Six novels in one.

The word genius is bandied about in several of the reviews I read of David Mitchell’s fourth novel, Cloud Atlas, and so I decided to read it, thinking Shakespeare, Beethoven, Einstein, Michaelangelo, etc., people who in my opinion, fill this billing. I found no genius in Cloud Atlas, but what I did find was a courageous attempt, including many brilliant moments, to write an apocalyptic novel for our times.

Let me start, and dismiss, the structure: six separate narratives linked by a comet-shaped birth mark, a music manuscript and probably a couple of other props that I missed. These are not in any event significant (if they are I missed the point) and the narratives are not really related except in the overarching sense that mankind has done and will continue to do bad things, including destroy the planet, all because of the will to wealth and power by the bad people among us. An old theme but one that bears scrutiny and, as I say, takes courage to address.

The heart of the book is the novella entitled, Sloosha’s Crossin’ An’ Ev’rythin’ After. This is a brilliant evocation of the world after the fall, a subject that has always fascinated me (think Alas, Babylon, A Canticle For Liebowitz, On The Beach), and one that Mitchell utterly dominates. His creation of language, culture, artifact, religion and poignant myth-like memories of the world before the fall, along with a compelling story line about a simple man caught up in the battle against evil, is brilliant and the work of a wildly creative yet disciplined imagination.

Two of the other stories come close to Sloosha’s, but do not quite hit the mark. The first part of The Pacific Journal of Adam Ewing, which is where Cloud Atlas begins, is the story of a good and honest man traveling as a passenger on a schooner from Australia to San Francisco. The horrors of these journeys under tyrannical and evil captains have been described before, but Mitchell’s take, with his balance between Ewing’s interior and exterior lives is well worth the read.

As is An Orison of Sonmi-451, a novella set in futuristic Korea, in which a cloned “fabricant” escapes  her slave status and ends up as the goddess worshipped by the simple inhabitants of Sloosha’s world. This narrative is filled with clichés (the planet is being destroyed by corporate greed, clones are deceived into believing they will go to an island paradise when they have completed their service, etc.). It is, however, saved from the cliché dust bin by the wonderfully imaginative setting Mitchell creates: language, technology, myriad Big Brother accessories—all come across as completely believable. This story, done in a series of interviews with the future goddess, lacks the fear factor that made 1984 great, but it is quite an achievement.

The other novellas, one pointless, (or to me, anyway) about a publisher trapped inn a nursing home, and the other–about a reporter in 1975 California trying to expose, a la Jane Fonda in The China Syndrome–the fatal design flaw in an atomic energy plant–is too painfully politically correct to be interesting. God appears out of a machine to save the heroine so often in this story that I thought at first Mitchell was pulling the leg of his readers, but no, he meant it.

I did not find genius in Cloud Atlas. I should not have expected to, knowing that the meaning of the word has been dumbed down, along with almost everything else in our culture. But it does contain brilliance and some great story-telling. For these reasons it is well worth reading.

Reviewed by James LePore , author of A World I Never Made.

Published by Random House - paperback - 978-0375507250 - $14.95

A brief synopsis:
A lost child…
On the eve of the first world war, a little girl is found abandoned on a ship to Australia. A mysterious woman called the Authoress had promised to look after her – but the Authoress has disappeared without a trace.
A terrible secret…
On the night of her twenty-first birthday, Nell O’Connor learns a secret that will change her life forever. Decades later, she embarks upon a search for the truth that leads her to the windswept Cornish coast and the strange and beautiful Blackhurst Manor, once owned by the aristocratic Mountrachet family.
A mysterious inheritance…
On Nell’s death, her grand-daughter, Cassandra, comes into an unexpected inheritance. Cliff Cottage and its forgotten garden are notorious amongst the Cornish locals for the secrets they hold – secrets about the doomed Mountrachet family and their ward Eliza Makepeace, a writer of dark Victorian fairytales. It is here that Cassandra will finally uncover the truth about the family, and solve the century-old mystery of a little girl lost.

