Bohumil Hrabal, Closely Observed Trains, 1965

~ aka. Closely Watched Trains. ~

In 1945 a young railway signalman with a death wish, Milos Hrma, works at a small but strategic Bohemian station, but however straightforward his job may be it’s complicated by his own set of small concerns, such as the matter of dispatching German troops to their crumbling Eastern Front, or the minor scandal involving the station’s female telegraphist, or losing his virginity, or the small part he will soon play in disposing of a German ammunition train. It’s cleverly comedic in the way that the endless trains of death and misery that pass through Hrma’s station are only briefly acknowledged while Hrma’s own lesser preoccupations always take centre stage. Like another of Hrabal’s rather unique books Too Loud a Solitude, this was initially difficult to find a way into, but once I got the rhythm of it I found it full of earthy humour and some joyously sardonic writing.

James Morrow, Shambling Towards Hiroshima, 2009

In 1945 the US Navy developed a top secret biological weapon: giant mutant fire-breathing iguanas bred to stomp Japanese cities. Hollywood monster-suit actor Syms Thorley is drafted to put terror into the hearts of a group of visiting Japanese diplomats with his depiction of what might happen if Emperor Hirohito doesn’t surrender; and if that doesn’t work there’s always the Manhattan Project. Shambling Towards Hiroshima takes the form of a suicide note written at a 1984 horror movie convention in Baltimore, but outside of that frame this is a lovingly crafted satire that is also a tribute to Hollywood’s monster movies, with educated nods in all directions. The first three quarters of this novella feels self-consciously ridiculous because Morrow is depicting military life imitating what is essentially a pretty ridiculous art, but he has serious points to make and there comes a well-crafted moment towards the end at which he wants you stop laughing and consider a few things. Morrow is interviewed on video about the story here, but I’m glad I indulged in this wry, clever book first.