Adam Mars-Jones managed to find himself twice listed as one of Granta’s best young British novelists, in 1983 and 1993, despite the small matter of never having actually published a novel. Yet the judges were obviously on to something: Caret, his long-awaited new book, is the latest hefty chunk in a comic sequence – described by the author as “semi-infinite” – that, after Pilcrow (2008) and Cedilla (2011), now totals 2,000 pages, as if in overabundant repayment of a debt.
Set in 1973, it gives us another year in the life of the disabled gay Hindu convert John Cromer, whose joints are fused by arthritis. Last seen aged 23, estranged from his parents and homeless in Cambridge having obtained a third-class degree, he’s still sleeping in his customised Mini when Caret begins, navigating state bureaucracy en route to a council flat and home help. To come is jury duty in a GBH trial, a sexual adventure with a pub supplier who repays him in booze, and a reluctant family Christmas back in Buckinghamshire: a vexed reunion that goes awry thanks to a combination of his pet parrot, his difficulties pulling a cracker, and a botched attempt to explain his religious beliefs to his 13-year-old sister, so mangled it leads her to think they’re adopted.
