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The Evolution of Inanimate Objects: The Life and Collected Works of Thomas Darwin
In the archives of Ontario's London Asylum, psychiatrist Harry Karlinsky comes across a familiar surname in the register. Could Thomas Darwin, involuntarily admitted to the Asylum as a "danger to others," be a relative of the great Charles Darwin? And what might have brought him to this place, where he died alone, a world away from home? In this stunning factitious biography Karlinsky gives us a Nabokovian tale of Darwinian theory gone wrong. Although decisively a work of fiction, The Evolution of Inanimate Objects invites sustained uncertainty as to whether Thomas is a character of pure invention or simply a heretofore little known figure.
- GenresHistorical
231 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2010
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Displaying 1 - 22 of 22 reviews
February 11, 2018
Clever book which presents the reader with Thomas youngest son of Charles Darwin and a man with theories of his own about evolution. A sad life and an even sadder ending. However Thomas never existed, even though for a short time it felt like he did.
November 4, 2012
Note: I received a free copy for review purposes.
As is so often the case, I fashioned a brilliant review of this book while lying in bed last night. Too bad I didn’t get up and write it down, because I can’t remember a word of it this morning.
Figures.
But, I’ll give it another go now that I’m fully awake and have two cups of coffee in my system. Here goes (mind you, it won’t be half as brilliant as the one that resided in my head last night):
The title of this book intrigued me. Nothing appeared odd about it at all: inanimate objects do change over time, don’t they? Take, for instance, aircraft. As an example, one might start with the hot air balloon and end with the Curiosity spacecraft. The two couldn’t be more different, yet they both, at their basic function, perform the same task. And don’t antiques develop a patina, a character of their own, by absorbing—or shedding off—atoms over time? That might be stretching the term “evolution” a little, but not as much as Thomas Darwin, the subject of this book, stretches this idea.
The story begins when Harry Karlinsky, the author, starts a research project at Ontario’s London Asylum and happens to come across the surname Darwin. Karlinsky’s curiosity is piqued, and he sets out to learn if the person admitted to the hospital on July 2, 1879 was any relation to the famed naturalist, Charles Darwin. He soon discovers the person noted in the ledgers is, indeed, the last child of Charles and Emma Darwin. Through the personal correspondence between the Darwin family, recorded history, and the asylum records, Karlinsky pulls together the story of Thomas. The reader understands this is a work of fiction from the proclamation printed on the front cover stating it is a novel.
But where does fact end and fiction begin? It is sometimes hard to tell. Replete with charts, sketches, and footnotes, the novel sets the reader on a venture to find out. For someone who loves puzzles, and scavenger hunts, this is an added bonus. I even started to wonder if Mr. Karlinsky was part of the ruse. But, after hard investigation, my conclusion is that he does exist. I could be wrong, and, if I am, then someone went to a lot of trouble to make him appear to be a real person.
Other questions nagged at me; questions I find hard to articulate: Is Karlinsky poking fun at Darwin’s theories, or did he write this story simply for the entertainment factor? Is Karlinsky, a psychiatrist, telling us not to take ourselves too seriously? Is he telling us genius can often be misconstrued as insanity, or vice versa? I find myself wondering why Karlinsky chose to write about this subject. And I’m left with a nagging feeling I should be taking away something more from this novel than I can comprehend at the moment.
For this reason, I’m not sure if the novel was to be taken seriously, or humorously, or perhaps both. I found it both. The most humorous is Thomas’s conviction that if he places two pieces of cutlery on top of one another at night, in the morning they will have joined together to become an entirely unique piece. The saddest aspect of the story is a small miscommunication, a line or two in a letter from a mentor, causes the fictitious Thomas to travel to Canada without first confronting his father over the misunderstanding, which leads the young man to be isolated from his family in a time of need.
I had an affinity with Thomas. I could see myself coming up with some wild idea similar to his and obsessing over it; but, for someone with an underlying propensity, obsession over a quirky idea can easily lead to mental illness, as it does in the case of Thomas. Another reason for Thomas’s apparent mental instability is hinted at when he is introduced by his older brother to the idea that offspring produced by the pairing of close relatives often have defects. Since Charles and Emma are first cousins, this could be a possibility.
The author does a great job of making you believe the “facts.” The documentation and personal correspondence seem very real. But, while I could intuit the human story behind the clinical observations, as a reader, I yearned for the experience of understanding Thomas from a different approach. I would love to read this story as a true novel—a “fictional” historical fiction, if you will.
What bogged me down most was the author’s propensity to use a lot of parenthetical elements in his writing, exactly what one would expect in a clinical paper. This, combined with the ever-intrusive footnotes, created a sort of back-and-forth that brought me out of the story at times. Still, I thought this was an interesting premise cleverly delivered. I could have used less of the clinical and more of the human story, but I appreciate the authenticity the clinical approach lent to the telling.
The Evolution of Inanimate Objects is definitely a different, quirky, and interesting novel—the kind The Friday Project is known to deliver.
As is so often the case, I fashioned a brilliant review of this book while lying in bed last night. Too bad I didn’t get up and write it down, because I can’t remember a word of it this morning.
Figures.
