| Title | : | The Hippopotamus |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | - |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Kindle Edition |
| Number of Pages | : | 418 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1994 |
Fired from his newspaper, months behind on his alimony payments and disgusted with a world that undervalues him, Ted seeks a few months repose and free drink at Swafford Hall, the country mansion of his old friend Lord Logan.
But strange things have been going on at Swafford. Miracles, Healings, Phenomena beyond the comprehension of a mud-caked hippopotamus like Ted...
The Hippopotamus Reviews
-
Sadly, it was not what I expected.
GUNS AND HIPPOS DON'T MIX WELL
Since I enjoyed so much reading The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie, and due Stephen Fry is a very good friend of Laurie, and it seemed that Fry's style in novels can be quite similar to Laurie's, I thought that it could be a good idea to try some book by Stephen Fry.
I think that The Hippopotamus wasn't the best first choice. And while I didn't enjoy it so much, I still want to read some other book by Fry in the future. Maybe Making History would be a good option. When I'd read it, I will let you all to know if it was so.
DON'T LIKE BUT UNIQUE
Nevertheless that I didn't enjoy particularly the reading experience with the book, I think that it was a book presented in a very unique way, that always it's a good thing. This novel is shown as something made of several kind of documents, like poems, newspaper articles, letters, etc... with obviously too some standard novel prose parts.
What it helped me while I was reading this novel, was that I knew to understand the Laurie's style of commenting controvertial topics that while Fry's way isn't done is such effective same form than Laurie's, it did help me to understand that in several moments, you don't have to take him so seriously and so by-the-letter, since many comments are sarcastic and purposely out of tone.
Still, the book didn't have a good rhythm, making the advance in the story so dense that I am not surprised that some readers would feel alienated by the book. However, as I commented before, if you didn't enjoy this particular book by Fry, still you should try some other novel, at some point in the future, to have a better appreciation of his prose work. -
I've been delighted afresh by re-watching the 2017 film of this 1995 read. Author Fry was, I do hope, pleased with Roger Allam (Fred Thursday from the Endeavour TV series) in the role of acerbic, angry, whisky-sodden Ted Wallace, poet manqué; he was pitch-perfect and looks so much like the jowly, slack-bodied Ted of my imagination that I'm still a bit awed by the Universe's mysterious ways.
I wish with all my heart that
P.G. Wodehouse's comic novels had ever, or would someday, have such delicious adaptations. Wit is a tough sell on-screen, less so on the page. The book is so witty and sarcastic and sometimes facetious that 1995 me would never have imagined it as a film of any sort. It took until 2017 to bring it to life. I've read the snarktastic reviews and the dismissive critical choppings. I say "pfui" to them all. The novel was a strong story with genuine malice in its heart; the film is milder by nature though it's a lot sharper than most.
The religious are strongly cautioned to give both versions of The Hippopotamus wide berth. -
A thought experiment to characterize the narrator of this book: What if somehow Oscar Wilde and Howard Stern had a son together?
Other reviews led me to believe that the plot would be very loose and mucky. Going into it with low expectations, I was pleasantly surprised when there was a pretty interesting plot and it was tied up rather neatly at the end.
If you are a fan of a good mystery, this is not for you. It is really only a mystery in the broadest sense. Mostly it's a comedy of manners.
I laughed out loud frequently and smiled through nearly every page. It's dark, biting, scathing even, but has a semi-redemptive ending.
The sex stuff in this book is a bit over the top at times. Be forewarned. There's a lot of disgusting stuff in here that I could imagine some people finding totally disturbing.
But I liked it a lot, personally! I found it to be a sort of beach-read for the hyperliterate. -
The cantankerous, alcoholic, abusive, yet strangely charming hero of The Hippopotamus is clearly based on the late Kingsley Amis, and you can view the whole book as a kind of homage to him. It's a first-person narrative; it starts off with the hero being sacked from his job as a theatre critic for yelling drunken abuse from the stalls, and before we've got to page 20 we've already had a wonderful disquisition on the worthlessness of bottled water and Italian salad greens. (He invites his long-suffering friends around to dinner, and serves them leaves pulled up at random in his garden, under the name putana vera, and tap water, which he calls aqua robinetto).
