Mike Frame?s life is going nowhere. A day before he turns 50, his quiet, provincial life only seems destined to push him further into obscurity, outshone by wife Miranda?s ?career?, hurt by step-daughter Sam?s rejection. ?Miranda has gone out for something or the other, ribbon of flowers or place cards. For once, she said, she wanted me to be the centre of attention.? But all that?s about to end ? for his past life suddenly makes an unscheduled appearance, complete with its bordering-on-terrorism past.
Terror, the current flavour for novelists, finds an unsuspected muse in Hari Kunzru, despite political glimmers in The Impressionist and Transmission. Where they indirectly squared their issues, My Revolutions is set bang in the middle ? albeit of ?white? terror ? the student and left wing movements that shook Paris and other European cities in the late 1960s. Perhaps there was a preview in his refusal to accept the John Llewellyn Rhys prize.
Unusually for serious literature, it is also racy, with almost a thriller-like pace. This is as Mike?s incendiary past comes calling in the shape of Miles, in the fleeting glimpse of Anna ? supposedly killed in the embassy hijack in Copenhagen, in the about-to-be home secretary Pat, whose past too perhaps does not bear close scrutiny. Only Mike?s past is the idealist Chris ? an LSE student actively involved in the politics of the time bang in the middle of London. Along with an undefined bevy of ?revolutionaries?, his ?real? family. His politics begin with CND, with the betrayal of his earliest hopes at the hands of the Wilson Labour government and anti-Vietnam protests. Expelled, imprisoned, homeless, the drift to a more ?radical? version of politics ? forced redistribution of food, street singalongs and homemade bombs are no surprise as they follow in rapid succession.
The characters have their truths, their foibles and reasons. ?Life was lived in an atmosphere of frenzied communal preparation. Something was happening in the world and, whatever it was, we were going to be in the middle of it. It was time to get ready. People got ready by waking up at 5 am to join picket lines, by writing leaflets, folding leaflets, organising fund-raisers, getting pushed around by the cops, folding more leaflets, going to court, getting up at two am to write slogans on walls on Golborne Road and talking, above all, talking.?
Another reality ? that of love, and egos, and the constant pressure of proving oneself – too makes its presence felt. Kunzru captures moods brilliantly. The belief of the characters in the world they strive for is transparent, as are their foibles ? the feeling of total disenfranchisement is as honest for Anna as is Sean?s desire for love, free or otherwise.
The narrative is set just before the turn of the millennium ? before 9/11. Pointing out the reasons for extremism are just as pertinent now as in 1968. ?In a couple of years it?ll be a new millennium and, with luck, nothing will bloody well happen anywhere, nothing at all. That?s what a good society looks like, Chris. Not perfect. Not filled with radiant angelic figures loving each other. Just mildly bored people, getting by.?
Or perhaps not.