Candy: A Novel of Love and Addiction Book

4.5 stars

I remember when the film Candy was released in 2006, receiving critical acclaim and rave reviews for the performances of the late, great Heath Ledger and Abbie Cornish in the leading roles. Despite my interest, for some reason I never got around to seeing it. And it wasn't until recently reading my friend Buggy's review here on GoodReads that I discovered the film was an adaptation of a novel.

My interest once again piqued, I promptly obtained both the book and the film, then did something I would never normally recommend, and watched the film first - instant gratification and all that. I wasn't disappointed. The performances were wonderful and the story was compelling in its tragedy. But at the end, I did pause to wonder whether I might have ruined the experience of the novel. I needn't have worried.

The film and the novel are significantly different. While there are a couple of shared scenes, there is obviously much missing from the film and it has taken quite a significant creative/poetic license and made some major changes in the storyline. It also has a very different feel about it than the novel. In fact, in many regards I am glad I watched the film first. There was no opportunity for me to have had expectations unmet, and so there was no disappointment. I enjoyed them both as two separate entities.

But, this is a book review site, so I will leave further commentary regarding the film for another time and place. Apart from the differences in plot and vibe, the biggest surprise for me with the book is how beautifully it was written:

It's like there's a mystical connection between heroine and bad luck, with some kind of built-in momentum factor. It's like you're cruising along in a beautiful car on a pleasant country road with the breeze in your hair and the smell of eucalypts all around you. The horizon is always up ahead, unfolding towards you, and at first you don't notice the gradual descent, or the way the atmosphere thickens. Bit by bit the gradient gets steeper, and before you realise you have no brakes, you're going pretty fucking fast.

So what did we do, once the descent began? We learned how to drive well, under hazardous conditions. We had each other to egg each other on. There was neither room nor need for passengers. Maybe we were also thinking that one day our car would sprout wings and fly. I saw that happen in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It's good to live in hope.

There was a time, after that Indian summer of our falling in love - after we'd gone through the money Candy's grandmother had left her, after we'd done a few scams and had a pretty good run for six months or a year - when we knew it would be good to slow down or stop and see where we were. It's funny how difficult that would turn out to be. It would be almost a decade before the car finally came to a silent stop on an empty stretch of road a long way down from where we'd started. Almost a decade before we'd hear the clicking of metal under the bonnet and the buzzing of cicadas in the trees all around us.

It's really quite compelling to read such an ugly topic described in such beautiful prose. In no way does the author glamorise the tragedy of addiction - quite the opposite - but the writing makes the experience tolerable and by turns darkly funny and achingly poignant.

Candy reads like an autobiography, penned by an unnamed narrator, who could be any lost soul on any street corner in the world. The author takes us into the heart and mind of an addict, and exposes in raw, gritty detail the futility, waste and despair. This does not feel like a fictional account, it is far too vividly and emotionally detailed. Their journey is harrowing, confronting and just so damn tragic that it is disturbing to read.

It's a powerful novel that can make you reconsider your views and perceptions. Candy is such a novel, and I imagine it will continue to invade my thoughts for some time to come.

Thank you, Buggy, for inspiring me to read this one.