But, I’ll give it another go now that I’m fully awake and have two cups of coffee in my system. Here goes (mind you, it won’t be half as brilliant as the one that resided in my head last night):
The title of this book intrigued me. Nothing appeared odd about it at all: inanimate objects do change over time, don’t they? Take, for instance, aircraft. As an example, one might start with the hot air balloon and end with the Curiosity spacecraft. The two couldn’t be more different, yet they both, at their basic function, perform the same task. And don’t antiques develop a patina, a character of their own, by absorbing—or shedding off—atoms over time? That might be stretching the term “evolution” a little, but not as much as Thomas Darwin, the subject of this book, stretches this idea.
The story begins when Harry Karlinsky, the author, starts a research project at Ontario’s London Asylum and happens to come across the surname Darwin. Karlinsky’s curiosity is piqued, and he sets out to learn if the person admitted to the hospital on July 2, 1879 was any relation to the famed naturalist, Charles Darwin. He soon discovers the person noted in the ledgers is, indeed, the last child of Charles and Emma Darwin. Through the personal correspondence between the Darwin family, recorded history, and the asylum records, Karlinsky pulls together the story of Thomas. The reader understands this is a work of fiction from the proclamation printed on the front cover stating it is a novel.
But where does fact end and fiction begin? It is sometimes hard to tell. Replete with charts, sketches, and footnotes, the novel sets the reader on a venture to find out. For someone who loves puzzles, and scavenger hunts, this is an added bonus. I even started to wonder if Mr. Karlinsky was part of the ruse. But, after hard investigation, my conclusion is that he does exist. I could be wrong, and, if I am, then someone went to a lot of trouble to make him appear to be a real person.
Other questions nagged at me; questions I find hard to articulate: Is Karlinsky poking fun at Darwin’s theories, or did he write this story simply for the entertainment factor? Is Karlinsky, a psychiatrist, telling us not to take ourselves too seriously? Is he telling us genius can often be misconstrued as insanity, or vice versa? I find myself wondering why Karlinsky chose to write about this subject. And I’m left with a nagging feeling I should be taking away something more from this novel than I can comprehend at the moment.
For this reason, I’m not sure if the novel was to be taken seriously, or humorously, or perhaps both. I found it both. The most humorous is Thomas’s conviction that if he places two pieces of cutlery on top of one another at night, in the morning they will have joined together to become an entirely unique piece. The saddest aspect of the story is a small miscommunication, a line or two in a letter from a mentor, causes the fictitious Thomas to travel to Canada without first confronting his father over the misunderstanding, which leads the young man to be isolated from his family in a time of need.
I had an affinity with Thomas. I could see myself coming up with some wild idea similar to his and obsessing over it; but, for someone with an underlying propensity, obsession over a quirky idea can easily lead to mental illness, as it does in the case of Thomas. Another reason for Thomas’s apparent mental instability is hinted at when he is introduced by his older brother to the idea that offspring produced by the pairing of close relatives often have defects. Since Charles and Emma are first cousins, this could be a possibility.
The author does a great job of making you believe the “facts.” The documentation and personal correspondence seem very real. But, while I could intuit the human story behind the clinical observations, as a reader, I yearned for the experience of understanding Thomas from a different approach. I would love to read this story as a true novel—a “fictional” historical fiction, if you will.
What bogged me down most was the author’s propensity to use a lot of parenthetical elements in his writing, exactly what one would expect in a clinical paper. This, combined with the ever-intrusive footnotes, created a sort of back-and-forth that brought me out of the story at times. Still, I thought this was an interesting premise cleverly delivered. I could have used less of the clinical and more of the human story, but I appreciate the authenticity the clinical approach lent to the telling.
The Evolution of Inanimate Objects is definitely a different, quirky, and interesting novel—the kind The Friday Project is known to deliver.
November 4, 2012
Note: I received a free copy for review purposes.
As is so often the case, I fashioned a brilliant review of this book while lying in bed last night. Too bad I didn’t get up and write it down, because I can’t remember a word of it this morning.
Figures.
But, I’ll give it another go now that I’m fully awake and have two cups of coffee in my system. Here goes (mind you, it won’t be half as brilliant as the one that resided in my head last night):
The title of this book intrigued me. Nothing appeared odd about it at all: inanimate objects do change over time, don’t they? Take, for instance, aircraft. As an example, one might start with the hot air balloon and end with the Curiosity spacecraft. The two couldn’t be more different, yet they both, at their basic function, perform the same task. And don’t antiques develop a patina, a character of their own, by absorbing—or shedding off—atoms over time? That might be stretching the term “evolution” a little, but not as much as Thomas Darwin, the subject of this book, stretches this idea.
The story begins when Harry Karlinsky, the author, starts a research project at Ontario’s London Asylum and happens to come across the surname Darwin. Karlinsky’s curiosity is piqued, and he sets out to learn if the person admitted to the hospital on July 2, 1879 was any relation to the famed naturalist, Charles Darwin. He soon discovers the person noted in the ledgers is, indeed, the last child of Charles and Emma Darwin. Through the personal correspondence between the Darwin family, recorded history, and the asylum records, Karlinsky pulls together the story of Thomas. The reader understands this is a work of fiction from the proclamation printed on the front cover stating it is a novel.
But where does fact end and fiction begin? It is sometimes hard to tell. Replete with charts, sketches, and footnotes, the novel sets the reader on a venture to find out. For someone who loves puzzles, and scavenger hunts, this is an added bonus. I even started to wonder if Mr. Karlinsky was part of the ruse. But, after hard investigation, my conclusion is that he does exist. I could be wrong, and, if I am, then someone went to a lot of trouble to make him appear to be a real person.
