April and Frank Wheeler are an average American couple. They are living the ‘American Dream’, with a suburban house, two children, Frank in a solid, dependable and untaxing job, and April keeping house and looking after the kids. The neighbourhood is an average suburban neighbourhood where everyone is polite and no-one breaks rank from the unspoken behavioural norms.

But April and Frank are dissatisfied, and the reason, as far as I could tell, was they had both been living a lie from the day they had met. What struck me about the story was how Yates managed to paint such a clear and realistic picture of two people who were so completely artificial and caught up in the game they were playing that it was a wonder they hadn’t crumbled sooner.

This is a story of arguments, hatred, disappointment and entrapment – both of the characters suffered these things and blamed the other. What I found interesting were the contrasts. Mr and Mrs Givings were at one end of the artificiality scale. Mrs Givings would never admit to being dissatisfied, would never want anything else, and was so deliriously happy and positive all the time (between gossiping and judging others) that it was impossible to know who she actually was. On the other end of the scale was their son, John Givings who was the only person in the entire book who was ‘genuine’, saying it how he saw it and recognising other people’s unhappiness stripped bare. However John was confined to a mental asylum. I couldn’t help but think that of all of the characters in the book, he was the one least deserving of that – but then again, he didn’t fit in to the fiction that everyone else lived by.

In the middle were Frank and April, and the tension that came from their feeling of disempowerment and entrapment was to spell their downfall. This is an incredibly tragic story, and the author has succeeded in making you feel the venom of the arguments, making you feel the blame and hopelessness of both, and putting you in a position where you can’t side with one or the other – they are simply both to blame.

Rating: 8/10
ISBN: 0099518627
Publisher: Vintage Classics
Year: 2007
Date Finished: 24 October 2009
Pages: 352

I started reading this book the day before the recent swine flu scare hit Europe. It was pretty ironic timing, as Abe F. March’s novel, They Plotted Revenge Against Amercia tells the story of a group of young Palestinians who, having cruelly lost their entire families in the continuing battle between US-supported Israel and Palestine, decide to join an organisation to seek revenge. That revenge was to take the form of a virus, distributed in both the fish and poultry industries in the United States which would result in hundreds of thousands dying of flu. Of course, I was pretty much unmoved by the swine flu hysteria which the newspapers were trying to incite here, but I found the whole book quite timely.

March clearly knows about the Middle East. His biography indicates that he had worked there and it therefore made sense how he understood the reality of the battle. Sadly, we are all so influenced by the media, we are led to believe what the main media outlets want us to believe. You don’t have to read too far to start to recognise that Israel’s actions are often brutal and unjustified, and America itself hasn’t behaved in a particularly exemplary fashion over the past decades either. This is very obviously March’s viewpoint, and it came out very clearly throughout this book.

On the plus side, I was taken by the book to the extent that I had to keep turning the pages to see what happened. Spoiler alert: it is fascinating how the attitudes of the groups of young Palestinians change as they progress in the mission, particular as they themselves discover love, and start to realise that most people in the United States aren’t malicious – they are merely completely ignorant about what is really happening in the Middle East, and therefore regurgitate what their politicians feed to them. Although the teams start with a determined and unmovable sense of vengeance, even the leaders find that their resolve begins to slip as the reality of what they are doing sinks in. The slaughter of innocents is not atoned for by the slaughter of more innocents, and several of the teams begin to see that only through education and outreach can real change occur.

However, my biggest problem with this book was the style in which is was written. Right from the outset, it felt completely detached. Although I was interested in the characters, none of them felt completely human to me. The character development was shallow and I struggled to feel as they felt. This was highlighted by the awkwardness with which love and sex was described and I felt that perhaps the author ought to have left it out as it seemed clear he wasn’t comfortable with that aspect of the story. The author’s strength was in his knowledge of the political situation, and the ideas behind it. I could determine his own feelings for the tragedy of the Middle East, but there were times that the story seemed like a shadow puppet show masking the depth of feeling that the author felt towards the actual subject of the novel.

I spent quite a lot of time thinking about it, wondering whether perhaps it would have been better if the book had been written as a non-fiction, but I couldn’t see how. I understand that the growing understanding between cultures could only be portrayed through fiction because, sadly, this simply isn’t a reality yet. But for a writer who clearly has a lot to say and a lot of passion, the fictional format didn’t quite work for me.