The plot, though very amusing, appears to be lurching haphazardly all over the place; but, just as in Amis's novels, things are much more under control than you imagine. At the end, it all comes together, and the story turns out to make perfect sense. What's less easy to understand is why Amis was so universally loved by everyone who knew him. But Fry's novel does a valiant job of attempting to explain this mystery, and I almost thought I understood. Basically, he was so funny that people were prepared to forgive him anything. That's worth remembering. -
I really had no idea what to expect from this book. I had never read any of Fry's work before. I randomly grabbed it from the shelf. I was pleasantly surprised, but then again, I have a fondness for dry British humour.
I also have a fondness for anti-heroes, but they have to be intelligent and/or witty and I must empathize with them. This book's protagonist, Ted Wallace, is a "sour, womanizing, cantankerous, whisky-sodden beast of a failed poet and drama critic" - what's not to love? Not everyone will relate to him. I think if you've spent enough time around writers, or are one yourself, you might have more compassion for him. But that's the kind of character I like, a messy and imperfect one.
There's no great character arc, which I also love. There's a believable one. He's had a life-changing experience, but he's also set in his ways. He's a better man.
The plot surprised me. It kind of snuck up on me. There's a mystery woven into the story, and I found the conclusion to be very satisfying.
If you have any kind of hang-ups about sex, you may be disturbed by some of the scenarios (which were eyebrow-raising even for us open-minded folk). But I like it when my literature disturbs me a little. -
This had a sort of P.G. Wodehouse feel to it, but raunchier. Then I got to page 18, where the narrator Ted thinks:
Sometimes, in my dreams, I imagine a world in which women enjoy sex: a world of heterosexual cruising areas in parks and promenades, heterosexual bars, heterosexual back rooms, heterosexual cinemas, heterosexual quarters of the town where women roam, searching for chance erotic encounters with men. Such an image is only conceivable in one's fantasising bedroom, jerked into life by an angry fist and a few spastic grunts. If women needed sex as much as men did then - duck, Ted, duck, run for cover - then there wouldn't be so many rapists around the place.
Ah, rape culture. How undelightful.
I put this down immediately and haven't trusted Stephen Fry since. -
1.5 stars????
I'm just...what? Why? WHY?
I'm going to try to forget this ever happened and maintain my love for Stephen Fry. -
In this novel, as in everything else he touches, Stephen Fry alternately entertains, amuses, provokes and alarms, and I found the novel to be part silly, part thought-provoking, part brilliant.
We follow Ted Wallace, a 60-something has-been journalist-cum-poet, who is outwardly and verbally a cynical misogynist. He travels to a country house in an attempt to unravel some rather strange goings-on in a family and finds a bit more than he bargained for. He goes there because he is the godfather of a son of said family, though he had practically forgotten this fact, and because he has to help out a niece of said family, who is his goddaughter, which he had also more or less forgotten. You get the picture. I didn’t really like any of the characters for a long time, but that wasn’t necessary to enjoy the novel nor, I suppose, was I meant to. The reader’s feeling towards the narrator, Ted, change, however, and I enjoyed how this was done – the tone and story balancing strangely between sentimentality and cynicism.
And yet, just as I was thinking to myself that I was becoming positively addicted to Fry and his crazy, wordy ramblings, he threw in a perverse ‘sex’ scene which, frankly, I could have done without (it can hardly be called sex, which is impossible to understand unless you’ve read the book, and I don’t want to include a spoiler here). This over, he took a detour to Hungarian farming (!), and my previous shock was soon replaced by delight when he then departed into a fantastic German-Hungarian accent when suddenly giving us background information about one of the characters’ father (the Hungarian farmer), who rambled on about World War II, Judaism, England and what-not. I loved it, and this alone makes me want to hear, rather than read, everything that Fry writes.
