David
Having read the sequel before reading this, I already knew what an awful bunch of people the main characters were. I liked this better than One Of Us though. Maybe because of what happens at the party - and that it involves Lucy, the one sympathetic character in the story (who doesn’t appear in the sequel). I didn’t hate the writing as much - it’s just ordinary, not especially bad, a bit verbose but readable enough. The story is well structured enough to be engaging. I can’t tell if it’s quite predictable or if it’s because I’ve read the sequel so knew more or less how it would end. Probably won’t bother seeking out any more by this author.
I’m a big fan of Bob Mortimer’s comedy but it doesn’t translate well to the page for me. The quirkiness soon becomes irritating rather than charming. Gary and Emily’s relationship doesn’t feel at all convincing - the characters generally feel superficial (apart from Grace, perhaps). The plot is thin and stretched out over twice as many pages as it needs to be - there is sooo much padding in the writing, with scenes described in the minutest of trivial detail. On the plus side, it’s such an easy, light read that I rattled through it in no time - otherwise I would have ditched it long before finishing.
I should know better than to read a celebrity novel but was drawn in by it being a 99p special offer. So at least it wasn’t an expensive mistake.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
I didn’t love this quite as much as I loved Troubles, which is one of my all-time favourite reads, but it’s still easily deserving of a five-star rating. Much of the first part of the book is scene-setting and there’s a lot of detail to take in. But by the time the action starts you’re deeply immersed in the world of the novel and the horror of the siege is brought vividly to life. It’s a very well paced book.
Overall, it’s not as outright funny as Troubles but the poetry reading scene early on is laugh-out-loud hilarious. Later comical episodes are much darker in tone, reminiscent of Evelyn Waugh’s bleaker moments. The siege setting brilliantly highlights the absurdities of the Victorian world view, as the inhabitants of the Residency continue to believe themselves superior to the Indians even while everything is falling apart around them. And JG Farrell’s writing is simply exquisite. He has a real eye for metaphor.
I saw a review elsewhere that complained we don’t get enough of the Indian perspective on events but that to me is missing the point of what this book is about - there are surely other non-fiction books that offer better purely historical accounts of the Indian mutiny, this is something altogether more profound, an insight into the psyche of the British people at the height of the Empire.
One thing that slowed my reading progress slightly was unfamiliarity with a lot of the Indian terminology and having to look up a number of words - but that’s not a complaint at all. It’s a truly rewarding experience to read such a well written book as this, and if you learn a few new words along the way, all the better.
Irritatingly overwritten. There’s a superfluity of detail but no depth. For example:
“Richard, unsure what to say, studied the beige-knotted carpet in Ben’s study with great intensity. His eyes wandered to the kelim rug under Ben’s desk, woven with a repetitive triangular pattern in reds and browns.”
Without losing anything, that could have been written as:
“Richard, unsure what to say, stared at the floor.”
There’s a lot more like that throughout the whole book. It’s flabby and dull. Endless cataloguing of superficial “colour” passing as insight.
Underneath the terrible writing is a moderately engaging story about politics, class war and revenge, but it feels almost like a parody of stuff we’ve read many times before. And none of the characters are at all likeable.
I’ve not read any Elizabeth Day before. Apparently this is a sequel to an earlier novel. I won’t be rushing to read that one.
A remarkable book, and a desperately sad one. George Harvey Bone is a problematic protagonist whose problems are to a great extent of his own making, but you're rooting for him all the way to the inevitable end, hoping that he can drag himself out of the pernicious sphere of influence of the cruel Netta and fascist Peter. I think I enjoyed The Slaves of Solitude more - perhaps because the lead character is more sympathetic, and it's funnier (and less bleak) - but Hangover Square's great strengths are its depiction of London in the period immediately before the start of the Second World War, and Hamilton's beautiful writing that had me captivated from beginning to end. You can really feel the authenticity of Hamilton's experience underpinning the world he portrays.
Marvellous. So very funny, I had a broad smile on my face from beginning to end. Similar to EF Benson in its dissection of middle class foibles - perhaps more serious and definitely more subtle but just as funny. You feel that Barbara Pym can see right through people - men in particular, and their weaknesses.
Funny and gripping. Good storytelling built around well drawn characters. Plot is preposterous but in a good way. Very readable, very enjoyable. Differs in some small but significant ways from the TV version but I like the book version better - it's slightly more subtle, more akin to Le Carré, whereas the TV version is all about the action.
Cracking good read. Even though I'd seen the TV adaptation before reading, and so knew what was going to happen, it totally gripped me (there are some significant plot differences between book and TV versions but the story is the same in all the key details). Also very funny. Looking forward to reading more in the series.
Starts off well. Interesting, mostly plausible characters. The ups and downs in the relationships between Sadie, Sam and Marx felt convincingly realistic to me - people aren't always rational, sometimes we love/hate people for the flimsiest of reasons. And it's a good story that quickly captures the attention with a strong non-linear but well ordered narrative structure (information/plot detail is revealed with a good sense of timing through both flash-back and flash-forward). The writing is mostly zippy and pacy, a very easy style to read, though it sometimes suffers from over-explanation or clunky metaphors (can't recall any examples of the top of my head, didn't make notes, but there were a few sentences that made me wince and the bit where the title is explained felt rather over-egged), and overall it feels too long, in need of tighter editing, and begins to drag a bit towards the end. An enjoyable read nonetheless. And I'd love to be able to play Ichigo, sounds like a great game.
