Leo Benedictus - truly mind-bending satire about truth, lies, and the dark underbelly of 21st century celebrity life

Leo Benedictus, The Afterparty. Jonathan Cape, 2011.


www.leobenedictus.co.uk/


A brilliantly clever, truly mind-bending satire about truth, lies, and the dark underbelly of 21st century celebrity life. 
This book is different. You've really never read a book like this before. It's the story of an April night that never happened. A night that changes everything for nerdy Michael, a Fleet Street worker ant, when he agrees to take his boss's invitation to an A-list party at a London club.
Inside, reclusive movie star Hugo Marks is announcing his re-entrance to society. And the last thing Hugo needs is Mellody, his junkie supermodel wife, deciding now's the time to swan-dive off the wagon. Or drop-dead-gorgeous pop pup Calvin, hoping he can screw himself into their league.
Yet not one of them sees the real crisis coming. The moment that will tangle their four lives into an intricate disaster. It happens at the afterparty. But then, perhaps you knew that already.


Strap yourselves in, postmodernism fans. This is a book within a book, based on a true story. Well, not true-true. That is to say, the true story that is fictionalised in "The Afterparty" (the book-within-a-book) isn't actually true: it is a figment of the imagination of the author of The Afterparty (the book under review here).
The author of The Afterparty is the Guardian writer Leo Benedictus. The author of "The Afterparty" is called William Mendez – we know this because The Afterparty consists of a series of draft chapters from "The Afterparty" emailed by Mr Mendez to the agent he hopes will help to get it published, and the correspondence surrounding them.
The thing is, William Mendez isn't actually called William Mendez. It's a pseudonym – and because of the difficulty this presents in attending meetings with publishers, "William" ends up arranging for a Guardian writer called "Leo Benedictus" to pretend to have written the novel himself. After that, things start to get a bit complicated.
The first thing I was put in mind of as I read this was the luckless protagonist of Martin Amis's The Information, whose unpublished novel has "octuple time schemes and a rotating crew of sixteen unreliable narrators". Far from being unreadably mired in literary theory, though, The Afterparty – Benedictus's first book – is a blast: a pacy and amusing satire of celebrity shenanigans, wrapped in glittery postmodern sweetie-wrappers.
It tells the story (well, "The Afterparty" tells the story, its multiple third-person viewpoints marked out by different typefaces) of the ritzy birthday party thrown in a London club for Hugo Marks, a film star who seems part Bill Nighy and part Hugh Grant.
Hugo is a melancholy figure. His supermodel wife, Mellody, is having it off with a scruffy young pop star and, after a futile session in rehab, is returning to coke, weed, ketamine, junk etc with ferocious gusto. At Hugo's party are a lot of glamorous real people from the real world – Elton John and such like – as well as fictitious people such as Calvin Vance, a recent X Factor winner with a silly haircut and a single in the charts.
Also at the party is the novel's luckless antihero, Michael. Michael is a civilian – an Evening Standard sub who has sneaked along on someone else's invitation in the hopes of getting a diary story. Benedictus, or "Benedictus", or "William", or whoever, writes feelingly and accurately about the hellishness of being a diarist at a celebrity party.
The kicking-off point of the plot is when Hugo falls into conversation with Michael. Sick of the usual entourage of hangers-on, he takes a shine to this nobody and asks him back to his house for the afterparty. There then unfolds a series of unfortunate events involving hard drugs, very good whisky, a dead body and a lot of police and tabloid journalists – with hapless Michael (Michael fits the word "hapless" as others would a Savile Row suit) mixed up in the middle of it.
As The Afterparty goes on, it starts to look like "The Afterparty" may be a roman à clef. Could "William Mendez" have more than just a literary interest in getting his manuscript out there – and be more invested in the true-life tragedy on which his book is based than he's letting on?
As we ponder all this, we get cameo pleasures: a splendid couple of pages of dialogue about somebody having sex with a sheepdog ("Was it a female dog?" "Of course it fucking was! I wouldn't fuck a boy dog, man!"), some fine descriptive writing ("one of those very Californian women... beneath her patterned smock... the dwindled bulk that might result from being rapidly inflated once (by disease? by grief?) and then let down again, leaving a body grooved with tawny corrugations, like a sundried Mama Cass") and some enjoyably silly jokes.
Benedictus's novel-within-a-novel trick is, cunningly, almost review-proof. How good a writer is "William Mendez" supposed to be? I think Benedictus is being puckish rather than conceited, for instance, when he has his fictional agent comment on the first few chapters: "I think this is marvellous. Stylish, funny, inventive..." And where William's novel seems overwritten or awkward, how are we to know that is not Benedictus writing in character?
We know "Leo Benedictus" thinks "William"'s book is great: "I love the book – honestly." ("William" reciprocates, praising "Leo"'s "hilarious" review of a book about penises in the Observer.) But Benedictus is keeping his counsel, so I guess readers will just have to make their own minds up.
I might add that this review was going to be a lot more unkind, but I bunged Benedictus 10% of my fee to review it under the name "Sam Leith". "Sam Leith" liked it a lot. - Sam Leith