On that note, I agree with another reviewer in here that Stephen Fry could read aloud an IKEA instruction manual and I would probably still be enthralled. His language often strikes me as so much verbal bravado, underlined by his English public school pronunciation in the audio version, yet he can get away with it; in fact, I suppose that is his style, really. And it’s not just words. There are hundreds of facts, opinions and questions, all idiosyncratically Fry-esque, squeezed into the dialogue that I almost had to push the stop button a few times simply to digest something before moving on (just as I had to stop it once in a while when I didn’t catch what he was saying because I had started laughing).
The novel has a cynical and ironic tone which only a British novel can have, but it ultimately also has a heart. And despite the fact that the novel is twenty years old, it doesn’t feel dated. The sign of a good read, surely, is also that the reader immediately wants to read something else by the author, and this is exactly how I feel right now. As much as I enjoy (nay, love) reading, however, I would prefer an audio-version again when it comes to Stephen Fry’s writing; his reading aloud is simply priceless.
Finally, the language is superb. Not a page goes by without Fry employing some interesting, quirky, witty or occasionally just plain wonderful turn of phrase, and for that alone I could easily listen to it all over again. Marvellous; I mentally genuflect before him.
4,5 stars (the half star deducted for that one nasty episode, which I do acknowledge had a role to play, but it still grossed me out). -
Unlike the usual crap balyhooed by the New York literati, this book is genuinely funny.
-
Well well, it certainly was juicy and saucy on the surface, but beneath in all its misogyny and cynicism a praise for simple, pure, forgiving, patient love. This is how I actually read it.
The language definitely was a pleasure and, as a non-native English reader, it sent me repeatedly to the Merriam-Webster which, in fact, actually didn't always cope with the idioms.
The structure of the story allowed for a lot of small anecdotes and stories, ponderings, observations and philosophical thought, which I enjoyed greatly. In the middle of the most mundane, even grotesque scenes the author sends his reader into deep thought.
I read it with my darling Friend Kaisa on my mind all the time. She is a great fan of Fry's and, as it happens, his Finnish publisher. I cannot but wonder how on earth anyone managed to translate this! -
The plot is a little weak, but you're not going to be reading and enjoying this book primarily for the plot anyway. Not that it's bad by any stretch, it's just that what will keep you moving through the book (and like all Fry's work, it is a quick and highly enjoyable read) is the amazing faculty he has with the language. Not a paragraph goes by without some turn of phrase, some peccadillo of thought, some left-field insight into how his thought process works, that will stop you for a moment and make you wonder if he really said what he just did, and more to the point, how did no one ever say what he just said like that before?
So yes, the mystery angle of the story itself is more than a bit contrived, but the deftness of the prose and the immense mental faculty upon which Fry leans will be more than enough to propel you through the book. Well worth the read. -
Perchance a three and a half rather than a four, slightly disappointing yet enjoyable, but I couldn't rightly give this just a middling three out of five.
I've read non-fiction authored by Stephen Fry before, but never one of his novels. In style this tale - of a dodgy old hack tasked to visit family in Norfolk to investigate strange going on - felt a little Christopher Brookmyre in style, with lumps of Kingsley Amis and the like thrown in. It was mainly amusing, occasionally hilarious, kinda clever yet a little over-smutty in places. I'm no prude, and much of the sexual content sat fine with me, but a few of the more explicit moments seemed more included to shock than amuse.
Nevertheless, I found it a well-crafted story with some excellently painted main characters, a witty style, and a good pace. The denouement was a surprise and I admired the intelligence of this, and I will likely pick up other novels by the same esteemed British institution. -
Well, it's Stephen Fry. How can it be anything but delightful? I was pleasantly surprised to find an intriguing examination of how children come to believe things about themselves.