It’s really difficult to tell you much about this book without spoilers. So while I was thinking about how to write the review I read the synopsis on Kate Morton’s site (given above). As you can see there are 3 layers to this novel. 3 layers that answer the same questions, ’Where did Nell come from?’, ‘Who were here parents?’ and ‘why was she put on a ship to Australia as a 4 year old?’

‘The forgotten garden’ is a journey to find these answers, a mystery that spans 2 continents and 2 centuries, a mystery that will lead 2 women, Nell and Cassandra, to Cornish coast, Blackhurst Manor and ultimately to a cottage on a cliff and a forgotten garden. A garden that lives and breathes, a garden where fairy tales were written and secrets kept safe.

When Nell was 4 she was left alone on a ship sailing from Europe to Australia. She was adopted by a man who found her all alone and couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. When Nell turns 21, her father tells her the truth. Nell is devastated by this. After some years, before her father dies, he arranges to return to Nell the suitcase with which she had arrived. Based on its contents and a book of Fairy Tales written by Eliza Makepiece, Nell decides to find out who she really is. After Nell dies, her granddaughter Cassandra follows her grandmother’s footsteps when she learns that Nell has left her a cottage in Europe as an inheritance.

Essentially there are 3 stories running in parallel, Nell’s search for her parents, Cassandra’s search for her grandmother’s past and finally the story of Eliza and Rose, where it all began.

This was my first Kate Morton book and I was blown away by her writing and her ability to spin 3 complicated plots together. Al though at times I was confused with what was happening; overall it was a fantastic book. I wanted more of this book and considering it’s almost 600 pages, that’s saying a lot. Her writing is so beautiful that I found myself getting lost in the small sea side town, in Eliza and Rose’s story and wondering how it all fit. I tried to guess the mystery a lot of times but was always wrong. The story I loved reading most of all was that of Eliza. She was so vivacious, rebellious and full of life.

Kate Morton’s writing is so evocative and her way of describing things is so beautiful that you cannot help but get lost in the story. Take for example,

He was a scribble of a man. Frail and fine and stooped from a knot in the center of his knobbled back. Beige slacks with grease spots clung to the marbles of his knees, twiglike ankles rose stoically from over-sized shoes, and tufts of white floss sprouted from various fertile spots on a otherwise smooth scalp. He looked like a character from a children’s story. A fairy story.

Some people might find the writing style very wordy but it worked for me. I suggest giving this book your full attention instead of clubbing it with a couple of other reads, because as I said, there are 3 plots running simultaneously and if you read it in gaps you might get confused by the jumps.

Highly Recommended.

P.S: If you like reading fairy tales, you might like this book even more.

Reviewed by VioletCrush - here’s the link to her excellent blog

Published by Atria - hardcover - 978-1416550549 - $26.00.

Back in 2006, before my blogging days, I read The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon and it became the book in which I’ve compared everything else to since. When The Angel’s Game came up for review on Shelf Awareness, I knew I had to read it as soon as possible. I dropped everything when it arrived in the mail.

David Martin is a down and out writer. He’s absolutely brilliant but he’s never been able to show that he can write more than penny dreadfuls. His mentor is about to marry the girl he’s madly in love with and, by the way, he’s dying of a brain tumour. Things look bleak until a mysterious publisher, Andreas Corelli, appears and promises David all his desires if he’ll write one book for him. A book that people would live and die for.

David agrees but is perplexed by what Corelli wants from him. Not being a believer in an afterlife, he feels he’s writing another sham, “a vaudeville” as the boss calls it. Soon though, David feels that he’s being pulled into something more sinister. The book and his life seem to be following the same path as his predecessor, the writer of a book he took from The Cemetery of Forgotten Books. A man whose life fell apart as he descended into madness.

When David starts investigating the writer’s story, evil forces put himself and his loved ones in danger of their lives- and their souls.