Being blissfully unaware of any of the supposed controversies mentioned by other reviewers, none of that was able to spoil the book for me. I thought Solution was a brilliant idea and even if it's not entirely original it felt distinct enough from the game it supposedly plagiarises.
Wanted to love this more than I actually did. There's some beautiful writing - and also some very messy writing. I found it hard to relate to Claire (her “own way“ of going mad felt too strange to me... but I suppose we all deal with grief in different ways) and I didn't much like Tom. They're both very convincingly portrayed characters though. In fact, all the characters are well drawn and fully fleshed out. Overall, I found it interesting rather than captivating. It's also pretty bleak in places. Feeney evokes the harrowing events of the family's past well but - it felt to me - in a fairly disengaged way. The ending doesn't feel like much of a resolution, but maybe that's the point - we deal with these things and carry on with our lives as best we can... or we don't, but to say any more would be a spoiler...
As I'm writing down my thoughts, I'm finding that the novel has given me a lot more to think about than I realise and maybe it deserves upgrading from three to four stars. Let's call it 3.5
Flabby writing with an excess of small, trivial detail that adds nothing to the story. Makes it feel very sloooow. It's also very repetitive - eg when stuff that has been mentioned earlier in the book becomes relevant again, it isn't just hinted at, it's retold in detail, so it feels like the author is treating the readers as idiots.
The maths stuff is supposed to make Dee seem interesting and quirky but it feels bolted on and irrelevant except to provide a hook for pseudo-philosophical analogies and musings that are trite rather than profound. And the drip-feeding of hints about Dee's past is irritating rather than intriguing. Almost as irritating as the short chapters, which feel more like scenes in a screenplay than a novel.
I persisted with it mainly because it's a very easy read so didn't require much of a time commitment.
I loved The Land of Decoration and rattled through it. This one I found somewhat heavier going. There's some really lovely writing but there's just too much of it - passages get bogged down in over florid descriptive prose. You can see what she's trying to do but she doesn't really pull it off. (She'd like to be Virginia Woolf. She isn't.)
Underlying it is a story that unfortunately isn't all that interesting to me - although it picks up about two thirds of the way in as she reaches the resolution of her research and the ensuing moment of revelation. The ending felt a bit of a cop-out though - a little too predictable.
I'd like to read more by Grace McCleen but I couldn't give this one a wholehearted recommendation.
Delightful collection of essays. Barnes is a wonderfully honest writer about food and cookery, and his own shortcomings as a cook. His prose is fluent and elegant, also very funny. I read many of these pieces when they first appeared in column form in the Guardian but could happily read them again any time. A great book for dipping into.
Breathtaking. Magnificent. An absolute masterpiece. Süskind writes so evocatively about smell, you can feel the odours and aromas wafting off the page.
You go through the whole book never really knowing who Grenouille is, which is appropriate in the context given that he is a person without a smell of his own. Smell is a proxy for visibility and Grenouille is invisible, which is what enables him to get away with his terrible crimes.
The ending is a spectacular coup de theatre too - as funny as it is horrific. Marvellous.
I need to pick up my German again so I can read it in the original. The translation is great though.
As a fully paid-up member of the David Mitchell fan club, I found this one disappointing. It's a by-the-numbers yarn about an aspiring rock band in the 60s, with nothing much interesting to say about the era - mostly just a load of name-dropping. Plus a bit of the usual supernatural stuff you expect from Mitchell, which feels a bit tacked on and irrelevant. Also countless references to previous books shoehorned in - self-reference becoming self-reverence. I really hope this is a one-off and not a sign that he has run out of ideas.
An enjoyable but flawed novel. Some good bits but overall it felt a bit of a slog to read.
I like the basic premise. Wilson wants to demonstrate the interconnectedness of events in a period of history where seismic shifts in society were occurring across the world, with Josiah Wedgwood right at their heart, coming into contact with all the great names of the period, directly or indirectly. Yet at times, rather than the cornerstone of the novel, he feels like an incidental character, hovering in the background while historical events unfold around him. And there's no real insight into his mind - at times, it feels like we know the fictional characters better than the true life ones. And there are long, rambling passages describing entirely invented events, such as the fictional Caleb Bowers' stream of consciousness on his romantic feelings towards Wedgwood's wife. I didn't feel this episode served any purpose in the novel and the whole chapter could have been cut out without losing anything.
Then there are bizarre episodes like the real life Tom Byerley taking part in Washington's real life crossing of the Delaware, though there is no historical evidence to support the idea that he was present for this event, nor that he ever had a romantic liaison with a Cherokee woman who equally bizarrely ends up working as a potter in Wedgwood's factory. Wilson admits in his postscript that the account is heavily fictionalised, especially in respect to Tom's life, but excuses this because his purpose is to pay homage to Wedgwood rather than give an accurate biographical account of his life. For me, this means the book ends up being neither one thing nor the other and is less satisfying as a result.