The back cover of the journalist Leo Benedictus's debut is emblazoned with details of a gimmicky publicity campaign. Or is it?

That this is actually part of the novel is only one of the feats of trickery that Benedictus pulls off in this shockingly accomplished novel. Even the dedication turns out to be part of the same achingly smart metafictional joke.
Novels within novels are often Pandora's boxes of complexity, and nowhere more than here. The story kicks off with an email to a literary agent, Val, from a writer, William, wanting to get his debut novel published. The first chapter of William's novel follows, plunging the reader into William's fearlessly funny prose. In it, a dweeby red-top sub editor, Michael, takes refuge in the loos at the exclusive party in London to celebrate the birthday of Hugo, a reclusive film star.
Michael is a timid soul. He would rather have stayed in his taxi and be subjected to the cabbie's stories than brave the party, and within the social setting sees himself as "a sterile node. Humanity's appendix." Having not been personally invited, he knows that he doesn't fit in with the glamorous throng, which includes Hugo's coke-snarfing model wife, Mellody, and the callow but puppyish X-Factor reject Calvin, whose beauty is buying him teeny adoration and commercial success.
William emails Val with more chapters as he writes them. The novel's important events unfurl at the titular afterparty, where the unbridled entertainment of the earlier chapters darkens. But that tale, compellingly recounted as it is, isn't the only one. William's occasional tetchiness with Val hints that all is not well in his life, and, as with Andy Coulson or Alastair Campbell, the story manager becomes bigger than the story.
William's novel hums with astute comments on celebrity, and characters that pulse with life and depth, and are observed with delicious insight. Gormless Calvin wonders, for example, why Mellody's Pete Doherty-esque ex says, "Not tonight Josephine", "in a voice like he was quoting someone", and earnestly looks forward to releasing his own version of Chris de Burgh's "Lady in Red" – much to the jeering derision of the cool hipsters around him.
William's writing also exudes confidence and originality: the augmentation of different characters' perspectives with contrasting fonts; the sequential, overlapping accounts of the same event from contrasting points of view; the frequent appearance of real-life celebrities (Gordon Ramsay is there, "with a big blond grin ... hopping on the spot, desperate for his turn" and telling the host his food was "shit"), all observed with a wolfishly sharp eye and a perfect ear for dialogue. And if we think these are just shallow stunts, William is one step ahead. His emails to Val anticipate her scepticism, and ours.
The added layer of William's own life adds poignancy, as well as a level of ingenuity that sees such tricks as a cameo by Benedictus himself (in a twist that would impress the master of the art, Paul Auster) executed with audacious wit.
But what really sets the fresh style, biting satire and Postmodern gymnastics ablaze is the brilliance of the writing. Few authors manage to make every sentence throb with verve, but Benedictus comes close: when Michael is asked if the woman he has a crush on is his partner, his "denial frothed tellingly with fervour"; the diabetic Hugo felt "the icky unease of elevated glucose, like cheese in the sun"; a character who rises after only a couple of hours of sleeping-tablet-induced dozing is aware that "the drab weight of Ambien still squatted obdurately in his head, though he could feel the coffee starting to needle through"; Mellody doesn't roll her eyes, she "lofted her eyes through the parabola of resignation". There's that same sense you get when reading a perfect book, be it John Updike or David Mitchell, that every word is absolutely apt.
And nothing is off limits. After vomiting, Michael clears up the mess with loo roll: "Double, even treble thicknesses rapidly grew limp as seaweed in his hand, stirring up the poisonous tang of vomit, which (alone among the body's excrements) offered no proprietary savour to his nose." There is also a sex scene worthy not of the Bad Sex Award as awarded by the Literary Review, but perhaps a new one awarded by fictional characters for execrable experiences.
Because of the setting of privileged celebrity, comparisons with Jay McInerney and Bret Easton Ellis will abound, but Benedictus's voice is not the same. Instead of their laconic transatlantic drawl, steeped in sneering cynicism, it has the dexterity with tragi-comedy shown by the likes of William Boyd or the author of Skippy Dies, Paul Murray.
Sardonic, sparkling, scathing: Benedictus is surely a cert for the Man Booker and Costa shortlists, and if he doesn't make them, he'll be the controversial omission. - Leyla Sanai

