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The award-winning, Booker and Goldsmiths Prize-shortlisted author Magnus Mills is back with his best novel yet, a hilarious and surreal exploration of power, fanaticism and really, really good records Within a few months we'd witnessed bickering, desertion, subterfuge and rivalry. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that only a miracle could save us now. Two men with a passion for vinyl create a society for the appreciation of records. Their aim is simple: to elevate the art of listening by doing so in forensic detail. The society enjoys moderate success in the back room of their local pub, The Half Moon, with other enthusiasts drawn to the initial promise of the weekly gathering.However, as the club gains popularity, its founder's uncompromising dogma results in a schism within the movement and soon a counter group forms. Then the arrival of a young woman called Alice further fractures the unity of the vulnerable society. As rifts are forged and gulfs widen, Magnus Mills examines the surreal nature of ordinary lives. The master of the comic deadpan returns for his ninth novel, a spectacularly disingenuous exploration of power, fanaticism and really, really good records.
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Mills uses his blokes in the back of a pub to tell a massively ambitious story . A story that could be read as a disguised retelling of the Russian revolution, or the Reformation, or the Sunni-Shia schism, or any great human falling out. As soon as you form any kind of "us", Mills suggests, a "them" will form in response. In this, The Forensic Records Society is like Animal Farm but with blokes for pigs, and much better songs Guardian