Other questions nagged at me; questions I find hard to articulate: Is Karlinsky poking fun at Darwin’s theories, or did he write this story simply for the entertainment factor? Is Karlinsky, a psychiatrist, telling us not to take ourselves too seriously? Is he telling us genius can often be misconstrued as insanity, or vice versa? I find myself wondering why Karlinsky chose to write about this subject. And I’m left with a nagging feeling I should be taking away something more from this novel than I can comprehend at the moment.
For this reason, I’m not sure if the novel was to be taken seriously, or humorously, or perhaps both. I found it both. The most humorous is Thomas’s conviction that if he places two pieces of cutlery on top of one another at night, in the morning they will have joined together to become an entirely unique piece. The saddest aspect of the story is a small miscommunication, a line or two in a letter from a mentor, causes the fictitious Thomas to travel to Canada without first confronting his father over the misunderstanding, which leads the young man to be isolated from his family in a time of need.
I had an affinity with Thomas. I could see myself coming up with some wild idea similar to his and obsessing over it; but, for someone with an underlying propensity, obsession over a quirky idea can easily lead to mental illness, as it does in the case of Thomas. Another reason for Thomas’s apparent mental instability is hinted at when he is introduced by his older brother to the idea that offspring produced by the pairing of close relatives often have defects. Since Charles and Emma are first cousins, this could be a possibility.
The author does a great job of making you believe the “facts.” The documentation and personal correspondence seem very real. But, while I could intuit the human story behind the clinical observations, as a reader, I yearned for the experience of understanding Thomas from a different approach. I would love to read this story as a true novel—a “fictional” historical fiction, if you will.
What bogged me down most was the author’s propensity to use a lot of parenthetical elements in his writing, exactly what one would expect in a clinical paper. This, combined with the ever-intrusive footnotes, created a sort of back-and-forth that brought me out of the story at times. Still, I thought this was an interesting premise cleverly delivered. I could have used less of the clinical and more of the human story, but I appreciate the authenticity the clinical approach lent to the telling.
The Evolution of Inanimate Objects is definitely a different, quirky, and interesting novel—the kind The Friday Project is known to deliver.
As is so often the case, I fashioned a brilliant review of this book while lying in bed last night. Too bad I didn’t get up and write it down, because I can’t remember a word of it this morning.
Figures.
But, I’ll give it another go now that I’m fully awake and have two cups of coffee in my system. Here goes (mind you, it won’t be half as brilliant as the one that resided in my head last night):
The title of this book intrigued me. Nothing appeared odd about it at all: inanimate objects do change over time, don’t they? Take, for instance, aircraft. As an example, one might start with the hot air balloon and end with the Curiosity spacecraft. The two couldn’t be more different, yet they both, at their basic function, perform the same task. And don’t antiques develop a patina, a character of their own, by absorbing—or shedding off—atoms over time? That might be stretching the term “evolution” a little, but not as much as Thomas Darwin, the subject of this book, stretches this idea.
The story begins when Harry Karlinsky, the author, starts a research project at Ontario’s London Asylum and happens to come across the surname Darwin. Karlinsky’s curiosity is piqued, and he sets out to learn if the person admitted to the hospital on July 2, 1879 was any relation to the famed naturalist, Charles Darwin. He soon discovers the person noted in the ledgers is, indeed, the last child of Charles and Emma Darwin. Through the personal correspondence between the Darwin family, recorded history, and the asylum records, Karlinsky pulls together the story of Thomas. The reader understands this is a work of fiction from the proclamation printed on the front cover stating it is a novel.
But where does fact end and fiction begin? It is sometimes hard to tell. Replete with charts, sketches, and footnotes, the novel sets the reader on a venture to find out. For someone who loves puzzles, and scavenger hunts, this is an added bonus. I even started to wonder if Mr. Karlinsky was part of the ruse. But, after hard investigation, my conclusion is that he does exist. I could be wrong, and, if I am, then someone went to a lot of trouble to make him appear to be a real person.
Other questions nagged at me; questions I find hard to articulate: Is Karlinsky poking fun at Darwin’s theories, or did he write this story simply for the entertainment factor? Is Karlinsky, a psychiatrist, telling us not to take ourselves too seriously? Is he telling us genius can often be misconstrued as insanity, or vice versa? I find myself wondering why Karlinsky chose to write about this subject. And I’m left with a nagging feeling I should be taking away something more from this novel than I can comprehend at the moment.
For this reason, I’m not sure if the novel was to be taken seriously, or humorously, or perhaps both. I found it both. The most humorous is Thomas’s conviction that if he places two pieces of cutlery on top of one another at night, in the morning they will have joined together to become an entirely unique piece. The saddest aspect of the story is a small miscommunication, a line or two in a letter from a mentor, causes the fictitious Thomas to travel to Canada without first confronting his father over the misunderstanding, which leads the young man to be isolated from his family in a time of need.
I had an affinity with Thomas. I could see myself coming up with some wild idea similar to his and obsessing over it; but, for someone with an underlying propensity, obsession over a quirky idea can easily lead to mental illness, as it does in the case of Thomas. Another reason for Thomas’s apparent mental instability is hinted at when he is introduced by his older brother to the idea that offspring produced by the pairing of close relatives often have defects. Since Charles and Emma are first cousins, this could be a possibility.