I opened the front cover and was confronted with the lines This book is different. You've really never read a book like this before. Confident words, I thought but will the book live up to this lofty expectation I now had? And when I got round to reading the notes at the end of the novel, I was pleasantly surprised and also rather taken aback, I have to say. So, a refreshing take on the modern work of fiction, I thought, as I started on Chapter One.
And here's another line to get the reader thinking, wondering - an April night that never happened. Immediately I'm thinking - how can that be. And without wishing to spoil what is a gloriously original storyline, it's like those Russian dolls. A story within a story, within a ... But don't worry, all becomes clear, crystal clear.
The clues as to the style of the novel are scattered all over the place. Even as early as inside the front cover, the language used is such that I was thinking - wait a minute, what's all this about? And, as the title suggests, we open with an 'A' list party. Guests such as 'Elton' underline that fact. And then we see that there's a gatecrasher, sort of, at the event. Someone who clearly doesn't belong. Like the proverbial fish out of water. Michael. Poor Michael. And Benedictus wastes no time in having some fun with the very unglamorous Michael. He's a joke basically. But, as he's doing his best to stuff his face with canapes and throw champagne down his throat, he's got a job to do. He's a journalist and he's at the party to report back all the juicy bits of gossip to his boss, presumably for the tabloids the next day. The famous couple hosting the party (Hugo and his wife Mellody) are loved and adored by millions of fans. He's in Hollywood films and she's a super-model (or was until fairly recently). Benedictus' telling of the party is a hoot and it's a terrific piece of writing. I'm reading it and cringing - but I'm also wanting more. Geeky Michael has very little in the way of social skills. Did one need permission, he wondered, to climb up to the balcony? is only one of his many problems to try and solve.
Cleverly, Benedictus brings into his story the whole mania surrounding the X-Factor. One of the characters (who did not win the show but probably thinks that he should have) is now trying to make a name for himself in the music industry. And yes, Simon Cowell and his drawl are in evidence. And also in evidence is that age-old adage: there are those with talent who think they've none and then there are those who have none who think they've got it in spades. Read it and weep, basically. Bitter-sweet. The names, the language used, the emotions, the neediness, the self-importance, the insecurities etc are all here and all get the terrific Benedictus treatment.
The whole book is interspersed at regular intervals with emails. And again, the reader will probably be wondering - now, what's all that about. But it all becomes clear. And it works in this book. In fact, I would describe it as a creative tour de force. I was really impressed. I haven't come across this format (if I can call it that) before and I feel personally that it deserves praise. I loved it all. And just when I thought that Benedictus had reached his creative best - he decided to prove me wrong. If you enjoy witty, modern fiction (with a generous dollop of 'celebrity' on the side) then book's for you. Thoroughly recommended. - Louise Laurie


