A String of Antiheroes: Martin Amis Talks About His Novels

By JOHN WILLIAMS

The title character of Martin Amis's latest novel, “Lionel Asbo,” is a thug who feeds his pit bulls Tabasco sauce to make them more ornery. He's doing his best to corrupt Desmond, the orphaned nephew under his care. Desmond, meanwhile, is doing his best to hide the fact that he's sleeping with his grandmother (Lionel's mom). In a recent telephone interview, Mr. Amis discussed his novels, his knack for naming characters, the way he experienced the death of his parents and more. Below are edited excerpts from the conversation:

Do you normally start with a character or a story? In this case, was it Lionel who first presented himself to you?

It was two disparate things when I started to write - and I wasn't very confident, I thought I would just see how it goes. One was a kid having an affair with his grandmother, and the other was the idea of a horrible revenge having to do with pit bulls and babies. Both of which I c ulled from tabloid newspapers. Then it all came very fast after that. Once I got worked out that this was going to be the same story, and that the vengeance would be enacted on Desmond, it all came quick.

Lionel's worst qualities are on clear display. What's his best quality in your opinion?

Vividness, that's all. A novelist doesn't blame his characters, he just tries to make them intelligible. I don't think Lionel does [have any good qualities]. The good qualities are all piled in Desmond. It's a black and white thing.

Lionel is upset when he reads about a 2-year-old getting an ASBO - Anti-Social Behavior Order - beating Lionel's previous record by a week. This seems in line with other elements in the book that suggest generations regressing. At the risk of being overly broad: Do you think things are getting worse?

You have to try harder, you have to really put your mind to it, to improve on the delinquencies that are a lready there. That's kind of an illusion that things are getting worse, and an ancient one, too. I always thought that what is obviously getting worse is that everything's getting less innocent, just by accumulation. The Saul Bellow phrase is “the mental rabble of the wised-up world.” Everyone's more wised up.

Is that a bad thing?

I think it's a sad thing. Looking at what I've written so far, it's clear to me that the quality I value most is innocence, even naïvete; as the opposite of experience, rather than of guilt. That's in shorter supply. In children, you see the age of innocence ending earlier.

What are some books about London that have influenced you?

I was very aware of Dickens when I was writing the book. Not until I was finishing it did I realize how much it was informed by Dickens. Not just the furniture, but the fairy tale approach. Dickens isn't a realist, he's more vaudeville. His closest analogue in the 20th century is the Disney c artoon. There's a lot of magic in Dickens's form, and I found my book was like that, too.

Your books seem to thrive on the presence of an antihero. Do you feel particularly attracted to antiheroes or energized by them as a writer?

I think I must do. There's a string of Lionels in my stuff - John Self [in "Money"], Keith Talent [in "London Fields"]. This is an ancient problem, too, in that happiness and goodness are very hard to capture on the page. But colorful evil is much more amenable to the writer. In fact, Des was more of a challenge to me than Lionel. It's the Henry de Montherlant line that “happiness writes white.” Evil writes black - it shows up more clearly on the page.

You've talked about the diminishing powers of novelists as they get older, even if their general health hasn't given out. You're 63. Do you see yourself writing novels at 75 or 80?

I wonder. There's a strong case to be made for quitting when what you're coming up with is o bviously much weaker than earlier stuff. You go at it perhaps by writing shorter. I'm not thinking now, but in a few years' time. Bellow quoted Chekhov saying “as I get older, everything I read seems not short enough.” As long as I go on enjoying it as much as I do, then I will continue.

Is there any novel you've written that you'd like another go at? Or one you've written that you think deserves to be more frequently mentioned among your best than it is?

I would like to have another go at “Time's Arrow.” It would take me two or three days, just to make one thing clearer. [The narrator is] high-spirited and a bit too jokey, but there's a reason for that. He's just been born. He's young. If there's one that I think should be mentioned more, it's “House of Meetings.”

You have a knack for memorable character names: John Self, Guy Clinch, Nicola Six, Keith Nearing, etc. Is it important to you for the names of major characters to have metaphorical va lue? Are there any particular tricks or parameters you use to come up with them?

I jot down names that appeal to me. It's not a symbolic value, it's a more musical value. If you're going to write down this name a couple of hundred times, it better have something going for it, some expressiveness. The all-time champion of that is Dickens. His names are a little bit more expressive than I would want. They're a bit close to a sort of joke name. But Uriah Heep, that is marvelous. I certainly wouldn't want to write a book where everyone is named something like Tom Metcalf.

At one point, Lionel tells his nephew: “See, there's certain things, Des, there's certain things a man can't do till his mum pops off.” Have you experienced the death of your parents, after the grief, as liberating in any way?

When my father died, I certainly felt a sense of almost levitation. And it's accurate, because you're moving into the front rank of mortality. But when my mother die d, that is somehow just crushing. I've known a couple of people who killed themselves after their mother died, and it's not because they're depressed because of their mother dying, it's because they can. It's a weird element of the mother-son relationship.

A not wanting to transgress?

A not wanting to hurt, I think.

Have you been surprised by all the attention (including this question) prompted by your move to Brooklyn? And does it feel like home yet?

I thought there would be a fair bit of stuff from England about that, and I took every opportunity I got to say it had nothing to with any disaffection with England, but that made no impression at all. It came across as a traitorous loathing of England, which is ridiculous, because I lived in London for nearly half a century. This is beginning to feel like home. It's a very congenial part of New York.