The author does a great job of making you believe the “facts.” The documentation and personal correspondence seem very real. But, while I could intuit the human story behind the clinical observations, as a reader, I yearned for the experience of understanding Thomas from a different approach. I would love to read this story as a true novel—a “fictional” historical fiction, if you will.
What bogged me down most was the author’s propensity to use a lot of parenthetical elements in his writing, exactly what one would expect in a clinical paper. This, combined with the ever-intrusive footnotes, created a sort of back-and-forth that brought me out of the story at times. Still, I thought this was an interesting premise cleverly delivered. I could have used less of the clinical and more of the human story, but I appreciate the authenticity the clinical approach lent to the telling.
The Evolution of Inanimate Objects is definitely a different, quirky, and interesting novel—the kind The Friday Project is known to deliver.
December 13, 2012
See my full review (with lovely pictures) here: http://booksaremyfavouriteandbest.wor...
Is it fiction? Is it non-fiction? Is it somewhere in between?
The Evolution of Inanimate Objects, a curious little book about cutlery (yes, knives and forks) by Harry Karlinsky, is like a reading-magic-trick. The book jacket implies fiction and yet the meticulous footnotes, extensive references and the format (a clever mix of text, correspondence, photographs and diagrams), will have you believe otherwise.
Some books should be noted for the imagination and inventiveness that has gone into writing them (Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close comes to mind). This book is one of them – it’s remarkable, clever and genuinely different from anything I’ve read before.
Sentences like this are irresistible -
“Forgoing most of second year at Cambridge cataloguing his newly acquired pieces, studying in exquisite detail their morphology and taxonomy. It was a pastry fork that inspired his next publication.”
And so follows a brief history of how the thickened tine on a pastry fork reflects the adaption of this particular dessert fork species.
I will never look at my cutlery in the same way, let alone my asparagus tongs, my marrow forks and my cream ladles.
Although this strays into spoiler territory (a place I’ve avoided), there is an important note from the author at the end, talking about the factual and fictitious elements of the story. I won’t say more than that (although I know some ‘last-page-first-readers’ will go straight to it. Don’t blame me for spoiling the fun). Regardless of how much of this book you believe, it is sure to have you hitting Google hard once you’ve finished reading. My search results were surprising – had I been sucked in? I’ll let you discover for yourself.
4/5 Top marks for imagination.
Is it fiction? Is it non-fiction? Is it somewhere in between?
The Evolution of Inanimate Objects, a curious little book about cutlery (yes, knives and forks) by Harry Karlinsky, is like a reading-magic-trick. The book jacket implies fiction and yet the meticulous footnotes, extensive references and the format (a clever mix of text, correspondence, photographs and diagrams), will have you believe otherwise.
Some books should be noted for the imagination and inventiveness that has gone into writing them (Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close comes to mind). This book is one of them – it’s remarkable, clever and genuinely different from anything I’ve read before.
Sentences like this are irresistible -
“Forgoing most of second year at Cambridge cataloguing his newly acquired pieces, studying in exquisite detail their morphology and taxonomy. It was a pastry fork that inspired his next publication.”
And so follows a brief history of how the thickened tine on a pastry fork reflects the adaption of this particular dessert fork species.
I will never look at my cutlery in the same way, let alone my asparagus tongs, my marrow forks and my cream ladles.
Although this strays into spoiler territory (a place I’ve avoided), there is an important note from the author at the end, talking about the factual and fictitious elements of the story. I won’t say more than that (although I know some ‘last-page-first-readers’ will go straight to it. Don’t blame me for spoiling the fun). Regardless of how much of this book you believe, it is sure to have you hitting Google hard once you’ve finished reading. My search results were surprising – had I been sucked in? I’ll let you discover for yourself.
4/5 Top marks for imagination.
December 24, 2010
The Evolution of Inanimate Objects is a book that rattles the cutlery drawer of your brain…in that it is the story of a psychiatrist named Harry Karlinsky discovering that Charles Darwin’s youngest son Thomas was confined to a London, ON asylum in 1879 for his theory on the evolution of eating utensils. Except that Harry Karlinsky is a novelist in addition to being a (real) psychiatrist. And Thomas Darwin is a theory of Karlinsky’s, his history cobbled together from bits and pieces of his (real) siblings’ lives. Read it alongside the recent biography-in-verse by Ruth Padel (Darwin’s great-great-granddaughter) and you’ll get really confused. And amused. And maybe even a tiny bit sad for poor addled (unreal) Thomas and his fistful of forks.
May 20, 2013
I don’t know when I first read about the Shakespeare and Co bookstore in Paris, but the moment I saw my first picture, I was in love. After years of dreaming about it, I finally got to visit it in May 2013. There I stood in that amazing and unique bookstore, and I didn’t want to buy just any ordinary book. It took me a while to find the perfect book, but after reading its blurb I was sure I found it in The Evolution of Inanimate Objects.
The last sentence in that blurb intrigued me; a ‘factitious’ biography, what is that? The preface is clear enough; the author, Harry Karlinksy, was doing research to write a treatise on Canadian asylums and came across a famous surname in one of their records, Thomas Darwin. He couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas was related to the one-and-only Charles Darwin and he got a little derailed from his original research.