“Shockingly accomplished… fearlessly funny…but what really sets the fresh style, biting satire and
postmodern gymnastics ablaze is the brilliance of the writing… Benedictus is surely a cert for the Man Booker and Costa shortlists, and if he doesn’t make them he’ll be the controversial omission.”
- Leyla Sanai, The Independent on Sunday

“Trust me, it’s amazing! … By the time I finished this book, I wasn’t even sure if my name was Alex Heminsley.”- Alex Heminsley, BBC 6 Music

“A topsy-turvy postmodern tour de force… a cracking satire on celebrity culture… [with] an emotional depth that metafictions often lack.” – Olivia Laing,The New Statesman

“The narrative voice flows with wit and vigour… Benedictus’s debut ties author and reader in engaging knots.”- James Smart, The Guardian (contains spoilers)

“Wickedly fizzing dialogue… delightful prose… Sharp, funny and sad.” - Jonathan Gibbs, The Independent

“Mindbending media satire… It’s very funny, but sad, too [with] well-drawn characters, smart dialogue and a canny plot.” – Anthony Cummins, The Times

“Every now and then a novel turns up that makes you laugh out loud. The Afterparty instantly had me in absolute stitches. Then it went on to do a number of unusual, extraordinarily clever, yet always entertaining and thought-provoking things… [a] real triumph… relentlessly entertaining… This is a book of many layers, and each works an absolute treat.” – Henry Sutton, The Daily Mirror, ****

“Witty and somewhat confusing satire about celebrity culture… The sustained originality is a little wearisome, but it’s worth staying on board for the genuine surprises.”- Kate Saunders, The Times

“It is clever, well paced and structured… Still, it all lets a bit too much daylight in on the magic if you ask me.” – Keith Miller, The Times Literary Supplement

“Sharp media satire meets a tricksy story-within-a-story format in this effervescent debut novel. The swagger and sparkle of Benedictus’s prose overcomes doubts about a fussily self-conscious plot.” – i

“A treasure of a debut: assured, ambitious, and genuinely absorbing” – The Sunday Business

“Vapid and shallow… A rather laborious meander through the chapters of aspiring writer William Mendez’s book-within-a-book.” – Lesley McDowell, The Independent **

“It’s all so self-reflexive, the novel bends over to look up its own arse… Neither biting satire nor gripping character study, it simply ends up as the equivalent of staring at the Daily Mail website.” – Fleur MacDonald, The Spectator

“Essential reading… The story of the ultimate celeb after-party, it’s a knowing wink at publishing and celebrity culture – a high-concept first novel sitting just the right side of salacious.” - Elle

“Wonderful… an intriguing thriller… great fun… This is the well-written, intelligent satire on celebrity we’ve been waiting for.”- Ben East, Metro ****

“Uncommonly well written, with a bountiful supply of manic energy… Would Paul Auster kill to write a book as playful, fast-paced and unashamedly populist as this? Doubtful, but somewhere there’s a ‘Paul Auster’ who might.” – Alastair Mabbott, The Herald

“At once both scathing and humane, with a devilishly good postmodern twist… Compelling reading.”- Liverpool Daily Post 9 out of 10

“As complex books go, this is certainly up there… Benedictus takes us on a trail of the contentious highs and lows of the rich and famous in a mixture of dark humour and sharp dialogue. For Benedictus, and his valiant debut novel, more of the same please.”- Ben Bookless, The Big Issue

“Laugh out loud funny… totally addictive… I figured I’d try a chapter or two to see if it was my thing… Two hours whizzed by and I was so immersed in the story I just had to keep on reading… One of the smartest and most contemporary novels I’ve read in a long time.”- Kim Forrester, Reading Matters *****

“Benedictus has crafted something people are going to talk about, something a lot of people are going to read and something that your average Joe Cool will think is seditious and perverse.” - Bookmunch

“Many are tipping it for Booker stardom so you are bound to hear more about a book that is employing some very tricksy publicity angles ensuring that, love it or hate it, an afterparty is exactly what this book is creating in its wake.” – dovegreyreader

