of
Islamic identities is rarely dealt with in this fashion from a
non-Muslim perspective. The problem with Miller’s rendering of the
relationship is that it is not treated in enough depth to fully tease
out the tensions, misunderstandings and hurt likely to arise.
Unfortunately it is this shallowness that is
symptomatic of the book’s flaws as a whole. Miller brings into play a
number of plotlines and themes that go nowhere or are just left to
wither on the vine. Aunt Laetitia’s journal is the prime example. It may
have been useful if this was used as a parallel to draw attention to
Laetitia’s personal and political concerns, but it does not. All it
manages to establish is that her wealthy conservative family once had a
radical in their midst, nothing else. In addition the narrative pace is
quite disjointed. The first two parts are set entirely in November 2002
and therefore sit uneasily with the way time accelerates in the final
section. Miller accomplishes this by using short extracts from
Laetitia’s own journal to take us through the two years, clumsily
summarising plot and relationship outcomes. This is underlined by a
sudden reversion to Clare’s voice at the close of the book. It reads as
if Miller lost patience and wanted to finish as quickly as possible.
Aside from these literary considerations there are a
number of points that would frustrate socialist readers of Demo.
What particularly annoyed me was Miller’s adoption of lazy clichéd
stereotypes: salt-of-the-earth proletarians (Clare and Danny) meet posh
and wealthy anti-capitalists (Laetitia and Julian). Perhaps Miller set
this up to give their relationships a class-clash bent but other than a
few asides on accents and Danny’s ‘proliness’ it is more or less
ignored. The novel would have benefited if it had explored the issues
activists like Laetitia and Julian are likely to encounter as their
politics break them from their bourgeois backgrounds.
There is also a real sense of not knowing where the
novel is going. Anyone picking it up would assume it to be a story of
young adulthood and radical politics. It is however far more of the
former and very little of the latter. There is absolutely no sense of
the characters being empowered by their experiences, and particularly so
Clare. Her naiveté when it comes to sex and relationships is established
early on but no real enthusiasm for the issues underlying the ESF and
the anti-war demo are conveyed. Her character does not grow politically
and you are left with the feeling she is going through the motions where
her forays into activism is concerned. In fact I got the distinct
impression the political background was merely a canvas onto which the
characters are painted. The story could easily have been set in a Club
18-30 holiday and not lose anything of real substance.
In an interview she gave with Penguin’s website
Miller describes a prolonged period of "helpless rage" she felt in the
lead up to the Iraq war. Unfortunately this novel reflects much
helplessness and very little rage. Socialists will have to seek literary
inspiration elsewhere.
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