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The Rotters' Club is a novel of Britain in the 1970s, a surprisingly rich and varied work about that odd and already so distant decade. Much of The Rotters' Club is clearly autobiographical. Coe, born in 1961, is about the same age as the four boys around whom most of the narrative revolves. He comes from near Birmingham -- the locale of most of the novel -- and attended King Edward's School there; in the novel, much of the action takes place at a King William's. (The name of the central (and most Coe-like) character, Ben Trotter (affectionately known as Bent Rotter) is certainly also a sort of homage to his King Edward's School English teacher, Tony Trott.) The novel is framed by brief introductory and concluding sections, set in Berlin, in 2003. It is the next generation -- the children of the youths that are at the centre of the novel -- that look back on their parents' formative years. A planned (and now available) sequel (The Closed Circle) continues the tale, jumping to the late 1990s. The novel proper -- with the main stories -- begins in November, 1973, with the "dark promise of an English winter". Dark and wintery, indeed, as the oil crisis was beginning to hit home, and years of economic turmoil (eventually culminating in the election of Margaret Thatcher) began. It is that brief era Coe writes about, and he captures it marvelously. The events of those years are neatly integrated into the novel, those 70s a constant, often very prominent, background. Dashed labour (and Labour) hopes figure large, the spectre of the coming Iron Lady looming over the pages. British Leyland is a major employer in the area, and several of the characters work there (in all capacities). British readers know what became of British Leyland, but at the time of the novel decline is merely in the air -- along with hope. Readers know all hope was dashed (though one wonders if American readers even recall British Leyland). Coe is very conscious of what happened after the period that dominates his novel -- just as he knows his readers are well-aware of it too, and come to the novel with that knowledge and experience --, and he uses this very well Coe captures the then still-prevalent clash of class well too. There are boys from all classes at King William's (and a prominent black student), and it remains an issue in many facets of their lives (and, more obviously, their parents' lives). Some of the confusion of the times also arises from the shifts that have begun to occur: the changing face of labour, the rise of Thatcherite ideas of meritocracy. The terrorist bombings of the time -- the Birmingham pub bombings, in particular -- are effectively used. The National Front, racism, anti-immigration sentiment -- and Eric Clapton's (in)famous statements at a Birmingham concert -- all also play a role. So is the shifting cultural scene, and specifically pop-music, with the rise of punk rock. One of the characters, Douglas Anderton notes years later, in a speech from 1999: "People forget about the 1970s." Coe sets out to recreate the era, to remember "how people reacted". "What days those had been, for unfinished stories", Claire (one of the two girls that dominate the lives of the four boys) thinks, and it is specifically unfinished stories that Coe tells -- as, indeed, The Rotters' Club, with its promised but still unavailable sequel, is as a whole. The Rotters' Club is much like many of Coe's previous works, in that it interweaves a large number of stories and that the narrative is presented in a variety of forms. There is a great deal of straightforward narrative, but Coe also offers letters, leaflets, articles from the school newspaper, The Bill Board, and diary entries. One of the last sections of the book is a sort of interior-monologue, a single sentence that stretches on for thirty-three pages. The different approaches allow Coe to strut some of his best comedic stuff: some of the school-newspaper articles (or, for example, the letters to the editor supposedly written by a parent, Arthur Pusey-Hamilton) are hilarious. Coe is a clever writer, and these different approaches -- as he also jumps between characters, storylines, and times -- make for a broad canvas. He specifically avoids filling in all the blanks for readers -- and he manages to do this in a way that is not too irritating. Benjamin Trotter wonders about writing (in what is parenthetically revealed to be an unpublished story, found among his papers in 2002): But slowly, irresistibly, I can feel it beginning to dissolve into the hazy falsehood of memory. That is why I have written it down, although in doing so I know that all I have achieved is to falsify it differently, more artfully. Does narrative serve any purpose ? I wonder about that. Coe, too, wonders about that, and his different artful approaches are both different ways of trying to make narrative meaningful as well as constant reminders to the reader that it is mere invention and must be considered as such. There are any number of stories in the book. Four schoolboys are at the centre, but their families and other students also often figure at the fore. There are affairs: a serious one between Bill Anderton (Doug's father) and Miriam Newman (the sister of Claire), ill-fated and finally collapsing disastrously. A more humorous one involves Barbara Chase, mother of another of the boys (Philip), and her son's art teacher, Mr. Plumb, who leaves her spellbound with his oratorical mastery. Her husband, Sam, a bus driver, can't compete, and so he systematically sets out to become Plumb's equal, an entertaining process culminating in a marvelous