“It’s not just the odd line that’s so wittily impressive. The characters become – in this case – ingloriously alive (despite all being a marvellous conceit)… And the structure too, oh the structure, oh that conceit, is doing things that makes you sit back and think, and think… Not to mention those sentences to die for…” – Henry Sutton

“This is probably my favourite book 0f 2011 so far. It is original, clever and entertaining….  I fully expected to hate it, but I was wrong… It is a gripping read with numerous twists and turns…The Afterparty is like nothing I’ve ever read before.”- Farm Lane Books Blog ****½

“Utterly captivating and hugely enjoyable… With just a few words, Benedictus manages to capture moments of human interaction and experience that other writers would waste paragraphs trying to get… A fantastic debut novel. The Independent have already mentioned Costa or Booker nominations for it, and I concur.”- Rob Cox, Bookgeeks

“Full of neat tricks… It zips along at a relentlessly fun, fast, funny pace. The reviewer is trying his hardest to not spoil this book for you.” – Booktrust

“Is The Afterparty an example of what contemporary fiction produced by the texting, twittering, mobile-chained generation is going to look like in the future?… I did finish the book with a sense of personal dread, I must admit… If The Afterparty makes the Booker longlist I am in serious trouble.”
- Kevin from Canada blog (contains spoilers)

“A novel as self-referential as The Afterparty risks getting lost in its own cleverness; but there’s such charm (and a certain audacity) in the way Benedictus lays bare the workings of his book that it won this reader over.” – David Hebblethwaite, Follow the Thread

“A terrific page-turner… Leo Benedictus tells an excellent story which is loaded with twists and turns… It is a frighteningly descriptive book and Benedictus’ turn of phrase makes you delight in the word-play whilst also enjoying the plot. I can categorically recommend The Afterparty. It is a modern triumph of drugs, celebrity, casual sex, lies and the fame game.” - Andy Jaye, shootingpanda

“It is great! … If you like a bit of post-modernist writing with a strong sense of humour and a purpose as well, this book is for you… And it messes with your head. Big time. In a very entertaining way.” – Wicked Wonderful Words blog

“An ingenious postmodern take on contemporary celebrity culture” – William Skidelsky
One of The Observer’s books to watch in 2011

“Gloriously original…a terrific piece of writing. I’m reading it and cringing – but I’m also wanting more… a creative tour de force… I loved it all.” – Louise Laurie, The Bookbag *****

“A mind-bending satire that is clever, funny and gripping… a new kind of fiction…and perhaps more importantly – a cracking  good read.” – Aesthetica Magazine

“I wasn’t expecting to enjoy The Afterparty…But [it is] a hugely entertaining satire of celebrity culture, our fame-hungry media and corrupt tabloid press. I started reading it last Saturday morning and found it very hard to put down… It is witty and clever… but, and this is important, it never vanishes up its own arse.”- Scott Pack, Me And My Big Mouth blog

“If you like Popbitch and Private Eye, you’ll love this. I read it in one sitting (albeit on a long flight) and it’s a very entertaining, very well written novel… You’ll love it.” – Dan Calladine, Digital Examples blog

“It’s certainly a brilliantly written post-modern novel… [but] I for one, this time, was all too aware that it was a literary device. There’s being smart and there’s being too clever and The Afterparty definitely feels like it’s too clever by half.” – Adrian Graham blog

“The prose is keen and never overcooked or pretentious, the mood playful rather than profound. Benedictus proves himself a man of wit; and while the story-in-a-story wrapping is determinedly contrived, it works perfectly, never failing to keep the reader intrigued, and adding greatly to a work that waggishly – and successfully – blurs truth and fiction. Fun from start to finish.” – WritersBox

“Incredibly inventive… “Leo Benedictus” has actually tied all of the stories together while keeping the book readable rather than just an exercise in literary theory. It is an extremely fun book to read that does have something to say about the media obsession with celebrity, and the price of fame.” -
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