I cannot think - I can only respond as the string of a violin quivers under the drawing of a bow. This is prose so voluptuo...more Ah! This writer is sublime.
I cannot think - I can only respond as the string of a violin quivers under the drawing of a bow. This is prose so voluptuous that no amount of imagery, sumptuous, voluminous, sensuous or rapturous can even begin to describe the delights of this book.
Literature only reaches the utmost limit of its seductiveness when it gives occasion for jealousy - not the petty feelings that constitute envy of one writer for another, but the searing, tumultuous emotion that demands withholding its beauty and wonder from the eyes of all other readers.
I have quite some things to say and so little time in which to say these. And now we have the great year of Proust...it may be some time before these...more I have quite some things to say and so little time in which to say these. And now we have the great year of Proust...it may be some time before these things are said, time being what it is, holidays being what they are, and my thoughts being scattered as usual.
So perhaps it's best to attempt the following:
Comparisons with Austen are appropriate for the social commentary and the (at times gently and perhaps not so gently snide) remarks the narrator makes about the actions of the characters. But this is not Austenesque prose by any stretch of the imagination.
There is an internal consistency to this book that makes it appear the author spent most of the ten years it took her to write the book in plotting - in fact, that wasn't the case, so even more impressive.
Comparisons with Dickens are odd - perhaps my knowledge of Dickens is lacking but the only resemblance is in the sprawling nature Dickens employed and which has been executed to good effect in this book. With respect to the development of social disparity, Dickens was far more caustic.
Was it really nearly 900 pages long? My goodness, I hardly noticed at all.
Footnotes in a fiction book - well, really. How delightful. Brilliant asides which added depth and flavour without detracting or distracting from the story - it helped that I simply read the footnotes at the end of each chapter in the e-book version, of course. But still. To be savoured rather than spurned.
The arbitrariness of the magic - well, yes. That was rather the point. Magic doesn't solve problems, particularly when it's been out of action for such a long time and its two lead proponents are two sides of the same coin (not quite Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but definitely ivory tower scholar and mad, experiential scientist) both blind to their lack of understanding of its capriciousness - not for nothing is one labelled Fearfulness and the other Arrogance.
The villain - well, there wasn't. Actually, there was not one single (male) character (with the possible exception of the Hero (view spoiler)[Stephen Black (hide spoiler)] and Dr Greysteel) who did not display villainous tendencies of one or other inclination. The ladies remained virtuous and pure to the last (which was perhaps the only fault I would have with this book, a kind of inverted sexism if you will) and were a driving force for the action of the book because of their value as objects (sadly - but then, this is an historically accurate portrayal, therefore it would not be appropriate to have our 21st Century sensibilities criticising Regency ignorance/value systems).
The setting - perfect. Just enough historical realism so that suspension of disbelief was never even an obvious factor in slipping into a world where odd occurrences had as much a surreal as a rational explanation.
Accuracy and research of both English folklore and Regency England - could not be faulted. Natty little snippets included Lord Byron being jinxed and a footnote as to his later death.
But the highest accolade I can pay this book - I was not aware I was reading it until I was (forcibly) interrupted and suddenly became aware of my own existence again. This book is that good.(less)
No. Those three stars are because this book has not read me. This book is utterly, if adroitly, contrived. It is belletristic masturbation of astoundi...moreNo. Those three stars are because this book has not read me. This book is utterly, if adroitly, contrived. It is belletristic masturbation of astounding proportions.
The three stars are an acknowledgement of Mr Mitchell's deliberately smug composition....see remainder of review at www.abookwithaview.com and the comments for a raise-the-eyebrows and dimple-the-cheeks discussion.(less)
I saw the movie on the plane (where else) and was frantic to surf the 'net to find out more about it when we landed. I wanted to understand more about...moreI saw the movie on the plane (where else) and was frantic to surf the 'net to find out more about it when we landed. I wanted to understand more about the book, its author, the concepts, and background. Big screen (well, in this case, the small screen on the back of a plane seat) is terrific but ephemeral, whereas with a book I have time for distractions, cogitation, re-reading (and checking things on the net!). You might argue that I can fiddle with 'Pause', 'Rewind', 'Forward' and (several iterations later) 'Play', but this tends to have the undesirable effect of tossing me out of my utterly physiological entrapment within the film. The beauty of a book is that it is really all in my head! And that's what I would like to discuss here.
