His name is William Boyd. Anything? Though the British novelist has written twelve novels, numerous books of short stories and non-fiction, is a contemporary of Ian McEwan, Martin Amis and Kazu Ishiguro, has been short-listed for the Booker Prize and won the Whitbread Award and the Los Angeles Times Book Award for Fiction, Boyd seems to fly under the radar of much of the literary cognoscenti. People I know who wouldn’t be caught dead not having read Atonement or Remains of the Day have often never even heard of Boyd. I’ve been doing my part, believe me; whenever anyone asks for a smart, gripping novel to read, I push Boyd on them. No one’s ever been disappointed. In fact, I think I’ve made more than a few lifelong fans.
I first came upon one of Boyd’s novels, The New Confessions (1987) in the long-lamented Shakespeare and Co. on the upper west side of Manhattan. I’m not sure quite what drew me to the book (possibly vague memories of the Rousseau echo in the title, which is referenced in the book; possibly the movie camera on the cover) but for whatever reason, I picked up the paperback, started to read and was immediately drawn into the vibrant, fictional “autobiography” of John James Todd, born in 1899 and witness to much of the 20th century. From the trenches of World War I, to the drama of the Hollywood blacklist, The New Confessions was gorgeously written—Boyd is a master stylist—and full of humor, pathos, rich detail and full-bodied, memorable characters. I was hooked on Boyd and immediately turned to some of his earlier novels, including his first one, 1981’s A Good Man in Africa (a brilliant satire of imperialism) and Stars and Bars from 1984 (another cheeky satire, this time of the American South–and the art market, of all things).
Born in 1952 in Ghana and having spent much of his youth there and in Nigeria, many of Boyd’s novels have international settings, touching down in Africa (the brilliant and gripping Brazzaville Beach, about a scientist studying chimpanzees—and her tortured past) or colonial Philippines (the utterly beguiling The Blue Afternoon). He is also, clearly, an amazingly dedicated researcher who lards his novels with illuminating, vivid details about everything from mustard gas poisoning to rudimentary surgical techniques; from high level mathematics to architecture; from primate science to filmmaking. You will never finish a William Boyd novel without learning something or being exposed to a new, interesting place, historical period or area of study.
Boyd also tells big, juicy stories that not only often span decades, but have dramatic, heart-wrenching twists and turns. Boyd is wildly intelligent but his novels don’t live in his head (Amis, anyone?) but with his humanely drawn characters in their complex, fully rendered lives. His 2002 novel Any Human Heart is another bildungsroman that spans 
much of the 20th century. Its hero, Logan Montstuart, lives in London, Paris, and New York. He survives World War II, mingles with Hemingway, runs into Wallis Simpson, reluctantly becomes a spy, deals in art, loves and loses. In The Blue Afternoon an architect in 1930’s Los Angeles gets swept up into the story of her father’s life—and a tragic love story–years earlier in the Philippines. In 2006’s Reckless, a terribly British housewife reveals her uncommon war time years—working as a spy.
If you’re a fan of beautifully crafted, intelligent writing or just like a cracking good yarn, pick up one of Boyd’s novels and dig on in. And hey, those of you with a Kindle or an iPad: hell, you can start right now. I really doubt you’ll be sorry. Now: who’s your favorite writer that I’ve probably never heard of?
Boyd Photo Credit: Wikimedia