The Angel’s Game is dripping in atmosphere. It’s Super Gothic, an old-fashioned creepy tale. I felt like I was in the 1920s. I could feel the buildings hovering over me, see the dark streets and alleyways as I read. Strange, unexplainable things happen to David. The question is: who is the publisher no one has ever heard of before? The man with the wolf-like eyes and smile? Zafon gives us room to make our own conclusions, but I think we know who we’re talking about here.

There are parts of The Angel’s Game that are similar to The Shadow of the Wind but this is a much darker book. In fact, the story gets darker as the book progresses. It is a violent story as well, with a high body count by the end. But even through the darkness, there is light. David’s love for Cristina never wavers. The love story is underneath it all.

I love what Zafon has to say about The Angel’s Game and The Shadow of the Wind. I think it sums it up exactly:

“Thus, if Shadow of the Wind is the nice, good girl in the family, The Angel’s Game would be the wicked gothic stepsister. Some readers often ask me if The Angel’s Game is a prequel or a sequel. The answer is: none of these things, and all of the above. Essentially The Angel’s Game is a new book, a stand-alone story that you can fully enjoy and understand on its own.”

The writing is lyrical, the characters vivid. Even the minor characters, ones that appear only briefly, feel like real people. I wondered what their stories were. So many of the major characters have complexities that make them so interesting. I had mixed feelings for David’s mentor, Petro Vidal, at times I was frustrated with him and others I felt so sorry for him. And Corelli… he’s just spooky!

I don’t think I can say more about this book without sounding like I’m gushing. The Angel’s Game won’t have to be put in The Cemetery of Forgotten Books but it will make unto my Bookshelf of Unlendable Books. If I lent this one out and never got it back, there would be hell to pay.

Highly recommended.

Reviewed by Chris who reviews books regularly at Book-a-rama.

Published by Doubleday - Hardcover - 978-0385528702 - $26.95

Book of the Year?

I just read a book that I enjoyed so much (and exclaimed over so frequently) that Ron asked me if this could be my book of the year. Usually I pick a new book that I’ve liked and send it to the people on my Christmas list who might like it. This one could be it.

There’s just one slightly negative thing about this book–it takes a good while to get into it. It took me about 70 pages, and that’s with the encouragement of bookchronicle, who has it on her list of the ten best books of the year. The book is Nick Harkaway’s The Gone-Away World.

One of the things that made me start to enjoy the book was this reference to ninjas:
“Just hearing Master Wu say ‘ninja’ is like hearing a concert cellist play ‘Mama Mia’ on the ukulele. Ninjas are silly. They are the flower fairies of gong fu and karate. They can jump higher than a house, and burrow through the ground. They know how to turn invisible. They…can do things which are like magic.”

But I think what got me hooked is this passage on p. 72:
“‘And the moral of this story?’
‘Don’t leave the path.’
‘No. The moral of this story in so far as it has one is that cannibals can study logic, and that if you are going to leave the path, you better have your wits about you and know better than to trust the first scary old lady who talks to you in a public place. ‘One of my sisters lies and the other tells the truth!’ What a load of crap. For God’s sake, why doesn’t he ask the barman? Or just retrace his steps? The man’s an idiot.’”

Yes, The Gone-Away World has ninjas and a pirate king and secret societies and an evil villain with a fearsome weapon, and it’s set in a sort of post-apocalyptic world so it’s kind of like science fiction except that the world maybe turns out to be different than you think and your idea about what is normal has to change a bit, and by the time you get to the end of reading it, you’ve done more than laugh at the funny parts (and there are plenty of those), and you’ve done more than follow the digressions from the main plot (and boy, are there a lot of those). What you’ve done is that you’ve become a slightly more thoughtful person than the one who began reading this book. Partly this happens because of the way the story is told–you begin with a group of people who are called on to solve a crisis, and then you go back to their youth and find out how the crisis came to be, and then you go along with the narrator to analyze the way the fictional world works, like trying on corporate thinking for size, and finally you have to take a stand with the characters, as good and evil are sorted out.

