First thoughts on Damage

It's hard to believe this was Josephine Hart's first novel. And that she had the moxie to turn what could have been a Judith Krantz novel or something just skin crawlingly tasteless into such a beautiful sliver of literature. That story being a middle-aged British politician who has lived a successfully respectable but passionless life  having an intense affair with his son's girlfriend/fiance. I loved the Louis Malle film, even more so because midway through my reaction was "This shit is weird" but by the end I was enthralled. And horrified. I am guessing the book follows the novel pretty closely which means Martyn, the son, is approaching a tragic end.

Of course I liked the film because I love Louis Malle (with the exception of Pretty Baby which is well-made but some of the scenes walk the skeevy edge of child porn. Naked 12 year old girls. Do not want.) 

Josephine Hart is Irish, but lives in England.She was a theatre producer and director of Haymarket Publishing before she turned author. Apparently two of her other novels, Sin and The Reconstructionist, have been optioned as films.

The entire book feels like it was chiseled into sharp prose so much of it is arguably a great line. Here are a few:

We may go through our lives happy or unhappy, successful or unfilfilled, loved or unloved, without ever standing cold with the shock of recognition, without ever feeling the agony as the twisted iron in our soul unlocks itself and we slip at last into place.

Had I died at fifty I would have been a doctor, and an established politician, though not a household name...But I did not die in my fiftieth year. There are few who know me now, who do not regard that as a tragedy.

(here's a bit of foreshadowing)...

Children are the greatest gamble. From the moment they are born, our helplessness increases. Instead of being ours to mould and shape after our best knowledge and endeavour, they are themselves. From their birth they are the centre of our lives, and the dangerous edge of existence.

Those who are lucky should hide. They should be grateful. They should hope the days of wrath will not visit their home. They should run to protect all that is theirs, and pity their neighbour when the horror strikes. But quietly, and from a distance. 

I have sometimes looked at old photographs of the smiling faces of victims, and searched them desperately for some sign that they knew....Nothing. They look out serenely, a terrible warning to us all. 'No, I didn't know. Just like you.'...so I know that in whatever photographs were taken of me at that time, my face will gaze back at you confident, a trifle cold, but basically unknowing. It is the face of a man I no longer understand. I know that bridge that connects me to him. But the other side has disappeared. Disappeared like some piece of land the sea has overtaken. There may be some landmarks on the beach, at low tide, but that is all. 

(on lying to his wife, after he follows Martyn and Anna to France. The evolution of a cheater's mindset though, is artfully laid out here)

It's so hideously easy, I thought. To tell her I was in Paris was risky, I could easily have concealed it. The new and strange shape I was assuming was hardening each day. The facile liar, the violent lover, the betrayer, would allow no return journey. My path was clear. I knew I was on a headlong rush to destruction..with a mix of restrained joy and cold deception that I began to find intoxicating. I felt not a shred of pity for anyone. That was the essence of my power....I left Paris in a triumph of moral degradation. 

Tales of ecstasy are endless tales of failure. For always comes separation.

And the most famous line from the movie uttered by Anna which, alas, I have heard since then at least one crazy bitch use as carte blanche benediction of her wackness:

That is my story, simply told. Please do not ask again. I have told you in order to issue a warning. I have been damaged. Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.