Behind fashion as usual, I’ve finally read One Day, the runaway success by David Nicholls. To be honest, I was slightly underwhelmed by the time I finished it. The combination of too much hype and the excruciating plot contrivance in the closing pages left me unsatisfied – irritated even. But, I’m largely nit-picking. It’s an extraordinary achievement to have created so much public affection with a book, especially one so slight.
One Day is good clean fun; it’s not Madame Bovary. Its success, I think, lies is Nicholls’ adept use of set pieces to drive both plot and character, and his brilliance with dialogue. The two often combine: the scene of Emma and Ian’s second date, where Emma has to endure Ian’s nervous comedic patois, comes to mind – reminding me of any number of occasions when I, as the inept performer, realise that I’ve lost the audience, my date. Nicholls observes this peculiarly male failing perfectly, and it becomes obvious that Emma and Ian are doomed. All that’s left is to wait for indifference to sour into resentment.
The two central characters, Emma Morley and Dexter Mayhew, lack human complexity; particularly Dexter, who was little more than a vacuous sheen of self-pity. They are limited carcicatures, but their badinage is irresistible, a testament to Nicholls’ genius for dialogue.
This all bodes well for the forthcoming film adaptation, which Nicholls has written. Although Anne Hathaway’s Lancastrian accent has a certain je ne sais quoi about it.
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