Why aren't there more people as brilliant, witty, and elegant as Fry? Certainly in America, due to our amnesiac collective consciousness and delight in dumbness, we have a substantial dearth of anyone resembling him. If everyone listened to tapes of Stephen Fry discoursing on anything and everything for at least two hours a day, America would be a much better place. Or at least it would sound better. -
I keep on giving books five stars. Well that's because I am only arsed to read stuff I am very likely to love. Hitler did this, they say, so I am aware of my failing here, but balls, I want to be entertained. Bring on the next five star hit. With an attention span shot to shit like mine from a growing family and lack of sleep, I would be very unlikely to finish stuff I wasn't loving. Anyway, Fry is nearing if not already in the possession of the title of greatest living Englishman, though the other Wilde-ite Stephen Patrick Morrissey may garner the odd vote and rightly so too. If this Italian comedian tit can muster a following for parliament, I would hazard a guess that Fry would win a general election for the Fuck the Arse Gravy World Party by a bollocking landslide, though Ted Wallace would also have a decent shot too. I really bloody loved this book.
-
Easily one of the best first person narratives I've read in years. Stephen Fry takes years of his understanding of voice in radio and television and created a hilariously withering personality. The opening alone is worth the cover price, to hear our narator deride women, sex, theatre, art and society. It's so merciless that you can't help but laugh at him and recognize the deficiencies behind his various hatreds. And it's this man who is going to examine the miracle at the center of the plot. Surrounded by a cast of godchildren and people you wouldn't tolerate in real life, you couldn't ask for a better lens view this bizarre plot through. Nothing makes me laugh harder on a grumpy day.
-
Well. A book by Stephen Fry, whom I adore, and I only rate it 2.5 stars. It's not terrible, it's not boring, it's not badly written, it has an unlikeable but at times surprisingly arresting protagonist, and the final 30 pages are a treat for anyone who prefers logical thinking to religious superstition.
But as a whole, the book just seems like a poor excuse to revel in tastefully described tastelessness. It's not particularly witty, it's not excessively funny, it's just an uneven, slightly meandering diversion that fails to leave a lasting impression (save for uncomfortable memories of a character's naughty midnight ramble to the stables and a yearning to pay Norfolk a visit). -
This has to be the funniest book that I have ever read. It is absolutely outrageously disgustingly funny. I kneel in the shadow of Fry's excellence.
It takes a bit to get there and Fry does love waffling on and showing off how many words he knows and can invent, but bear with it. The turns and sub-plots and some of the waffling too is simply simply delightful. I am not going to go into the actual story, the lesser you know before reading the better. Suffice to say, its an absolut must read for Fry or comedy fans......... -
This was actually only the first book from Stephen Fry that I actually read. I have several others waiting for me, because who doesn't love Stephen Fry? (Well, okay, probably quite a few people, but I think he is smart, funny and tends to make me learn new things, too.)
Too bad this book did not necessarily quite live up to my expectations (which, in this case, weren't over the top, luckily). The writing style was amusing, the characters interesting, the plot kept me guessing until the very last moment, I wanted to know what is going to happen quite badly at some point... And yet something was not quite there. I guess in a 400-page book I was expecting a beginning that would be slightly less slow, but not sure I would've liked a plunge to action either. And I am especially unsure about the ending: I wasn't expecting it to be all godly and angelic, but it somehow felt flat to me anyway. I mean, it is good to be reminded of the virtues of just being nice to people, but... meh?
It did, however, made me laugh, and I think I learned a few new words from it. Not words I'd dare to use in any company though, simply because they would be darned hard to inject into a conversation, and because I would probably use them in the wrong context anyway. But still, it was quite nice to read a book with fancy words for a change. Or, uh, I mean, a book with fancy words that were there for a reason other than "look what I can do!"