Nevertheless it was a page turner, and it was left hanging which forced me to think about the story long after I had finished it. That alone helps it to be successful. That and the fact that I am now seeking out other, more erudite opinions on the Middle East crisis than the daily newspapers. The one point that came out of They Plotted Revenge which everyone should heed is the fact that only through education and understanding have we any hope of finding a solution. Until then, more innocent people are going to die.

Publisher: All Things That Matter Press
ISBN: 0-9822722-2-7
Date: 2009
Date Finished: 7 May 2009
Pages: 244

Obesity is so frequently hailed as a ‘problem’ and a ‘disaster for the country’ in the newspapers nowadays that it is no surprise that we assume that every overweight person is just one more statistic whose life will be cut short because their heart will give out by the time they are 20, and in the short years they are alive they will be so miserably unhappy that they will do nothing but console themselves with excessive amounts of food. As many of you who read my various blogs will know, I am not a particular fan of newspapers or the mainstream media in general, and I do look at these kind of claims with a healthy dose of skepticism, but it is quite rare to come across an opposing view.

But an opposing view is what Kandy Siahaya is seeking to put forward in this little book. Kandy is one of the people that the newspapers like to call ‘morbidly obese’ (a particularly unpleasant label, if you want my opinion) but not only is she fine with it, she also has a sense of humour and the ability to laugh about it. Her introductory warning is that this book might cause offence if you are sensitive about people joking about fat, weight or weight gain. She suggests that if this describes you, you probably ought to put the book down. I smiled at that, and anticipated more humour.

I applaud Kandy for settling down to write this book. I could tell that it was a labour of love for her, and I could tell that she was very happy to make people think about their own preconceptions. I am one of the ‘thin people’ that she knows will read the book, but even so I have had my share of weight related angst and diet experience so I could still relate to what she said. Being overweight is very much relative in my opinion. Medicine must place people into categories as it is the only way it can successfully manage an enormous population, but no one really fits perfectly into the category within which we are supposed to fall. Fat and healthy and happy to me seems a far better option than thin and ill and unhappy and Kandy worked hard to reinforce that fact.

My criticism of the book comes from the fact that I felt it didn’t have enough structure to it. Each chapter was interesting in and of itself, but I felt there could have been more of a natural path – a beginning, middle and end. I also wanted to know more – I wanted to hear more of the author’s experiences, and discover more that she had learnt throughout her life. I felt when I had finished that I had really only just scratched the surface, there wasn’t quite enough substance and not quite as much humour as I would have hoped. There were also a few editing issues that I picked up, but then (as many of you also know about me) I am a bit of a pedant when it comes to grammar and punctuation.

Overall this was an enjoyable and quick little read, touching on a subject in a light-hearted way which many people would shy away from as being politically incorrect or potentially offensive. Food is without doubt one of the greatest pleasures in life and everyone should be allowed to enjoy it without scorn of their fellow man. The fact that we come in different shapes and sizes cannot be taken as a blanket indicator of whether we are a good or bad person with self control or no self control. Making Light of Being Heavy is a step towards confirming that.

Publisher: Self-Published
ISBN: 978-1-4276-3954-7
Date: 2006
Date Finished: 2 May 2009
Pages: 90

Uncorrected proof copies of a novel can be of varying quality. Some I have received have had paper covers (although the shabby appearance belied the quality of the writing within). Others I have received looked no different to what I imagine the finished product would look like, although the illustrations may have been blurred or left out altogether. When I received my copy of The Selected Works of T.S.Spivet, I opened up what could only be described as a beautifully produced book, complete with exquisite margin drawings and copious notes. My curiosity was definitely piqued, and I couldn’t wait to sit down with the book and get started.

Strangely enough, when I had read the publicity material for this book, I had immediately formed a picture of T.S. Spivet. In my mind he was an explorer, an illustrator and a grown man. When I met T.S. Spivet for real, he was the first two of these things, but in the body of a 12 year old boy. But T.S. was no ordinary 12 year old. Despite having grown up on a ranch in Montana, his skill at map making and drawing, as well as his scientific mind meant that soon after we meet him, he discovers that he has won a prestigious award from the Smithsonian and, in order to accept it, must present himself in Washington D.C. the following Thursday.

And thus his adventure begins.

I was charmed by T.S. The author captured a moment in the life of the protagonist which was still so childish, and yet was laced by a budding maturity. This meant that T.S. spoke to me as an adult, but would still speak to a child just as effectively.  The book is an account of his journey to Washington on a freight train, his discovery of an adult world which he doesn’t fully understand, as well as his own self-discovery in coming to terms with the death of his younger brother, his perceived rejection by his father and his own gifts.  Parallel to his own story, T.S. learns the story of his grandmother, herself a gifted scientist in an age when women’s academic abilities were not taken seriously, and through that he learns about the struggle of not belonging, and how that can ultimately lead you away from your own talents.