Karlinksy ended up not writing his treatise on Canadian asylums but instead wrote The Evolution of Inanimate Objects, a biography on Thomas Darwin, the youngest child of Charles Darwin. Through letters, photographs and other historical documents, you get to know the life of one extraordinary person. Karlinsky even got his hands on some unpublished manuscripts that have been kept a secret for so many years. But hold on a minute, the cover states that it’s a novel, that can’t right, it’s obviously a biography, isn’t it?
You’ve guessed it, it isn’t a real biography, it is actually an exercise on whether a writer can fool a reader into believing anything. It got me for rather a long time seeing that the book is intelligently build; it starts off with a description on the life of Thomas which doesn’t seem to be all that farfetched. I had complete faith in the narrator with his detached and professional voice that gives a clear and unembellished account of Thomas’ life. I had no problem with forgetting the word “novel” on the cover.
Then slowly, very slowly, things start becoming stranger and stranger, but I mean, they could have been true, right? I still trusted Karlinsky, and that is why I find this book so genius, because I truly didn’t know if what I was reading was true or not. Even now I’ve finished it, I don’t know which parts are fiction and which parts are non-fiction, or if simply everything was non-fiction.
It doesn’t really matter though and I’m not going to google Thomas Darwin to find out the truth. Nor am I going to check if Karlinsky really was researching Canadian asylums and got derailed, or that the whole thing is made up and a clever trap for readers. With all the questions I was left with in the end, I chose the perfect book in Paris, it’s like nothing I’ve ever read before.
The last sentence in that blurb intrigued me; a ‘factitious’ biography, what is that? The preface is clear enough; the author, Harry Karlinksy, was doing research to write a treatise on Canadian asylums and came across a famous surname in one of their records, Thomas Darwin. He couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas was related to the one-and-only Charles Darwin and he got a little derailed from his original research.
Karlinksy ended up not writing his treatise on Canadian asylums but instead wrote The Evolution of Inanimate Objects, a biography on Thomas Darwin, the youngest child of Charles Darwin. Through letters, photographs and other historical documents, you get to know the life of one extraordinary person. Karlinsky even got his hands on some unpublished manuscripts that have been kept a secret for so many years. But hold on a minute, the cover states that it’s a novel, that can’t right, it’s obviously a biography, isn’t it?
You’ve guessed it, it isn’t a real biography, it is actually an exercise on whether a writer can fool a reader into believing anything. It got me for rather a long time seeing that the book is intelligently build; it starts off with a description on the life of Thomas which doesn’t seem to be all that farfetched. I had complete faith in the narrator with his detached and professional voice that gives a clear and unembellished account of Thomas’ life. I had no problem with forgetting the word “novel” on the cover.
Then slowly, very slowly, things start becoming stranger and stranger, but I mean, they could have been true, right? I still trusted Karlinsky, and that is why I find this book so genius, because I truly didn’t know if what I was reading was true or not. Even now I’ve finished it, I don’t know which parts are fiction and which parts are non-fiction, or if simply everything was non-fiction.
It doesn’t really matter though and I’m not going to google Thomas Darwin to find out the truth. Nor am I going to check if Karlinsky really was researching Canadian asylums and got derailed, or that the whole thing is made up and a clever trap for readers. With all the questions I was left with in the end, I chose the perfect book in Paris, it’s like nothing I’ve ever read before.
November 3, 2019
Harry Karlinsky, a professor of psychiatry at the University of British Columbia, has compiled a fictitious biography of Thomas Darwin. Had he lived, Thomas would been the eleventh and last child of Charles and Emma Darwin. The documentation of his fictive life is meticulous. The novel is tricked out with a scholarly panoply of memoirs, letters and certificates, footnotes, quotations from authors real and invented and an extensive bibliography. It includes, as a brief appendix, his own 'collected works'.
Karlinsky presents Thomas as a brilliant and isolated child who was entranced, early in his life, by his father’s pursuit of the evolutionary principle. Thomas went on to spend two years at Cambridge University before dropping his studies and fleeing to Canada where his eccentric behaviour and odd delusions about forks and spoons resulted in his arrest and confinement in the London Asylum, Ontario. He died in the asylum a few months later of a virulent form of tuberculosis. The delusions that led to his detention involved indecent speculations about sexual relations in the cutlery drawers and the consequential evolution of the different varieties of fork used for consuming meat, pastry and peas.
Stylistic verisimilitude has its perils in a fictitious biography. The account of Thomas Darwin’s early life, recounted in the opening chapters, is tedious - in the authentic style of most family histories - twining his fictive thread among the known lives of Charles, Emma and the ten children who preceded his fictive birth.The documentation of his insanity, his institutional confinement and death is presented with dry, academic precision. The same dry, scholarly tone is preserved in the exploration of Thomas’s evolutionary theory. As a fictitious biography it struck me as ingenious but dull, lacking the exuberance of burlesque or exaggeration that might have enlivened poor Thomas’s delusions and made them memorable or pathetic.
Karlinsky insists from the outset that this is a fictional biography. His reasons for doing so are never apparent; Thomas’s theory of the evolution of inanimate artefacts is sufficiently ridiculous to defy credulity. Karlinsky’s insistence on the non-existence of Thomas denies his readers even the minor pleasures of voluntarily suspended disbelief. A spoof would have been more fun.