final showdown. The loves of the youths are largely not successful, with the peripheral ones winding up worst of all. Miriam's story is one tragedy; another is that of Benjamin's older sister, Lois. The four schoolboys have middling success, though by the end of the book some have found a good measure of happiness. Benjamin, in particular, seems to have successfully grown into the beginnings of adulthood and found a perfect relationship -- but Coe never lets the readers forget that a cloud hangs over him, and though it does not burst here the catastrophe clearly lurks somewhere ahead. The title of the novel comes from an album (by Hatfield and the North), but it is also what Benjamin and Lois Trotter consider themselves. As Lois explains to her brother: Bent Rotter, and Lowest Rotter. We're The Rotters' Club. You and me. Not Paul. Just you and me. Paul is the third and youngest Trotter-child, and the darkest figure in the book. Lois and Benjamin are, fatally, of the present, children of these 1970s. Paul is of the future, and his affiliation with The Closed Circle (the title of the sequel to this novel) is no accident: he will be the star of the coming world. The Closed Circle is "a 'think-tank' composed of the finest minds at King William's", and Paul is the youngest member elected to it. "Modernize -- modernize or die" is his ominous rallying cry, arguing that "radical, sometimes brutal measures can be needed" to keep tradition alive. Paul is perhaps too simply presented here as Coe lays the foundation for his next novel, but he fits in well enough as a foil of sorts. Still, he is one of the few characters that Coe doesn't seem to treat completely fairly. Almost all the others, the good and the bad, are remarkably well-captured, a great deal conveyed even in the simplest actions or exchanges. Coe's book is not always easily approachable. It is very British-centered, the stories seem to spin and intertwine wildly (though the underlying structure is a strong one), there is a vast cast of characters, and there is a sense of incompleteness to the book as Coe repeatedly makes his point that it was a time "for unfinished stories". But it is also a remarkable portrait of the British 1970s, with a great deal of subtle, perfect detail. And there are also some simply hilarious bits. Occasionally, Coe does not convince. Ben finding god is something of a disappointment, and Paul isn't entirely satisfactory. But for the most part, Coe does an excellent job. The Rotters' Club is good entertainment, and a much deeper novel about a shallow, largely forgotten decade than it initially appears. "Does narrative serve any purpose ?" Coe has Ben Trotter wonder. On the evidence presented in the novel -- by the novel -- one feels almost certain: Yes. credits to whynotcatmemes to the original commenter of this comment

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longest sentence ever: The Rotters' Club is a novel of Britain in the 1970s, a surprisingly rich and varied work about that odd and already so distant decade. Much of The Rotters' Club is clearly autobiographical. Coe, born in 1961, is about the same age as the four boys around whom most of the narrative revolves. He comes from near Birmingham -- the locale of most of the novel -- and attended King Edward's School there; in the novel, much of the action takes place at a King William's. (The name of the central (and most Coe-like) character, Ben Trotter (affectionately known as Bent Rotter) is certainly also a sort of homage to his King Edward's School English teacher, Tony Trott.) The novel is framed by brief introductory and concluding sections, set in Berlin, in 2003. It is the next generation -- the children of the youths that are at the centre of the novel -- that look back on their parents' formative years. A planned (and now available) sequel (The Closed Circle) continues the tale, jumping to the late 1990s. The novel proper -- with the main stories -- begins in November, 1973, with the "dark promise of an English winter". Dark and wintery, indeed, as the oil crisis was beginning to hit home, and years of economic turmoil (eventually culminating in the election of Margaret Thatcher) began. It is that brief era Coe writes about, and he captures it marvelously. The events of those years are neatly integrated into the novel, those 70s a constant, often very prominent, background. Dashed labour (and Labour) hopes figure large, the spectre of the coming Iron Lady looming over the pages. British Leyland is a major employer in the area, and several of the characters work there (in all capacities). British readers know what became of British Leyland, but at the time of the novel decline is merely in the air -- along with hope. Readers know all hope was dashed (though one wonders if American readers even recall British Leyland). Coe is very conscious of what happened after the period that dominates his novel -- just as he knows his readers are well-aware of it too, and come to the novel with that knowledge and experience --, and he uses this very well Coe captures the then still-prevalent clash of class well too. There are boys from all classes at King William's (and a prominent black student), and it remains an issue in many facets of their lives (and, more obviously, their parents' lives). Some of the confusion of the times also arises from the shifts that have begun to occur: the changing face of labour, the rise of Thatcherite ideas of meritocracy. The terrorist bombings of the time -- the Birmingham pub bombings, in particular -- are effectively used. The National Front, racism, anti-immigration sentiment -- and Eric Clapton's (in)famous statements