If it were just the story without the accompanying illustrations, this book would have lost something. I think I might have struggled with some of the flights of fancy into which it went. There were times I couldn’t decide whether this books was supposed to be a fantasy (with wormholes in the middle of America into which trains disappear), or an observation of reality. I finally came to the conclusion that this was reality for a 12 year old – and that reality is a combination of wormholes, talking winnebagos and secret societies, big cities, Macdonalds and the desperate need to be loved. When I had settled with that I was able to fully suspend my disbelief and take the journey with T.S. The little maps, pictures and drawings which litter the pages emphasise how the world appears through T.S.’s eyes. He helped me to start noticing tiny things again – things which, when you enter the adult world, blur into normality and become insiginificant in the day to day push to survive.

My biggest issue did come from the apparent incongruity between T.S.’s parents – his mother, herself a scientist without any apparent domestic ability somehow meets and stays with his father, a cowboy and ranchman who’s life partially emulates the Westerns he watches so religiously. Would two people like that come together? I couldn’t work out how or why. Although T.S. was as mystified as I was as he states in one of the margin notes early on in the book. The story of T.S.’s grandmother, Emma, goes some way towards answering the question but I never felt fully satisfied, just as I didn’t feel fully satisfied with how one so young could have such an in depth knowledge of science. But that was all part of the fantasy of the novel, so I didn’t let it worry me too much.

The author touches elegantly upon the Evolution/Creationism debate which appears to be so prominent in the United States. I liked how he introduced the beauty and logic of science in a way which was neither confrontational nor obvious. I believe that novels like this will go much further in convincing people than hard scientific fact because they pose no threat. This novel provides that middle ground between science and people’s personal faith which seems to be ignored to a great extent (from my limited understanding) in the US. If for no other reason, The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet should be regarded as an important contribution to literature, and one that is timely and necessary.

I will go back to this book again and again, even if it is just to examine the drawings in more detail, or once again smile at T.S.’s thoughts and asides. It is a wonderful addition to my library and I was honoured to be given the opportunity to review it. It is a fantastic first novel and a recommended read.

You can find out more about the book and the author at http://www.tsspivet.com/

Rating: 9/10
ISBN: 9781846552786 
Publisher: Harvill Secker
Year: 2009
Date Finished: 22 April 2009
Pages: 375

If your husband, who is a waiter in the Window on the World Restaurant in one of the Twin Towers,  is killed during the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Centre in New York, you would have every right to be angry at the perpetrators. You would have every right to hate them. You would have every right to express your anguish of your pain and loss. But if your husband, who is a waiter in the Window on the World Restaurant, is killed during the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Centre in New York and you and he are Muslims from Pakistan, does that mean you no longer have that right? Does that mean you lose your status as a victim and you lose your right to mourn? This is one of the themes that Shaila Abdullah explores in Saffron Dreams, a thought provoking and emotional story of one woman’s survival through just this scenario.

Arissa Illahi came from a well off family in Pakistan, with a kind father and a distant, promiscuous and careless mother. She grows up adhering to tradition to an extent, but not in the strict way that we are led to believe everyone who is ‘other’ conforms to. Her marriage is still arranged, but it is arranged with Faizan – a man she met only briefly in a library in New York, but who fell in love with her and whom she fell in love with. The marriage was a good one. The couple lived in New York just like the multitude of other diasporas, getting on with their lives and planning their futures.

Until that day. Arissa – pregnant with their first child – has her life torn to shreds over the space of a few hours as her husband, who was working as a waiter while he completed his novel, becomes one of the thousands of victims of the 9/11 attacks. His body is never found, just like so many others. But while he disappears, Arissa is suddenly faced with the loss of everything she loved and a life ahead of her. When Raian is born, he is severely disabled. As she learns to care for her child, and overcome her loss, the character grows in ways which are both heroic and normal. Of course they are. She is a human with a heart and needs and feeling just like me. In the circumstances, would I not do the same?