Karlinsky presents Thomas as a brilliant and isolated child who was entranced, early in his life, by his father’s pursuit of the evolutionary principle. Thomas went on to spend two years at Cambridge University before dropping his studies and fleeing to Canada where his eccentric behaviour and odd delusions about forks and spoons resulted in his arrest and confinement in the London Asylum, Ontario. He died in the asylum a few months later of a virulent form of tuberculosis. The delusions that led to his detention involved indecent speculations about sexual relations in the cutlery drawers and the consequential evolution of the different varieties of fork used for consuming meat, pastry and peas.
Stylistic verisimilitude has its perils in a fictitious biography. The account of Thomas Darwin’s early life, recounted in the opening chapters, is tedious - in the authentic style of most family histories - twining his fictive thread among the known lives of Charles, Emma and the ten children who preceded his fictive birth.The documentation of his insanity, his institutional confinement and death is presented with dry, academic precision. The same dry, scholarly tone is preserved in the exploration of Thomas’s evolutionary theory. As a fictitious biography it struck me as ingenious but dull, lacking the exuberance of burlesque or exaggeration that might have enlivened poor Thomas’s delusions and made them memorable or pathetic.
Karlinsky insists from the outset that this is a fictional biography. His reasons for doing so are never apparent; Thomas’s theory of the evolution of inanimate artefacts is sufficiently ridiculous to defy credulity. Karlinsky’s insistence on the non-existence of Thomas denies his readers even the minor pleasures of voluntarily suspended disbelief. A spoof would have been more fun.
March 12, 2012
What a great idea for a novel - take the most famous evolutionist in the history of science, a son who didn't exist and construct a 'factitious' biography of said son's 'Life and Collected Works'.
Thomas Darwin is purported to be the youngest son of the famous Charles, daughter of Emma (nee Wedgwood, yes the pottery people). His mum and dad are first cousins (a trifling matter, but neatly ironic). Thomas is a bit of a strange child, 'alone but not lonely' and more than likely to follow in his father's footsteps, except - as we already know from the cover, and the Preface (but keep forgetting because we're so drawn into this life story) Thomas will die in an insane asylum by the time he's 21 and his 'life's work' will culminate in an ultimately flawed study of the evolution of inanimate objects.
I loved the premise that inanimate objects actually evolve. I'm moving house soon, and while reading the book in the pre-move sorting out phase, found myself noting the three generations of apple macs, the leap in evolution from the 56k dial up modem to wi-fi router, pestle and mortar via food processor - getting carried away now, don't own a food processor - but you see where I'm going. I was intrigued and totally taken up with Thomas's theory, until I spot the flaw, the uh-oh moment when the reader realises that Thomas Darwin is insane.
Harry Karlinsky is a clever guy. Not only is he a Professor of Psychiatry, but this little book (just over 200 pages) is his debut novel. The reason it works so well? Not only is the biographical format anatomically correct and wonderfully annotated (watch out for footnotes that contradict the text!), but because it tells a very human story.
I'd like to say more but even though I finished reading it a week ago, I'm still trying to get my head round what was truth and what was fiction. Last night I found myself tracking down the Charles Darwin family tree, just to make sure Thomas really wasn't his son. Today I've started wondering if Harry Karlinsky isn't fictional too. His bio looks sound and I've done some googling, but then I start to wonder if we - his readers - are part of some pyschiatric-slash-literary experiment. Then everything goes a little weird…
A brilliant read.
Thomas Darwin is purported to be the youngest son of the famous Charles, daughter of Emma (nee Wedgwood, yes the pottery people). His mum and dad are first cousins (a trifling matter, but neatly ironic). Thomas is a bit of a strange child, 'alone but not lonely' and more than likely to follow in his father's footsteps, except - as we already know from the cover, and the Preface (but keep forgetting because we're so drawn into this life story) Thomas will die in an insane asylum by the time he's 21 and his 'life's work' will culminate in an ultimately flawed study of the evolution of inanimate objects.
I loved the premise that inanimate objects actually evolve. I'm moving house soon, and while reading the book in the pre-move sorting out phase, found myself noting the three generations of apple macs, the leap in evolution from the 56k dial up modem to wi-fi router, pestle and mortar via food processor - getting carried away now, don't own a food processor - but you see where I'm going. I was intrigued and totally taken up with Thomas's theory, until I spot the flaw, the uh-oh moment when the reader realises that Thomas Darwin is insane.
Harry Karlinsky is a clever guy. Not only is he a Professor of Psychiatry, but this little book (just over 200 pages) is his debut novel. The reason it works so well? Not only is the biographical format anatomically correct and wonderfully annotated (watch out for footnotes that contradict the text!), but because it tells a very human story.
I'd like to say more but even though I finished reading it a week ago, I'm still trying to get my head round what was truth and what was fiction. Last night I found myself tracking down the Charles Darwin family tree, just to make sure Thomas really wasn't his son. Today I've started wondering if Harry Karlinsky isn't fictional too. His bio looks sound and I've done some googling, but then I start to wonder if we - his readers - are part of some pyschiatric-slash-literary experiment. Then everything goes a little weird…
A brilliant read.
February 19, 2012
Harry Karlinsky comes across a name in the London Asylum records which piques his interest. Thomas Darwin. Was he any relation to Charles? He delves deeper into the records and discovers the story of the youngest son, a quiet man who had an obsession with cutlery which slowly drove him insane.