The writing is polished, as you'd expect from an author with AN Wilson's experience, but I don't much care for his style, which is irritatingly affected and often over-elaborate. There are also horribly clunky passages of dialogue or transcribed letters that seemingly serve no purpose other than exposition and feel inauthentic.
I also hated the ‘knowing' nods and winks to historical characters and events - eg one of the younger Wedgwoods strikes up a friendship with this strange Coleridge character who is ‘composing some foolish little poem about an old sailor on a mysterious voyage'.
Wow, this is a bad book. I'd give it zero stars but then Goodreads wouldn't register my annoyance with how bad this book is. It's been festering on my ‘to read' pile since forever and I picked it up in an idle moment when looking for something intellectually unchallenging to read after a hard day at work. It certainly fits that description. I had only intended to read the first few pages to see if I fancied it, but before I knew it, I was over halfway through, so I thought I might as well finish it. But it was very much a case of getting it over with as quickly as possible.
Let's start with the plot. High-concept tosh. Now, I don't have a problem with that in principle. The basic premise (woman wakes up every day with no memory of who she is) could have potentially formed the basis of an interesting thriller in more competent hands. But it is so clumsily handled that it ends up being mostly dull. There is no dramatic tension. The various twists are so clearly signposted right from the start that when the moment of reveal arrives, they come as absolutely no surprise. As a result, it drags terribly. And the ending is an absolute mess.
Even so, I could forgive the preposterous plotting if the writing weren't so terrible. I made just the one highlight while reading - a line that deserved to be picked out for its special awfulness (my emphasis):
“I lifted pictures up to see if there were others taped beneath them, layers of history overlain like strata.”
So many words, so few of them necessary... This is a book in serious need of an editor. It's 500 pages but could easily have been reduced to 250 without losing anything - in fact, cutting half the words might at least have injected a bit of pace into the book. The only thing in its favour is that despite the length it's a very quick read. Just a shame it's not a painless one.
I was entirely unsurprised to read in the notes at the end that the book was spawned from a creative writing course. I have one question, though: was SJ Watson absent on the day they did the “write what you know” lesson? The protagonist is a middle-aged woman, and I had assumed prior to reading that SJ Watson was probably also a middle-aged woman, but it turns out he was a 30-something man when he wrote it. And it shows. The very worst example being the shudderingly cringesome masturbation scene towards the end.
And if that isn't enough to put you off reading this book, just don't say I didn't warn you.
Quite brilliant. Dark, brutal and gruesome but utterly compelling. I love the way the story is told, gradually filling in bits of information here and there but never revealing the full facts, leaving you to work out much of what really happened for yourself and come to your own conclusions. A hugely satisfying read.
Wonderful book, a sheer joy to read. And very funny. Many reviewers describe Pym's humour as gentle but I feel it is a lot sharper than she is given credit for, perhaps because her writing is so light and easy to read, and her subjects apparently inconsequential. But it's clear to me that the title is bitterly sardonic. Perhaps she should have called the book ‘Awful Men'.
A fairly lightweight read - in terms of accessibility, but definitely not in its content. Only minor criticism is that it feels like a short story that has been strung out to 250+ pages - and as a result does slightly drag at times. But it's very, very good indeed. There's no great twist, the power of the book is not in shocking the reader with revelations, but in the way it allows you to observe the protagonists gradually coming to understand the horror of their situation, while you the reader are always a few steps ahead of them, your worldliness allowing you to see clearly what the cloistered Kathy can't comprehend. At times this is used to good comical effect, but ultimately it's all rather poignant. And the scene where the truth is finally spelled out to Tommy and Kathy is heartbreaking - although I didn't find it as absolutely gut-wrenching as The Remains Of The Day (which had me sobbing uncontrollably by the end). It's interesting to compare the two books though, as they have many similarities in their themes, even if they don't appear very similar on the surface. The book isn't really about cloning - it's not science fiction. The clones are ‘others'. Part of what makes this book so clever is its subtlety...
Re-reading David Mitchell's back catalogue ahead of his new novel coming out next year, but this time in published order... Of course, a poor memory is a blessing when it comes to books, because re-reading brings as much enjoyment as reading for the first time. I first read Ghostwritten only a few years ago but have already forgotten most of it. I do remember enjoying it immensely, though, and I enjoyed it at least as much the second time round (at least, I think I did). What really strikes me second time round is just how astonishingly good this is for a debut novel.
Great title. Unfortunately, it's probably the best thing about this book. It starts brightly, with the death of a ‘virgin' at the hands of a late-18th century Cambridge hellfire club, and the introduction to John Holdsworth sets him up as a potentially interesting protagonist, but he's never fully made flesh and the story just sort of fizzles out over the next 350 pages as it drags toward an inconclusive conclusion. Some of the writing is highly irritating - the author has researched 18th century idioms but the way he drops them into the otherwise very current prose is jarring - especially when he uses the same phrases repeatedly (“it don't signify” feels like a bit of a leitmotif). Readable but pedestrian stuff, from a journeyman novelist.
