Nobody’s Empire (2024)
Why this one?
I’ve maintained a degree of fondness for this guy and his band over the years, so thought it was worth checking out.
Stuart Murdoch (1968- ), born East Renfrewshire, Scotland, is best known as the frontman of the beloved Scottish indie-pop group Belle & Sebastian. Formed in the mid-nineties, they rapidly established a cult following, briefly catapulted themselves into the wider British consciousness via a (shall we say) “surprise” BRIT award win in 1999, and have continued delivering a nice line in melodic and increasingly polished albums ever since. Their formation came following a long period in Murdoch’s life where he was unable to work due to his struggles with ME/CFS, a period that strongly informs this, his first novel. Along the way he has also written a memoir and a film, 2014’s God Help the Girl.
Thoughts, etc.
Nobody’s Empire is openly autobiographical, with its central character Stephen acting as almost entirely un-veiled substitute for Murdoch himself. Following a teenhood filled with relative popularity (as a DJ and promoter on the vibrant Glasgow music scene of the 1980s) and activity, we find Stephen in the early 90s, having recently split from a girlfriend and given up on a degree, both having proved incompatible with his recent diagnosis with ME / Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. He spends his days alternating between rest and limited social interactions, largely with his housemate Richard and friend Carrie, both of whom also suffer from the same condition.
Frustrated with the unhelpful and dismissive response of the majority of medical professionals he visits, Stephen looks for alternative solutions, from spiritual healers to community groups, and takes some solace in a kind of tentative Christian faith (something else he very much shares with Murdoch). It’s a decision to leave Glasgow for the relatively balmier climes of California that proves to be the catalyst for real change in his life, setting him on the way to recovery, with early musical dabblings and a smattering of nascent romance (along with further encounters with God) seeming to help him on his way.
I spent a fair part of this book wondering why it needed to be a novel, rather than a more honest memoir, which it veers incredibly close to being. The facts of Murdoch’s early life, the genesis of Belle & Sebastian and his experience both of ME and his unusual-ish (for the British indie scene) relationship with God, are all so well known to fans and music nerds alike, both of whom constitute the most likely early readers of this book, that it feels a somewhat strange experience to have these same events portrayed as fiction. I suppose the answer is that Murdoch is looking for a wider audience than his existing constituency, and reframing his work as novel rather than early-years memoir of seminal but still somewhat niche indie icon perhaps represents a logical move in that context. The question, therefore, shifts to whether (trying to leave aside knowledge of the real-world history it covers) it actually works as a novel.
The answer, for me, was largely in the affirmative. It’s not a wildly original work, and it feels notably lighter than a lot of the books I normally cover in this blog, but it’s still a strong piece of storytelling, with a memorable and engaging central character and a narrative that pulls you along via mechanisms over and above those that require you to care about Stephen/Stuart’s future life. There’s a warmth and therefore cosy intimacy about the whole endeavour, but it surprisingly manages (for me, at least) to largely steer clear of the dreaded ‘twee’ categorisation that often follows Murdoch around. Its worldview (even when involving a degree of globetrotting) is insular, but it feels necessarily so. Its protagonist is someone trying to make the most of a life which has been limited by a debilitating condition, and his steps outside of that comfort zone are therefore by nature bound to be somewhat tentative and focused on self-preservation and recovery rather than addressing the wider ills of society.
What it does address is the challenges faced by those suffering from ME, especially in the face of near-denial of their suffering by the medical profession and occasionally others around them. It’s strong on the paths taken by those who are left (to a large degree) to fend for themselves, whether that’s by self-organising into local support networks, seeking refuge in spirituality or religion, or even just focusing on the task of simply surviving. It’s unsurprisingly empathic but also pleasingly non-judgmental on the different approaches taken by the characters in the book, and even on those in medicine who fail to help them. I also enjoyed the telling of Stephen’s own spiritual journey, which is very much the opposite of evangelical or preachy and refreshingly open and honest about both the motivations behind engagement with religion and the benefits gleaned from it, seemingly acknowledging the likely cynicism of some of its readership.
Its other strength is a really immersive sense of place and time, particularly its situation in a particular period of musical history. None of this should probably be surprising given its very strong basis in Murdoch’s own history, but it’s still stylistically well done and I really did feel authentically transported to its locations, whether drab Glasgow cafes and indie clubs or expansive California beaches. Around this. it also quite deftly (in my view) scatters in the kind of detailed musical references that keep a nerd hooked (alongside many of my favourites there are at least a couple of bands I’ll be exploring for the first time as a result of their descriptions in here) without having them dominate the main narrative, as may have been the case in a more indulgent memoir.
There are some criticisms, too. It is a book that does a very good job of exploring its central character and his beliefs and motivations, but the majority of the characters around him feel thinly drawn and occasionally little more than blank slates against which Stephen/Stuart can bounce off of. While some of the characters he encounters in the US feel quite rich despite appearing only briefly, his best friends by contrast don’t ever really seem to come fully to life, instead seeming like they’re largely there as points of comparison for Stephen. Richard is more easygoing, talented and able to casually navigate the world of romance; Carrie more isolated by her condition, less driven to find a solution and slightly more angsty. Stephen therefore comes out looking like the balanced human being, but that rather unfortunately leaves his friends a little one-dimensional by comparison. Others may also feel that this self-centredness keeps it firmly in that world of twee, and be less forgiving of its occasional air of puppy-dog-eyed whimsy.
Overall though, I enjoyed it. It’s a breezy read, written with the kind of simple but hook-laden charm that characterises Murdoch’s band. While it’s not going to be everyone, I do think there’s more in here than just those looking for another lens into the early years of Belle & Sebastian.
Score
7.5
For me, this was good comfort reading and solid storytelling with a side order of meaningful exploration of a condition that’s perhaps often misunderstood by many.
Next up
An unusual diversion into actual non-fiction.
