What the actual fuck. I have no idea what I just read.
I have to be honest and say that I skipped big chunks of it, because it just didn’t make sense at all.
The pages about Dead Papa Toothwort were ridiculous. And the fancy text in between the paragraphs, what was that all about?
Also the way it’s written. Half of the time I had no idea who was saying what. It hurt my brain.
This is a wild and fascinating read. I loved winding my way through the narrative line, which felt inevitable and surprising (sign of fantastic work). This is a story about a mythical creature stalking the streets and homes of a small English village. It's about a gifted young boy and his relationship with an older artist. It's about the boy's parents, negotiating their way through mid-life. It's about a village of gossip and rumors. Rolling deeply under its whimsical and very creative surface, however, a powerful force of violence and grief defines every character.
I haven't read a story quite like this one. It managed to sustain a force of metaphor and fantasy without going over the top or giving way to explanations. It is easy to see why it has been considered for this year's Booker Prize but I wonder if it delves deeply enough to compete with some …
This is a wild and fascinating read. I loved winding my way through the narrative line, which felt inevitable and surprising (sign of fantastic work). This is a story about a mythical creature stalking the streets and homes of a small English village. It's about a gifted young boy and his relationship with an older artist. It's about the boy's parents, negotiating their way through mid-life. It's about a village of gossip and rumors. Rolling deeply under its whimsical and very creative surface, however, a powerful force of violence and grief defines every character.
I haven't read a story quite like this one. It managed to sustain a force of metaphor and fantasy without going over the top or giving way to explanations. It is easy to see why it has been considered for this year's Booker Prize but I wonder if it delves deeply enough to compete with some of this year's other other entries.
Finally, a fictional novel that combines modern-day Britain with non-Western thinking! This is both an existential and experimental book in one. I hate using the term "unputdownable", but I couldn't really stop reading this book.
The start of it threw me a bit. It's like reading Alan Moore's "Jerusalem" and Peter Ackroyd's "Hawksmoor" while being as accessible as Sally Rooney's "Normal People"; the experimental bits didn't put me off, but actually made me instantly want to dig deeper into the book.
The dialogue might seem lackadaisical but is, to me, engaging:
She didn’t miss the acting work but she got bored sometimes, when Lanny went to school, when her husband went in to the city. She was writing a book, she said. A murder thriller. Sounds bloody horrid, I said. It is very bloody and horrid, she said, but thrilling.
The language is beautiful:
We trampled down the dog-walk path …
Finally, a fictional novel that combines modern-day Britain with non-Western thinking! This is both an existential and experimental book in one. I hate using the term "unputdownable", but I couldn't really stop reading this book.
The start of it threw me a bit. It's like reading Alan Moore's "Jerusalem" and Peter Ackroyd's "Hawksmoor" while being as accessible as Sally Rooney's "Normal People"; the experimental bits didn't put me off, but actually made me instantly want to dig deeper into the book.
The dialogue might seem lackadaisical but is, to me, engaging:
She didn’t miss the acting work but she got bored sometimes, when Lanny went to school, when her husband went in to the city. She was writing a book, she said. A murder thriller. Sounds bloody horrid, I said. It is very bloody and horrid, she said, but thrilling.
We trampled down the dog-walk path towards Hatchett Wood and it was ever so beautiful. The thick wall of green between the common and the wood bursting with life, clematis clambering through and over it, a properly paintable riot, the yarrow glowing a bit, the blackthorn and maple all hugged up together, foxgloves leaning out like thin beckoning arms and I was still wiping tears of laughter from my eyes and considering how surprising it was, me, an old man, tailend of a good career but a mainly lonely life, finding such a good friend in this little kid.
Finally, a fictional novel that combines modern-day Britain with non-Western thinking! This is both an existential and experimental book in one. I hate using the term "unputdownable", but I couldn't really stop reading this book.
The start of it threw me a bit. It's like reading Alan Moore's "Jerusalem" and Peter Ackroyd's "Hawksmoor" while being as accessible as Sally Rooney's "Normal People"; the experimental bits didn't put me off, but actually made me instantly want to dig deeper into the book.
The dialogue might seem lackadaisical but is, to me, engaging:
She didnât miss the acting work but she got bored sometimes, when Lanny went to school, when her husband went in to the city. She was writing a book, she said. A murder thriller. Sounds bloody horrid, I said. It is very bloody and horrid, she said, but thrilling.
The language is beautiful:
We trampled down the dog-walk path …
Finally, a fictional novel that combines modern-day Britain with non-Western thinking! This is both an existential and experimental book in one. I hate using the term "unputdownable", but I couldn't really stop reading this book.
The start of it threw me a bit. It's like reading Alan Moore's "Jerusalem" and Peter Ackroyd's "Hawksmoor" while being as accessible as Sally Rooney's "Normal People"; the experimental bits didn't put me off, but actually made me instantly want to dig deeper into the book.
The dialogue might seem lackadaisical but is, to me, engaging:
She didnât miss the acting work but she got bored sometimes, when Lanny went to school, when her husband went in to the city. She was writing a book, she said. A murder thriller. Sounds bloody horrid, I said. It is very bloody and horrid, she said, but thrilling.
We trampled down the dog-walk path towards Hatchett Wood and it was ever so beautiful. The thick wall of green between the common and the wood bursting with life, clematis clambering through and over it, a properly paintable riot, the yarrow glowing a bit, the blackthorn and maple all hugged up together, foxgloves leaning out like thin beckoning arms and I was still wiping tears of laughter from my eyes and considering how surprising it was, me, an old man, tailend of a good career but a mainly lonely life, finding such a good friend in this little kid.
I really, really liked this book.
