Using alchemy of prose to let off steam

Charlotte Grimshaw once described her last novel, Foreign City, as a kind of "layer cake" of fiction, reality and fictionalised reality. At its heart was the creative process, how it took the base metal of experience and subjected it to art's alchemy to arrive at something different and - all going well - precious.

Five years on she's clearly still interested in that process. The Night Book is set in the heady days before the fall of a New Zealand Labour government - "a bunch of blue-stocking ivory tower academics, all abstract principles and nanny state over-regulation" - and the advent of a National government led by David Hallwright, a poor kid made good, having clawed his way up from a miserable childhood when he was fostered to an abusive uncle, to his present position of wealth and power.

He's something of an enigma to the electorate who can't see past the charm (he's particularly adept at using it on women) and who are at any rate hungry for change.

Another character is Ray Marden, a disgraced top cop who has been acquitted of historic rape charges and who's furious at the coverage the complainant has attracted with a book about her experiences. He has attempted to write a book of his own setting the record straight.

The manuscript has been perfunctorily dismissed as worthless by the editorial staff at the publishers - the same one incidentally that published the book by the complainant, Shelley O'Nione - but has been fished out of the rubbish bin by Roza, who is temperamentally inclined to swim against the tide and who feels the out-of-hand rejection of the manuscript is procedurally unjust. (I note in passing that Random House, which publishes Grimshaw, also published Louise Nicholas' biography).

The beautiful, fragile Roza, it happens is Roza Hallwright, wife of "the Hallwright" and when she makes contact with Marden she's conscious she's taking an enormous risk, given her position as the wife of the country's next Prime Minister. But it's not the only risk Roza is taking for it turns out Roza has a secret and it's consuming her, threatening her mental stability.

Connected with her secret is Simon Lampton, a well-to-do and respected obstetrician with a beautiful wife and three children - a son, a daughter and another daughter who is adopted. Elke, the adopted girl, is a destabilising influence on Simon. When, through his wife's social ambitions and against Simon's political instincts, they are drawn into the circle of party faithful managing Hallwright's inexorable march to the ninth floor of the Beehive, his life threatens to spin completely out of control.

The best passages of The Night Book are vintage Grimshaw, executed in the terse, limpid style that so distinguishes her short fiction. It opens well, and it has a courageous ending, which refuses to tie up all the loose ends. But there is a surplus, in places, of explanation. There's so much emoting going on, and while it's for the most part plausible (the attraction between Roza and Simon graunches somewhat), the detailed description of the inner lives of too many characters gets a little wearying.

Ultimately, it makes the reader ponder the creative process from a different perspective. Viewed one way, this is a novel with a gritty, realistic setting, bravely engaging with contemporary issues as it tells its story. But it can be viewed from another angle, too.

The story feels as though it has been subordinated to the commentary - as though the novel, with all its tantalising sublimations of reality, is being asked to serve as a stalking horse for the author to take potshots at reality. The central theme is the ways in which people use one another for their own ends.

The characters in The Night Book deserved better than to be used as an excuse for the author to let off a bit of steam.

* The Night Book, by Charlotte Grimshaw (Random House $35.99).

Charlotte Grimshaw will appear at the Auckland Writers & Readers Festival at the Aotea Centre on Friday May 14 at 6pm, in conversation with Lionel Shriver on Saturday May 15 at 1pm and in a panel discussion on short stories on Sunday May 16 at 1pm.

- John McCrystal is a Wellington writer.