Of course, this process is made all the more difficult by the blind prejudice which is immediately flung towards anyone who looked remotely alien by the grieving people of New York. It is such a tragic part of human nature that when we suffer tragedy, we look to blame someone. Even if that someone has suffered the same tragedy, we try to repair our own hearts by directing our anger at others. At one point, Arissa is asked by a journlist how she feels seeing her husband was killed by ‘her own people’. The narrow minded, stereotyping in that comment was inconsiderate beyond belief. Nobody likes the havoc that is wreaked by most fundamentalist religions, but that doesn’t mean that every single person who practices (or even doesn’t practice) that religion should be tarred with the same brush. Why, as humans, do we have to box people up into categories. You wear a veil, therefore you are a terrorist. You wear a cross, therefore you are a homosexual hating bigot. You don’t wear anything, therefore you are an immoral reprobate. How about you wear what you choose, and you are a human being, just like me?

As anyone who has read this blog will know, I have read several other books about the situation of Muslim women, particularly in Afghanistan. You will know how angry they make me as to me, every woman deserves respect, equal treatment, choice and a life free of violence and oppression. It means that I am wont to stereotype as well, so I found this book even more fulfilling because it made me stop and think. I am just as guilty of tarring everyone with the same brush as the next person. Meeting Arissa, I hope it will nudge me one step closer to stopping that.

This book examines the cultural mix as Arissa struggles to find equilibrium. Raian, so physically damaged himself, is her shining light and the hope and strength she needs to keep going. And through Raian she comes to realise that she can survive, she will manage and she can find happiness with herself again. It is a wonderfully uplifting story of struggle and survival, and yet another necessary work of fiction. Saffron Dreams is one of the reasons that fiction is so powerful. It helps everyone to understand a different life and a different point of view, and makes people stop for a moment and look outside of the walls within which they live. It is through fiction that you get the opportunity to touch a life which may seem alien and through touching it, realise that it has many similarities to your own.

Shaila Abdullah has also written a book a short stories about women in Pakistan. When I had to re-buy this book, I used it as an opportunity to also purchase her first book. After finishing this one, her short stories have found there way on to by to-be-read-soon pile so look out for the review of that one shortly.

ISBN: 978-1-932690-73-6
Publisher: Modern History Press
Year: 2009
Date Finished: 22 March 2009
Pages: 232

A single word came to my head when I finished this book.

Wow.

What a ride. This was a clever combination of graphic violence, black humour, thrills and empathy and it was a story which just kept you on the edge of your seat. For a first novel, it is an explosion from an author who has a fantastic way with words, the ability to craft strong characters and a knack for painting an image which is sometimes too much for the imagination to bear.

The story is about Peter Brown, a doctor working at a frenetically busy New York hospital. The book opens with him getting mugged. But his ability not just to stop the mugger but to literally put him in the hospital suggests that Peter isn’t just your average registrar. Despite verging on exhaustion from the demanding hours of his job, there is a sharpness about him which draws you in. It soon emerges that Peter’s past life is far darker than anyone he works with could have imagined. When he enters the room of a man with terminal cancer and realises that he is recognised, his cover starts to slip. As a hit man for the mob in his previous life, he is in the hospital on witness protection. This guy means certain death to Peter. If Peter allows him to die under his watch, the alarm will have rung and all of those shadows of his past who want to see him dead will be coming for him.

Thus begins a breathless story which jumps from Peter’s musings over the past and what got him to this point and the actual events he is trying to survive through. When put against the backdrop of a busy hospital, as a reader you feel swept along with the sheer pace of this novel. Page turner isn’t a fair description – I was almost ripping at them to see what happened next.

What Josh Bazell has achieved so well in my opinion is the creation of the character of Peter who had such a streak of evil through him and was nevertheless good and sympathetic. It didn’t seem to matter to me what he had done – I wanted him to survive. He was trapped in the moral dilemma of his life, but in it he had allowed himself to truly love someone, as well as question what was right and wrong with the purpose of protecting others from the evil under which he operated. He was the epitome of a hero, but one who was so completely human that his actions made all the more impact. This impression of Peter was made stronger by the fact the book was written in the first person, so you had an intimate relationship with Peter as he fought to keep what he had now gained. I asked Josh how he had managed to paint such a contrast of good an evil in Peter. Josh told me that Peter demonstrated how evil can come so easily to people – especially to Peter – and yet he still battled morally with what he was doing. Josh said that this was something which we could all relate to as humans – a point I completely agree with. Most of us may not exercise the level of evil that Peter was, but if we were pushed to it, how closely would we go? It is an interesting question.