Chris Nolan's treatment of the book was brilliant, precisely because of the medium; fast-paced, fore-shadowing, and with a judicious and welcome lack of gratuitous violence and special effects. But it doesn't do justice to the subject matter that Chris Priest wanted to, and effectively did, explore.
Priest's book is a marvel no less worthy precisely because it is a book! The book is written in three parts, each part representing one of the three elements of a magic act, and each part cleverly reflects the nature of the element it represents (bear that in mind when reading nay-sayers who think the opening setting is irrelevant). Nolan did condense parts of the book and the condensation works perfectly in a movie. Priest's original material is able to play with the nature of a magic act in a way Nolan could not, because of the shortening required for a screenplay.
Nolan made an emotional grab for the guts with the motivation he set up for the characters - and that is also a function of the medium. A film doesn't have the luxury of time that a book does. Priest's book, on the other hand, delves much more in the psychology of its protagonists without a quickly discernible (and emotionally acceptable) cause-and-effect providing the basis for the competition between the two magicians.
The book's haunting ending achieves a level of ambiguity the movie fails to translate (and Nolan is known for his lack of black-and-white, cut-and-dried endings). Images from the film still sit with me, but scenes from the book that I have imagined myself resonate far longer, and with far many more questions.
I think it is probably better at this point to recommend reading the book (keeping in mind that it is a book and the film is a successful adaptation) than saying anything else, because even if you have seen the movie, the book is sufficiently different that I would have to start on the path to spoilerdom. And this is a novel which deserves the innocence of an audience waiting in anticipation for the curtain to rise.(less)
This is a long novel, with plenty of twists and turns. The intricate nature of the plot and some of the subject material of this book resemble The Bou...moreThis is a long novel, with plenty of twists and turns. The intricate nature of the plot and some of the subject material of this book resemble The Bourne Identity, Tom Clancy's works or Stieg Larsson's Millenium trilogy. So if you're a fan of corporate and international espionage, techno-bio thrillers with a sci-fi feel, apocalypse, races-against-the-clock, quirky-but-fun characters, this is for you.
The plot kept me reading - where was it going, how was it going to be resolved. Some of the characters were obvious, but remained believable. There were a couple of glaring plot devices eg deus ex machina, towards the end, and the end itself felt very rushed, almost as it the author had gotten the whole drama of his chest, and wanted to call it a day. This jerked around suspension of disbelief - but it was so late in the book as to make no difference.
Why I wouldn't give it more stars is because the version I read is an older one. The author has just signed (congratulations) a contract with Underland Press, and a good editor will smooth out the rough edges and pull out some unnecessary scenes (and hopefully insist on a few new ones towards the end of the book). The foreign language use in the book is often incorrect, and this needs attention in the upcoming hard/soft editions. However, I don't think these caveats should put you off reading the book.
Other reviews mention the 'techie' nature of the book. I'm neither a scientist nor a computer geek, and the few instances of hard-core heavy-duty bioscience/computerspeak aren't enough to label this book 'just-for-the-nerds'. I rather admired the author for the research he had undertaken and the ease with which he pulled the various disciplines together.
There's minimal use of coarse language and violence, the latter is not described ad nausaeum, which I appreciate.
The bottom line: if this book had been written by a better-known author, more people would be reading it. Go ahead and buy a copy - you'll be entertained.(less)
Sherlock is lost on the plane! The culprits are identified (and harangued) but can our intrepid lost baggage service locate the missing collection!?!?...moreSherlock is lost on the plane! The culprits are identified (and harangued) but can our intrepid lost baggage service locate the missing collection!?!?! Watch this space.
A very enjoyable romp through a bygone London. Lots of lovely ideas to plagiarise if I had any inkling (or aspiration) to be a crime writer. Really, Conan Doyle should be included in creative writers' courses.(less)
Sometimes a little slow going. But you just can't go past all those lovely plots. Such a pity technology these days renders most of Doyle's twists and...moreSometimes a little slow going. But you just can't go past all those lovely plots. Such a pity technology these days renders most of Doyle's twists and turns obsolete.(less)
This is not a book for Da Vinci fans. But if you like a more leisurely journey of discovery, with Italian art, history, and a good rendition of the tw...moreThis is not a book for Da Vinci fans. But if you like a more leisurely journey of discovery, with Italian art, history, and a good rendition of the twisted interplay between village and state politics, as the focus, as seen through the eyes of a reluctant heroine, you will find this book entertaining.(less)
Why was Ovid, the most popular writer of his era, banished to the remote town of Tomis in the Black Sea from the seat of the Empire's power, Rome, and...moreWhy was Ovid, the most popular writer of his era, banished to the remote town of Tomis in the Black Sea from the seat of the Empire's power, Rome, and the side of his patron, Augustus?
