How does one begin to review “The Absolutist” by John Boyne? To say I am, forgive me while I use a World War one descriptive, shell shocked, would be an understatement. Sitting quietly in the corner of the living room merely an hour after finishing the book, subdued lighting my only company and a book jacket design I find hard to tear myself from, I gorge in its simplicity, its effectiveness, its evocativeness. Breath-taking.

The British Army, by the end of “The Great War”, had dealt with 80,000 cases of shell shock – a severe and debilitating trauma by any measure.

September 1919: twenty-one-year-old Tristan Sadler takes a train from London to Norwich to deliver some letters to Marian Bancroft. Tristan fought alongside Marian’s brother Will during the Great War, but in 1917 Will laid down his guns on the battlefield, declared himself a conscientious objector and was shot as a traitor, an act which has brought shame and dishonour on the Bancroft family.

But the letters are not the real reason for Tristan’s visit. He holds a secret deep in his soul. One that he is desperate to unburden himself of to Marian, if he can only find the courage.

As he recalls his friendship with Will, from the training ground at Aldershot to the trenches of Northern France, he speaks of how the intensity of their friendship brought him both happiness and self-discovery as well as despair and pain.

The Absolutist is a novel that examines the events of the Great War from the perspective of two young soldiers, both struggling with the complexity of their emotions and the confusion of their friendship.
Set across six parts, the book looks back at two very short time periods - 1916 and 1919 - and it’s only in the concluding part do we gain closure in Thatcher’s memorable 1979. Each part weighs in at approximately 50 pages and it took me a while to realise the book was devoid of chapters. That said, I do wonder if the addition of breaks and chapters within each part would have had a detrimental effect on the rhythm – I rather believe it would have for –although unusual – I never felt the need for an interlude. Page after page would scurry on by and before I knew it I was half way through the book, eager as I was to find out what would happen to the protagonist.

Full review on my blog:- http://www.milorambles.com/2011/06/07...