I think I might enjoy Fry's autobiographies better than this, but this was not bad either. I could give this 4 stars if I really wanted, but I don't really want to, not now at least. Will have to see what a few days of pondering will do to the score (which I will never change anyway). -
If you think that there is a discrepancy between giving a book 3 stars and placing it on the "disappointing" shelf, remember that the author is Stephen Fry, someone I think of as being awesomely smart and very funny. His intelligence is evident in this book, but much of the attempted humor falls flat. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that much of it is the kind of humor that might have flown a generation ago (think Kingsley Amis, Wilt Sharpe, Roald Dahl), but is completely jarring in 2010. What puzzles me is that it would have been equally jarring in 1994, when this book was published, and Fry is smart enough to know this, so it's obviously a conscious choice that he made. It's unclear why he did so, because it detracts quite a bit from the enjoyment of the book. It's a toss-up which was more offputting - the incessant vulgar misogynistic musings of the splenetic, Kingsley Amis wannabe narrator or the paragraphs of ridiculously mincing poofter-talk inflicted on the reader. There is really no excuse for this:
"I shot off to bed early. Cheryl Chest was beating her terrible tattoo and I needed my pills and the soft snog of Sandra Sleep.
A strange waking this morning. I thought at first that Vesta Vision was playing the giddy goat with me."
It's a shame, really, because the plot is fairly decent, and Fry raises some interesting questions about faith, but the writing is really unpardonably sloppy.
2.5 stars, rounded up to 3, because I'm a sucker for any book that includes a hot teenager-on-horse sex scene. Anyway, someone as smart as Stephen Fry has to be allowed to fail once in a while. -
I wasn't sure what to make of this to begin with, but I found it increasingly brilliant as I went along.
Stephen Fry has wickedly rewritten the country house detective mystery. Brought it into the modern age, along with associated bad language and cultural references. But realistically, it could have been set any time in the past century. Like P G Wodehouse's novels of upper class English society, it is ageless.
Wodehouse could not have written this, however. Not enough fun, and too much sex. Including all sorts of odd couplings, some of which are uncomfortable to think about.
It's hard to work out what sort of book this is, to begin with. Is it a first person narrative? An epistolary novel? A self-indulgent bit of male wankery. Certainly the protagonist is a little off-putting in his aging drunken lechery.
But we do not have to love the driver to enjoy the ride, and Stephen Fry has his characters lined out and fleshed in perfectly. We can see them all in our mind's eye beautifully, in their diverse natures.
Red herrings are liberally scattered through the book as the story develops. We learn a lot, but by the time we realise we are being led down a garden path, it is too late - the trap is sprung and we have to reorient our thinking in another direction.
The plot itself is fascinating. A little slow to develop, as previously noted, but it picks up, and gentle reader, it is well worth the journey.
There are couplings, games, journeys, eye-wincing injuries, Roundheads, spaniels, beets and roots before the witty gathering where the secret is revealed and the reader left aghast.
Oh, but this is sweet! -
I wish there were half stars. :-(
Review first posted on BookLikes:
http://brokentune.booklikes.com/post/...
Straight out, this one was a bit weird.
Weird, but compelling, because the main character, poet Edward Lennox Wallace (Tedward), is a cantankerous, misogynistic, drunken snob who becomes the unlikely investigator of a country house mystery.
After losing his job at newspaper, Tedward's goddaughter engages him to spy on the family of Tedward's old army friend in Norfolk. Initially, there does not seem to be anything worth reporting to his goddaughter but as the story develops, Tedward becomes close to his godson who seems to be a bit of outcast and who also seems to be at the centre of some mysterious events.
It took me about three quarters of the book before the weirdness of the story (including scenes of bestiality) lost their shock value and the connection between all of the sub-plots came together.
Despite the unusual twists and turns - some of which may be even odder if you know anything about Stephen Fry - the story is written beautifully. Especially, if you are a fan of cute acute outbreaks of illustrative alliterate swearing. -
Is there anything Stephen Fry can't do??