I read this book more slowly than I read most things. It took me about a week of dipping into it for maybe half an hour a day, at first. The thing is, there are stories in this book that can almost stand alone, like the story of the man who acted out the scene from a button I found in Washington D.C. in the 1980’s: “I don’t love you since you ate my dog.” And there are characters and situations that are satisfying to read about in a way that doesn’t seem to advance the plot, like the story of K. and why he calls himself that. And like the introduction to this teacher:
“‘What I an about to tell you,’ says Professor Derek the following day, ‘may make me sound like a crazy person. So I need you to remember, to bear in mind very carefully, that I have an IQ of such monstrous proportions that if, for the sake of argument, I were totally insane–if the palace of my intellect were a scary ivy-covered mansion in Louisiana with peeling paint and dead flowers and a garden full of murdered corpses planted by a man named Jerry-Lee Boudain–I am so much more intelligent than anybody else you will ever meet that there would be no way for anyone to tell….what you need to get your heads round is that I am such a massive geek, such a totally terrifying concentration of nerdhood, that I have actually cracked the code for human social behavior using mathematics. I am able to interact with people on what appears to be a casual non-scientific footing, and even get laid like a regular guy, because I made an intense study of behavioural and statistical ethnographics, and I am constantly running a series of predictive and quantitative calculations in my head, which provides me with acceptable human responses within the normative band and counterfeits qualitative judgement so well the difference is within the margin of error.’”

As other reviewers have noted (there’s one on The Gone-Away World site), the sheep images are among the funniest parts of the book (besides the fact that everyone who reads this book will be compelled to try putting their teeth on a doorknob). I loved this bit about the sheep:
“sheep are a nightmare if you’re trying to construct a perimeter defense, because they can end up cutting a path right through it and leaving themselves in pieces as markers showing the cleared route to all comers….sheep surviving for a prolonged period in a heavily mined area will gradually evolve, and left long enough would develop into more intelligent, combat-hardened sheep, possibly with sonar for probing the earth in front of them, extremely long legs for stepping over suspect objects and large flat feet to distribute pressure evenly and avoid activating the fuse. A warsheep would be a cross between a dolphin and a small, limber elephant.”
A warsheep! That is just a funny word, sort of reminiscent of Douglas Adams at his best (and Harkaway does list Adams as one of his influences, along with P.G. Wodehouse, Conan Doyle, Alexandre Dumas, and Neal Stephenson).

The story of how the narrator survives being shot and how he then helps to save the world is the focus of the last third of the book, where everything comes together so unexpectedly (for me) and so satisfyingly that it’s hard to describe, except perhaps to say that it’s like finding out what the watermelon in Buckaroo Banzai’s file cabinet is for and not being disappointed by the explanation. Here’s one facet of the explanation that won’t entirely spoil the plot for you:
“The Go Away War and the Reification were a great chaos which brought an end to everything we knew. By accident or subconscious design, we destroyed the pattern of our lives, reduced our species to tiny pockets of survival and engendered a world whose very fabric responded to our thoughts. Humbert Pestle, silver at the temples and tough like a yew tree, survived the cataclysm but was appalled by the havoc that it wrought. Seeing in his mind the cogs of the great progress scattered willy-nilly all about, Pestle longed to put them back in the clockwork and make it run again. Nor was he alone. We all of us looked at the turmoil around and were afraid, and instead of going out to meet it and sniff it like good mammals, good primates, we got cold feet and fell back upon our cold blood; like lizards on a cloudy day, we wished ourselves back in the comfort of our holes; we wanted our finite horizons of predictable problems and predicable joys.”

This is not a predictable book. It’s an amazing book, about honor and sacrifice and what makes us human. Long after you think you’ve settled in to being amazed as you read, you’ll continue to be amazed over and over.

Reviewed by Jeanne Griggs whose excellent book blog is Necromancy Never Pays.

Published by Knopf in Hardcover - 978-0307268860 - $25.95 (the paperback is coming out August 11, 2009)

Available at Amazon.