It's an odd little book. The cover has the word “novel” in a small font and the author's note acknowledges that it's fiction but it is otherwise introduced and written as a historical biography. Thomas' life is intertwined with that of Charles Darwin and it becomes difficult to separate fact from fiction, something that is both charming and infuriating, depending on your outlook. It is certainly a unique way to write historical fiction.
I rather liked his theory of evolution of cutlery, there is a lot of sense to it, except for when he starts to become a bit “peculiar” as the editor of Nature kindly put it.
The style is not dissimilar to that of Charles Darwin's works and there are a number of letters, articles and illustrations throughout like the collected works of one man's research. It is not told in chronological order, instead divided into sections for his personal life, his work and his illness, much like a real biography.
I really can't decide if this is genius or not. If you're looking for well rounded characters and a gripping plot, keep looking. However, if you're interested in unique ways of story telling or even just Darwinism, give this a try. I think it might bring a smile to your face.
It's an odd little book. The cover has the word “novel” in a small font and the author's note acknowledges that it's fiction but it is otherwise introduced and written as a historical biography. Thomas' life is intertwined with that of Charles Darwin and it becomes difficult to separate fact from fiction, something that is both charming and infuriating, depending on your outlook. It is certainly a unique way to write historical fiction.
I rather liked his theory of evolution of cutlery, there is a lot of sense to it, except for when he starts to become a bit “peculiar” as the editor of Nature kindly put it.
The style is not dissimilar to that of Charles Darwin's works and there are a number of letters, articles and illustrations throughout like the collected works of one man's research. It is not told in chronological order, instead divided into sections for his personal life, his work and his illness, much like a real biography.
I really can't decide if this is genius or not. If you're looking for well rounded characters and a gripping plot, keep looking. However, if you're interested in unique ways of story telling or even just Darwinism, give this a try. I think it might bring a smile to your face.
October 3, 2012
The entirely plausible story of the tragic life of Thomas Darwin, youngest son of Charles Darwin of evolutionary fame. Thomas applies his father's principles of evolution to inanimate objects, focusing especially on silverware.
I found this a fascinating read. It is presented as a combination of a historical paper and Thomas's scientific papers. I can imagine that the somewhat drier narrative style is not suited to all readers, but it was quite enjoyable to me. It is well-written and maintained my interest. It made me laugh more than once.
Note that I am not well-enough familiar with Charles Darwin's own writing to compare the style. But I did find everything in the book both credible and plausible and was constantly contemplating where the line was between fact and fiction.
If you think about it, how many have considered Charles Darwin insane for his theories, especially in earlier times. So it isn't surprising for the the son who relies on the same scientific basis for his theories to end up in an asylum. The book made me think, which is something I tend to appreciate in a book. I can personally think of more than one person likely to enjoy the book.
I am also very pleased to report that I have no complaints about the editing and was completely without urges to run and find a red pen. That in itself is a joy.
I recommend it to anyone who enjoys thinking outside the box.
Note: I received a free copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for my promise to review it. That fact has not modified my rating or review at all.
I found this a fascinating read. It is presented as a combination of a historical paper and Thomas's scientific papers. I can imagine that the somewhat drier narrative style is not suited to all readers, but it was quite enjoyable to me. It is well-written and maintained my interest. It made me laugh more than once.
Note that I am not well-enough familiar with Charles Darwin's own writing to compare the style. But I did find everything in the book both credible and plausible and was constantly contemplating where the line was between fact and fiction.
If you think about it, how many have considered Charles Darwin insane for his theories, especially in earlier times. So it isn't surprising for the the son who relies on the same scientific basis for his theories to end up in an asylum. The book made me think, which is something I tend to appreciate in a book. I can personally think of more than one person likely to enjoy the book.
I am also very pleased to report that I have no complaints about the editing and was completely without urges to run and find a red pen. That in itself is a joy.
I recommend it to anyone who enjoys thinking outside the box.
Note: I received a free copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for my promise to review it. That fact has not modified my rating or review at all.
November 3, 2015
I should first explain that I was given this book as a gift by Harper Collins for helping out on their, now defunct, writer's site. The fact that it is now defunct is why I have ended up here!
There is much to admire in the way a fictional life has been constructed, you only need to look at the 'references' at the back of the book to get an idea of the feat of imagination. If this is enough to spark your interest then it is well worth a look.
However, it does come across as a rather dry review of a person's life rather than a riveting story. It certainly isn't amusing, which I think such a book should be. This makes the first four chapters somewhat of an ordeal and, based on this, if I'd picked this up in a bookshop it would have gone back on the shelf.
But, as I already owned it I persevered. Getting onto Thomas Darwin's theories of Inanimate Objects it came over as farcical without being that amusing. It seemed a weak idea to me.
The only point at which the book almost came alive was during the correspondence for Thomas's time at the asylum. The doctor in charge is magnificently deluded and there is the smallest of hints that Thomas's wild notions might just have some merit, which did raise a smile.
But overall, I did find this enjoyable. I admire the work that's gone into it, I'm not sure I could do such a thing myself even if I had the inclination, but I fail to see how this was published. It really isn't that entertaining.