I found this book while wandering idly through the library. First thought, "Hey, Stephen Fry wrote a book!" Second thought, "Hey, it's signed!"
Third thought, "I wonder what it's about..." Since it was a library book sans dust jacket, there was no way to know, and I'm so glad. You should pick up this book and read without having an inkling of what's in store. I'll just say that it's funny, it's thrilling, it's surprising, and it's set in England. -
I'm not sure what I was expecting when I picked this to listen to, but the story I got wasn't it. I found some elements of the characters and their 'doings' quite off-putting, but the overarching narrative and the 'mystery' kept me engaged. It is always lovely to hear Stephen Fry read, and this was no exception.
-
The moral, if there is one, is that it's okay to live life in any way you want to, so long as you remember there isn't anyone to save you or fix you but yourself.
Ted Wallace has some reprehensible qualities, but his best aspects have always been his sensitivity and honesty. So yes, he says some shocking things. There's a touch of misogyny there. He just wants to screw and drink. But for some reason he is the one that has been asked to make sense of this apparent miracle. And in the end, all of the nonsense he says and does is less important than his impact on his family and friends and the good he does for all of them.
He's that voice of reason in a world that really wants to believe in impossible things.
I wonder if the reason Fry makes Ted so awful in the beginning of the book is because he wants us to be on Davey's side until the end. There are hints that Ted is more than meets the eye (as all good characters should be -- no one is JUST their views on sex), but everyone is agreed that Ted is pretty awful. After a while, the only reminder of that is in the way the other characters talk about him. I think Fry gave up on actively making him say and do negative things in order to make him more sympathetic.
It seemed a bit unnecessary to me. Ted could have done what he did without his rants. But I do enjoy Fry's tangents. This is the third of his fictions I have read, and he certainly enjoys a good tangent. -
This is a classic example of the superb wit and crude yet eloquent language that Fry is able to weave whilst telling a brilliant story following Ted, a down and out poetic turned theater critic who has been fired from his job and tasked by his god-daughter to solve a bit of a mystery at Swafford Hall a country house in Norfolk. This book is packed with interesting characters that develop well during the story and provide their own entertainment and little quirks. Ted's letters to Jane are highly amusing and reflect Fry's wit and humour the best and add some interesting views and analyses of the people he meets at Swafford and of David's 'gift'. Admittedly there are some points that are simply cringe-worthy but, as it's Stephen, these work well as part of the story and seem to add a certain something to it. Overall this is a great read that does having you laughing out loud one minute and then cringing with disgust the next.
-
Well, my bookclub hated it. The librarian had suggested it thinking it was light and amusing. Most of our ladies were put off by the first chapter, which was lewd, filthy and self-indulgent. I marched womanfully into the next chapter which was charming, floridly written, tense and sympathetic as the boy sabotaged the shooting event of hundreds of pheasant for sport.
The book see-sawed between passages of elegance and delightful character sketches, and ludicrously over-the-top, effulgent even, caricatures. The story was slight, and reminded me of a bastardised PG Wodehouse in its archaic country house mannerisms, but rewarded the doggedly determined with an absurd ending which despite being delivered at the end of a particularly turgid stream-of-consciousness from the main character, seemed to make some sort of sense.
In fact, it was pretty much like 50 Shades of Stephen Fry.
And the real problem is, I've written this in a pale copy of the overblown language that he uses. -
it's laugh-out-loud funny at times, and pleasant the rest of the time. ted wallace, the poet protagonist seems a modern version of bertie wooster, up until the end, when he has shows the perspicacity of jeeves. i suspect it isn't a coincidence fry, and his best friend hugh laurie, starred in the BBC adaptation of wodehouse' jeeves and wooster stories, which ran just prior to the publication of this book. living wodehouse for four years would no doubt have an influence on one's writing. i am curious now to see the series.
