The Smiths –
STRANGEWAYS, HERE WE COME
Strangeways is the
name of a Manchester prison and the fourth (and final) studio album by The
Smiths… Ah but let’s talk about Morrissey’s debut novel instead.
It’s bad.
No-saving-graces bad. Poorly written and ill-conceived. So bad you can’t ignore
how bad it is. Pretty much like the latest instalment of Stephen Fry’s
autobiography; in the sense that even if you are a fan, there’s no way you can
get over the tedious self-indulgence going on.
In fact, there’s a
mystical thing happing in List Of The
Lost. I have no idea what this strange phenomenon is called in literary
science, but each page reads like two pages (sometimes three, and in one case –
towards the end of the novel – one page actually becomes ten). Very odd.
Morrissey’s memoir, though,
was a classic. It was especially great to notice that he actually rates Strangeways as The Smiths’ best album.
The man has taste. Or how else could he write “Girlfriend In A Coma”?..
