Being given the new Philip Roth novel for Christmas used to be a thrill. I remember Christmas 2004, reading his latest, The Plot Against America, as I sat by the tree. But since then, receiving the new Roth for Christmas has become – well, I'm not sure what.
Novelists lose their touch with age, it is sometimes said. But with Roth, something stranger is happening. I'm still getting over the shock of Christmas 2007, when I spent part of the holiday reading Exit Ghost. In this novel, Roth's alter ego, the writer Nathan Zuckerman, disintegrates. His mind is going. His memory is failing. He is physically falling apart. Is this a self-portrait of Roth in old age? Is he dramatising a crisis of his own? And if so, how do life and art relate?
If this intrigues you, he's not bothered. Part of the plot of Exit Ghost is an attack on our biographical curiosity about writers. The hard part is this: with the best will in the world, the novel shows weaknesses that are rare in Roth's magnificent oeuvre. Its faults add to the distress for a long-term fan.
Still in shock, I didn't read his next novel. But this year I was given his latest by Santa. Oh, oh ... The Humbling is still closer to the bone than Exit Ghost. In its gripping first line, Roth presents the case of a lionised American creative giant – in this case, an actor – who has lost his talent. What made him special has gone, and gone for good.
The plot that unfolds will not convert anyone who thinks of Roth as a misogynist. It is probably the only book he's ever written that genuinely displays the aggression to women of which he has been previously (unjustly, in my view) accused.
But the intense realism of some of the scenes is shocking and unforgettable. In fact, the ultimate "humbling" is worthy of a David Lynch film. Once again, the failing, elderly, artistic central character lives in a farmhouse in the country – just like Roth. His talent has gone – just like some will say Roth's has. But there's a difference ...
This novel has faint stirrings of the Roth brilliance: its ugliness is unique. He has something even when he has nothing. He is the most courageous writer alive, and this is another brave move in a career that still packs surprises, albeit nasty ones. Perhaps a new life as a horror writer beckons. Or is this the end?
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