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 The Bookworm Critique | |
| "EDDIE IRVINE: LIFE IN THE FAST LANE" By Eddie Irvine and Jane Nottage; Published by Ebury Press | by Mark Glendenning, Australia |
As a matter of routine, all the books that are reviewed in this column are read at least twice. Part of the reason for this is that there's every chance that a second reading will turn up something that was overlooked first time round; maybe I missed something in the text itself, or maybe the author will provoke a thought or idea that didn't occur to me earlier. But another reason is that I want to be sure about what I'm going to say. Maybe I really did dislike a certain section when I read it, or maybe I just happened to be in a bad mood. I'm particularly suspicious of books that are at the extreme ends of the spectrum; for that reason, any books that are on their way to an exceptionally good or bad review are read three times. 'Life in the Fast Lane' was one of the titles that received the 'three reads' treatment, and in this case the third read probably saved it from setting a new benchmark for poor reviews.
Unfortunately, 'Life in the Fast Lane' is really little more than the latest in a long line of hastily conceived, roughly written drivers' biographies. And although it clocks in at around 230 pages, there is a surprising lack of anything really substantial between the glossy covers. Sure, Irvine has a story to tell - 1999 was a remarkable year for him. (And, despite the cover banner which promises the 'Inside Story of the Ferrari Years', there is virtually no mention of any season other than 1999). He began the year with his first win, and then found himself with a chance to go for the title after teammate Michael Schumacher hit the wall at Silverstone. The second half of Irvine's season saw a combination of ups and downs that seemingly only Ferrari can provide - a mix of some really great and really ordinary on-track performances, a couple of comically botched pitstops, and a World Championship that was very nearly decided in the courts.
One of the problems with this book is that most of the important stuff is lost in a sea of superficial crap that I for one could not care less about. Far too much space is devoted to telling us what a party animal he is, and there is far too little attention placed on the stuff that matters. I'm not remotely interested in knowing about who or what Eddie has gone to bed with, or drunk with, or whatever. Irvine, though, seems to think that this is very important, with the result that every couple of pages seem to include some reference to how much he loves women/boats/nightclubs. I would like to know some of his thoughts about racing, but for some reason this stuff is largely overlooked. And what we do get is basically the same kindof Eddie-speak that we're all used to from his press interviews.
I'm not sure that this is entirely Irvine's fault, though. Jane Nottage, who put the book together, strikes me as someone who tries her best to make her work live up to the clichéd image of whatever it is that she happens to be writing about. It was demonstrated in 'Ferrari: The Passion and the Pain' early last year, and this outing seems to follow a similar course. We are told over and over again that there is more to Irvine than the popular impression of the dashing young racing driver who sails around on a floating vodka palace loaded with a few mates and a lot of women; yet, short of the occasional reference to his family here and there, little effort has been made to reveal anything else. Rather than clarifying anything, the old stereotype is simply perpetuated.
I was also rather surprised by some of Nottage's comments in her introduction. When talking about Maria, Irvine's ex-girlfriend and the mother of his daughter Zoe, Nottage says: "Brought up in the age of feminism, most western women demand equal rights in a relationship and are very vocal about getting attention when they want it. However, Maria has mastered the art of mixing submission with retaining a high level of self-respect, and Eddie to his credit clearly recognizes her qualities and how well her personality fits in with his mercurial, independent character." (p.xv). I've never read anything by Germaine Greer, but I'd still have to say that the part about 'mixing submission with a high level of self-respect' is possibly the most stupid comment I have read in the past twelve months, rivaled only by another line which we find a bit further down the page: "Like some latter day Roman emperor he feels the day isn't complete without a bit of rape and pillage, or at least the latest model in his bed and a few Red Bulls and vodkas in his stomach" (p. xv). Rape and pillage? Nice choice of words there, Jane.
OK, well I guess I've been fairly clear about my gripes with the book. There were a few bits and pieces that were interesting, but for the most part they were all too brief. Irvine would, for instance, occasionally speak about just how deep the Number One / Number Two culture ran at Ferrari. One example that he gave was that apparently Schumacher's road car had been issued with an electronic pass to allow it through toll ways on Italian roads, while Irvine's wasn't. Also interesting was a passage concerning Schumacher and testing:
The other highlight for me was Irvine's explanation of the pay structure at Ferrari. Normally issues such as money don't figure too high in my list of 'things about F1 that I find interesting', but this was an exception - probably because it represented one of the very, very few occasions where the reader was treated to some kind of insight into Ferrari as a team:
Unfortunately, this kind of material was few and far between; instead, much of the other racing talk was run of the mill stuff that we've all heard before - recaps of the races, interspersed with the odd comment about the team or other drivers, all of which would have been reasonably interesting had it not all been said one hundred times in the past.
If you're a mad Irvine fan, you'll probably like this book irrespective of what I say about it. Personally though, I was very disappointed. There is certainly the potential for an interesting book to be written about Eddie, but this one falls well short of the mark. The content is simply not up to scratch, and it bears the scars of being very hastily thrown together. It's not particularly succinct or cohesive, and there are a few typos scattered throughout the pages. The most imaginative aspect of the book is the title, and even that must have been used for at least half a dozen Formula One books in the past. While there are certainly some good moments, the ocean of crap that you have to wade through to find them scarcely makes the effort worthwhile. When a well though-out, insightful, interesting book about Irvine hits the shelves I'll be first in line to read it, but this one is going to the back of the cupboard.
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| Mark Glendenning | © 2000 Kaizar.Com, Incorporated. |
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