The graphic descriptions in this book really made me cringe at times and stayed in my head even after I had put the book down. This level of violence could put off a reader who was faint at heart, but I felt it fitted with the whole theme and pace of the book. There is no painting over the violence of the mob. In fact, in another question I posed to Josh I asked him how much research he had done about the mob in writing this book and he replied

“I did a fair amount of research, but the thing that felt important to get right was the basis of the mob’s success, which is bone-simple willingness to do awful things to people who work for a living in order to take their money.  A lot of what I was seeing in fictional representations of the mob was victimless crimes and loyalty gained through beneficence.  I suspected the mafia wasn’t really into either of those things, and the facts are out there:  it isn’t.”

The criminal activity associated with the mob is neither romantic nor glamorous. The level of violence is very real, which once again gave this book the quality of a story which could have happened.

I was pleased to discover that Josh is in the midst of writing his next novel, and that Peter will figure in it again. I found myself wanting so much to know what happened to him after the events in Beat the Reaper were over that I couldn’t help but ask. You know an author has done something good when you keep returning to a character and wondering over them in your mind, days or weeks after you have put the book down. I will be glad to see him again.

The final question of Josh was to ask what his plans for the future were. His answer? “Get a life”.

Actually, Josh, I would rather you didn’t if it means you can keep producing novels as good as this one. You can get a life after that.

Rating: 9/10
ISBN: 9780434019236
Publisher: William Heinemann
Date: 2009
Date Finished: 6 March 2009
Pages: 307

Combine an unusual plot with a beautifully written book, and you are sure to have a winning combination. Jeffrey Ford managed to achieve that in The Portrait of Mrs Charbuque with only a few minor flaws. This was a book exploring madness and obsession, mystery and unhappiness, all put together in a nineteenth century setting that was completely believable and completely gorgeous.

This is the story of an artist who starts to question his own motives in creating art. His work as a portraitist in New York at the turn of the nineteenth century dawns on him as being a ‘sell out’. Painting artificial portraits for money may ensure a comfortable lifestyle, but it doesn’t help to further one’s sense of art, and Piero Piambo, the hero of the novel, is feeling the ensuing emptiness. On the way home from yet another semi-successful portrait unveiling, Piambo is stopped by a mysterious blind man with an even more mysterious message. It is a message inviting him to attend to the house of a new patron, who has offered Piambo more money than he could possibly wish for to paint her portrait. With the money, Piambo begins to imagine the freedom of expression he could enjoy, without having to worry about paying the bills, and in no time he decides to take the commission.

The unusual thing about the commission is that the sitter, Mrs Charbuque, remains behind a screen and Piambo must paint her based solely on the questions he asks her and the answers she gives. This heralds a bizarre tale of the woman’s childhood and marriage, which drag the artist deeper and deeper into the commission and the story behind it.

Simultaneously, however, some unusual things are happening in New York. There appears to be an unusual disease in the air which causes an unspeakable death to the sufferer from bleeding from their eyes. Piambo doesn’t link this strangeness with his own predicament at first, but when someone close to him is afflicted and dies, he begins to realise that the more obsessed with Mrs Charbuque he becomes, the more danger he is in and the more he stands to lose.

It is difficult to say more without giving away the ending, but it would be wrong of me if I did, as the ending is both exciting and surprising. Following Piambo as he becomes more and more captivated by the hidden woman, and then as he gathers the strength to overcome his obsession, achieve his goals and repair his life is rewarding for the reader. My criticism lies in the bizarre about-face of Mrs Charbuque’s servant towards the end which seems somewhat out of character. I felt that some inkling of that perhaps should have been felt as the story progressed and so it seemed a little ‘convenient’. Irrespective, I thought the portrait of insanity was painted in a manner both thrilling and believable and also felt satiated by the final pages which hint at a happily ever after conclusion. When a protagonist has gone through the changes and events that he had, it seems important for things to work out in the end.

I found the writing style attractive and true to the period, and the pace was rapid without being shallow. All in all it was a good read.

Rating: 8/10
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Year: 2002
Date Finished: 28 December 2008
Pages: 307

In many cases, a good book isn’t compelling because of the plot. The quality of a book comes from far more than that. Of course, the plot is important, but Kissing Games of the World provides evidence that the plot can almost be incidental. When your characters are strong, and the journey from the beginning to the end of the book is undertaken with such care, you have the makings of a fantastic, difficult-to-put-down novel.

The reason I say this is that the plot of Kissing Games is relatively simple. Jamie, a single mother of 5 year old Arley, is house sharing with an elderly gentleman who is single handedly raising his grandson after his own son left. Harris, the grandfather, dies suddenly. Although is son, Nate, is now living the professional life of a salesman with a professional girlfriend, and a jet-setting and happy-go-lucky bachelor lifestyle, he is the only person who can legally now look after Christopher, his son. Nate and Jamie meet and their two somewhat dystfunctional paths come together.