Why are merely two lines of Medea, widely touted as his most ardent and accomplished work, the only surviving remnant of this play?
Between the historical facts of Ovid’s life, his admission that a poem and a mistake were the pillars of his ruin, and these tantalising enigmas, Jane Alison has wrought a hauntingly romantic drama of psychological manipulation and sensual intrigue.
Holidaying in the Black Sea on the outskirts of the Roman Empire and avoiding the potential displeasure of Augustus, Ovid chances upon an almost unearthly woman who epitomises the fantastical elements of his about-to-be published Metamorphoses. A delectable, desirable, alluring combination of mystic and witch, Xenia seems myth translated into life. Ovid is enchanted, obsessed, almost as a virgin youth experiencing his first love, he is brimming with inspiration: Xenia will be the muse for his pièce de résistance. But this time, he renders his subject seductively dark and twisted.
When autumn arrives, Ovid tempts Xenia from her home on the coast of the Black Sea to Rome with the promise of immortality only an artist can bequeath. The ineluctable noose of ambition lures Ovid and he enters a Faustian contract, deceiving his muse and hurling them both towards a retribution he never imagined. As Ovid and Xenia become entangled in his art-inspiring-life conspiracy and the schemes of his patrons, so the reader is ensnared in this chilling yet enthralling re-telling of the events leading to Ovid’s banishment.
The Love Artist is an exotic, brilliant and utterly compelling meditation on love, genius, and the artist's (and his or her muse) unswerving quest for immortality. Ms Alison’s prose is as bewitching as Xenia is described, as sensual and steamy as Ovid’s The Art of Love, and as flawlessly complex and evocative of Ancient Rome as any cinematic poem scribed by the classical poets.
Ms Alison foreshadows the events that will eventually engulf Ovid by opening her story with the journey of his exile to Tomis, but the story proper commences in the light and heat and smells of summer and the joy of the first stirrings of unexpected, overwhelming, infatuation. As the seasons fade into winter, so the menace of Ovid's plotting and the machinations of shadowy puppeteers shroud the protagonists until each is propelled along a path that can only result in a terrifying, profoundly disturbing conclusion.
Readers of lusciously written character-driven prose, who enjoy fictional history of the ancient world, with breath-taking twists of plot and consequence, will not be disappointed with The Love-Artist.(less)
London, in the summer, is like a bitch on heat. Sweltering, can't settle, roams around in your mind and makes you dream of electronic sheep. The sun n...moreLondon, in the summer, is like a bitch on heat. Sweltering, can't settle, roams around in your mind and makes you dream of electronic sheep. The sun never quite disappears, hovering at the edge of the horizon as you stagger slick and sweaty from club to club, chasing the buzz of the next beat, and grinning brilliantly at you as you crawl home, spent and abused, from another night in the pleasure heart of the capital. Be grateful you can sleep it off, despite the flies congregating along your carcass.
Richard, lame, never really in the game, and rolling punch-drunk with the unravelling of his career (his ex-wife has already seen it all coming and done a bunk, leaving his autistic child in the welfare hands of the state) realises, at the bottom of the stairs, that his massive heart attack has left him very, very, dead. His body is no longer a temple, but a charnel house, and the loss of his earthly goodness is the proverbial kick-in-the-butt he needs to metamorphose into his nemesis, his partner in film crime (who incidentally, has been boning Richard's ex). Now that he's dead, Richard feels he has enough reason to rid himself of his partner. He shoots him, and his ex-wife, into the bargain.
Meanwhile, something odd is happening on the street. The punters, chasing the elusive Soho good time, are getting off on public suicide. Blood is being spilled in tres bizarre fashion. A couple of unlikely cops are called in to piece together the motley clues, leading to the local minder, Midas, who possesses the rare ability to everything he touches not just into gold but green. Loverly, vibrant, verdant, blossoming, green. Midas is a modern day Satyr.
It is only when Richard realises the truth of his life, the necessity of his death, that Midas bankrolls his next film project. Richard doesn't win any Oscars, but at least his week in hell has been worth it.(less)
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