There is much to admire in the way a fictional life has been constructed, you only need to look at the 'references' at the back of the book to get an idea of the feat of imagination. If this is enough to spark your interest then it is well worth a look.
However, it does come across as a rather dry review of a person's life rather than a riveting story. It certainly isn't amusing, which I think such a book should be. This makes the first four chapters somewhat of an ordeal and, based on this, if I'd picked this up in a bookshop it would have gone back on the shelf.
But, as I already owned it I persevered. Getting onto Thomas Darwin's theories of Inanimate Objects it came over as farcical without being that amusing. It seemed a weak idea to me.
The only point at which the book almost came alive was during the correspondence for Thomas's time at the asylum. The doctor in charge is magnificently deluded and there is the smallest of hints that Thomas's wild notions might just have some merit, which did raise a smile.
But overall, I did find this enjoyable. I admire the work that's gone into it, I'm not sure I could do such a thing myself even if I had the inclination, but I fail to see how this was published. It really isn't that entertaining.
July 24, 2013
Sometimes I’ll read a novel that claims to be doing something different – and it rarely it, or it is, but in a way that makes it incomprehensible to read. Whereas this novel really is different, whilst being utterly readable.
As we move through the carefully layered sections of the book we make our own connections, and come to understand and empathise with Thomas more than any single person he encounters is able to do.
Very rarely during the read did I feel any urge to find out the ‘truth’ – to check how much tallied with reality. I was too happy suspended in Karlinsky’s truth. Thomas Darwin’s story is surely more engaging than any hard facts might turn out to be.
Karlinsky skillfully blurs the line between fact and fiction. Carried with a gentle humour throughout I’m left with more than a glimmer of hope that his ideas about cutlery might be true. A great choice if you want to end your reading not with an ‘as if’ but an ‘if only’!
As we move through the carefully layered sections of the book we make our own connections, and come to understand and empathise with Thomas more than any single person he encounters is able to do.
Very rarely during the read did I feel any urge to find out the ‘truth’ – to check how much tallied with reality. I was too happy suspended in Karlinsky’s truth. Thomas Darwin’s story is surely more engaging than any hard facts might turn out to be.
Karlinsky skillfully blurs the line between fact and fiction. Carried with a gentle humour throughout I’m left with more than a glimmer of hope that his ideas about cutlery might be true. A great choice if you want to end your reading not with an ‘as if’ but an ‘if only’!
December 3, 2012
I was given a copy of this in exchange for a review. This novel tells the story of Thomas Darwin, youngest son of Charles Darwin. Written as part historical biography, part scientific paper and a work of fiction, it traces Thomas's short life. There are definite autistic tendencies depicted in Thomas's mannerisms and single minded focus on research into a field many would consider unworthy of the time and effort he dedicates to it. The fact that Darwin family is close knit and supportive of the youngest son and sibling is skilfully woven into the story making it heartwarming without coming over as too sweet. A most unusual and unique read, and one well suited to the reader who has read 'everything' but unlikely to appeal to someone looking for a commuter or holiday read.
December 3, 2012
I was given a copy of this in exchange for a review. This novel tells the story of Thomas Darwin, youngest son of Charles Darwin. Written as part historical biography, part scientific paper and a work of fiction, it traces Thomas's short life. There are definite autistic tendencies depicted in Thomas's mannerisms and single minded focus on research into a field many would consider unworthy of the time and effort he dedicates to it. The fact that Darwin family is close knit and supportive of the youngest son and sibling is skilfully woven into the story making it heartwarming without coming over as too sweet. A most unusual and unique read, and one well suited to the reader who has read 'everything' but unlikely to appeal to someone looking for a commuter or holiday read.
January 5, 2014
This is a very odd book. It would have been mildly interesting for me had it been nonfiction, but it is rather a work of fiction that pretends to be nonfiction, and the subject is simply wacky, being about a fictional youngest son of Charles Darwin who becomes progressively crazier (perhaps due to the insinuated intermarriage problems within local families) in applying his father's evolutionary principles to inanimate objects, finally reaching the stage where he believes eating utensils mate with each other and spontaneously propagate. It's perhaps a slightly amusing idea, but not worthy of an entire novel.
April 27, 2013
This is a somewhat odd book, presented as a biography of sorts, and fleshing out the details of the life of Thomas Darwin, youngest son of Charles. The novel has him becoming obsessed with the idea that cutlery is able to evolve without human intervention; a belief which results in his committal to an insane asylum in Canada, where he dies. It is an interesting concept, and well written. It presents the lack of evidence for the existence of Thomas as due to a Victorian sense of shame. Quite entertaining, if maybe a little lacking in depth.
January 14, 2014
I mistakenly thought this was going to be a fictional novel. While it may be fictional, I am not sure whether it is or not actually, it is not a novel as such. It is very historical, very in-depth, very scientific. It's a slog to get through. Bits of it are interesting. But it's too much of a slog to read to really enjoy it.
November 18, 2013
This book describes itself as 'factitious'. A good word for it. The author takes lots of general facts to create a fictitious son of the great Charles Darwin. Whilst the actual son never existed, everything else about his life is factual for the age. Intellectual and interesting.
January 23, 2014
A strange and interesting work of fiction, written like a work of non-fiction!
May 24, 2012
Great idea for a novel, but I was completely bored reading it.
April 23, 2013
Fascinating faux biography. Cleverly done, amusing and learned.
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