I knew right from the beginning that the two of them would end up together – in a book such as this one, it is the only possible ending (I would have felt very betrayed if they hadn’t). What was so wonderful though was that although I knew the ending, I had no idea of how they were going to get there – and that is where this book came into its own.

The character development was impeccable. Neither character was completely perfect, yet neither was so flawed that you couldn’t forgive them. There were times when Nate seemed truly hateful, but he had to be in order for his development to happen. The interactions between him and Jamie were fraught with tension and misunderstanding, but never to the point where you wanted to say ‘for crying out loud, pull yourself together’. I really think this is why Kissing Games was such a pleasure to read – the events and people were so real that I honestly felt I was a fly on the wall, watching everything going on in real life. It was never once over the top, and never strayed into territory which made you suspend your disbelief.

Sandi Kahn Shelton has an ability to create a world in which real emotions cause very real issues. She has a mastery over the language so you could hear the characters both out loud and within. And she has a grasp of the damage that people experience throughout their lives and the effect it has on their future and others around them. I feel incredibly grateful that I was given the opportunity to review this book and would not hesitate to recommend it to anyone who enjoys reading about people, and takes pleasure in being with them as they grow and change.

ISBN: 978-0-307-39365-4
Publisher: Shay Areheart Books (Random House)
Year: 2008
Date Finished: 15 January 2009
Pages: 383

Although you can’t judge a book by it’s cover, or it’s title for that matter, that doesn’t stop us from being attracted to a book by one or other of those things. I was attracted to An Arsonist’s Guide to Writer’s Homes in New England by the curious title. I knew nothing about it, and as usual I avoided reading any reviews before I picked it up, and I gave it a go.

Unfortunately, it took me a chapter or two to realise that this wasn’t fiction in the sense of a good story. This was literary fiction which tells a story, but which has the purpose of delivering a deeper message. Because of this, the plot becomes obscure, almost incidental to the message. It is the kind of thing that many Booker Prize winning novels suffer from. I can see what the author is trying to do, but sometime the message is so obscure, or difficult to spot that all you are left with is absurdity.

The story is narrated by Sam Pulsifer, a man who is a ‘bumbler’. He is a pretty pathetic character throughout most of the story – so pathetic that I realised he couldn’t be a real character, all he could be was a metaphor. His completely dysfunctional childhood, where he was accused of burning down the historical house of Emily Dickinson in Massachusetts and goes to prison for 10 years for arson, is overshadowed by his even more dysfunctional adulthood after he is released from prison. He goes through prison without even being touched – he is the same, vague kind of bumbler after he comes out as he was before he went in. When he comes out though, he embarks on a strange career in packaging science, marries (also a very strange event) and then gets accused by his wife of having an affair (in circumstances which are a bit ridiculous), after which time he returns to the house of his previously educated, literary family and finds them both raging alcoholics.

None of this rang true, which is why I had to keep in my mind that the whole story was a metaphor and perhaps I just wasn’t reading deep enough. But as deep as I read, I just couldn’t figure out what it was trying to say. The pathetic guy finally adds courage to his vacuous identity? Being pathetic means fate ensures you take the blame for everything? No matter how pathetic you are, everyone has it in them to protect the one person they love? None of these seemed adequate to justify the irritating weakness of the main character and the complete absurdity of the story.

The oddest thing of all was the cover was festooned with quotes like “a hilarious tale” and “laugh out loud”. What? Yes, it was strange, but it was so dark that I struggled to find humour in it (unless you take enormous pleasure in laughing at people who are so low they couldn’t fall any further – which I don’t). There was not one part of the book which raised a smile. It was well written, undoubtedly, and the language structure was very elegant, but I feel it widely missed the mark if it was supposed to be comedy and it also fell short of quality literature. Perhaps I have missed something with this book, and perhaps it was written as a critique on academia, literature and life, but I simply came away feeling slightly depressed and shaking my head.

Interestingly, I have read Evelyn Waugh’s The Loved One since finishing this (the review will come soon, when I have caught up!) and it stands as a marked contrast. It is also a critique of a particular society but the grim humour, absurdity and scathing observation was far more subtle, and therefore, in my opinion, far more effective.

Rating: 6/10
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Year: 2007
Date Finished: 26 December 2008
Pages: 303