at a Birmingham concert -- all also play a role. So is the shifting cultural scene, and specifically pop-music, with the rise of punk rock. One of the characters, Douglas Anderton notes years later, in a speech from 1999: "People forget about the 1970s." Coe sets out to recreate the era, to remember "how people reacted". "What days those had been, for unfinished stories", Claire (one of the two girls that dominate the lives of the four boys) thinks, and it is specifically unfinished stories that Coe tells -- as, indeed, The Rotters' Club, with its promised but still unavailable sequel, is as a whole. The Rotters' Club is much like many of Coe's previous works, in that it interweaves a large number of stories and that the narrative is presented in a variety of forms. There is a great deal of straightforward narrative, but Coe also offers letters, leaflets, articles from the school newspaper, The Bill Board, and diary entries. One of the last sections of the book is a sort of interior-monologue, a single sentence that stretches on for thirty-three pages. The different approaches allow Coe to strut some of his best comedic stuff: some of the school-newspaper articles (or, for example, the letters to the editor supposedly written by a parent, Arthur Pusey-Hamilton) are hilarious. Coe is a clever writer, and these different approaches -- as he also jumps between characters, storylines, and times -- make for a broad canvas. He specifically avoids filling in all the blanks for readers -- and he manages to do this in a way that is not too irritating. Benjamin Trotter wonders about writing (in what is parenthetically revealed to be an unpublished story, found among his papers in 2002): But slowly, irresistibly, I can feel it beginning to dissolve into the hazy falsehood of memory. That is why I have written it down, although in doing so I know that all I have achieved is to falsify it differently, more artfully. Does narrative serve any purpose ? I wonder about that. Coe, too, wonders about that, and his different artful approaches are both different ways of trying to make narrative meaningful as well as constant reminders to the reader that it is mere invention and must be considered as such. There are any number of stories in the book. Four schoolboys are at the centre, but their families and other students also often figure at the fore. There are affairs: a serious one between Bill Anderton (Doug's father) and Miriam Newman (the sister of Claire), ill-fated and finally collapsing disastrously. A more humorous one involves Barbara Chase, mother of another of the boys (Philip), and her son's art teacher, Mr. Plumb, who leaves her spellbound with his oratorical mastery. Her husband, Sam, a bus driver, can't compete, and so he systematically sets out to become Plumb's equal, an entertaining process culminating in a marvelous final showdown. The loves of the youths are largely not successful, with the peripheral ones winding up worst of all. Miriam's story is one tragedy; another is that of Benjamin's older sister, Lois. The four schoolboys have middling success, though by the end of the book some have found a good measure of happiness. Benjamin, in particular, seems to have successfully grown into the beginnings of adulthood and found a perfect relationship -- but Coe never lets the readers forget that a cloud hangs over him, and though it does not burst here the catastrophe clearly lurks somewhere ahead. The title of the novel comes from an album (by Hatfield and the North), but it is also what Benjamin and Lois Trotter consider themselves. As Lois explains to her brother: Bent Rotter, and Lowest Rotter. We're The Rotters' Club. You and me. Not Paul. Just you and me. Paul is the third and youngest Trotter-child, and the darkest figure in the book. Lois and Benjamin are, fatally, of the present, children of these 1970s. Paul is of the future, and his affiliation with The Closed Circle (the title of the sequel to this novel) is no accident: he will be the star of the coming world. The Closed Circle is "a 'think-tank' composed of the finest minds at King William's", and Paul is the youngest member elected to it. "Modernize -- modernize or die" is his ominous rallying cry, arguing that "radical, sometimes brutal measures can be needed" to keep tradition alive. Paul is perhaps too simply presented here as Coe lays the foundation for his next novel, but he fits in well enough as a foil of sorts. Still, he is one of the few characters that Coe doesn't seem to treat completely fairly. Almost all the others, the good and the bad, are remarkably well-captured, a great deal conveyed even in the simplest actions or exchanges. Coe's book is not always easily approachable. It is very British-centered, the stories seem to spin and intertwine wildly (though the underlying structure is a strong one), there is a vast cast of characters, and there is a sense of incompleteness to the book as Coe repeatedly makes his point that it was a time "for unfinished stories". But it is also a remarkable portrait of the British 1970s, with a great deal of subtle, perfect detail. And there are also some simply hilarious bits. Occasionally, Coe does not convince. Ben finding god is something of a disappointment, and Paul isn't entirely satisfactory. But for the most part, Coe does an excellent job. The Rotters' Club is good entertainment, and a much deeper novel about a shallow, largely forgotten decade than it initially appears. "Does narrative serve any purpose ?" Coe has Ben Trotter wonder. On the evidence presented in the novel -- by the novel -- one feels almost certain: Yes.

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