The English Patient, by Michael Ondaatje

I first read this book about 15 years ago, and was blown away. I rushed to finish it the day before the movie came out, and thus ruined my enjoyment of a highly acclaimed film.

My disappointment stemmed from the filmmakers choosing what I considered to be the secondary love story as their main theme. Otherwise, I remember it as beautiful and moving. What can I say, the book is always better...

Rereads are so satisfying. I love to see how I'll react to a book once I've moved into a different phase of life. And then, of course, I already know the ending. When I read this the first time, I was closer in age to Kip and Hana; now I'd call Caravaggio and the English patient my contemporaries. I feel more nostalgia for the younger pair, and having been disappointed and having disappointed in turn, I have more sympathy for those characters who fail to act honorably, or who suffer lapses in judgment.

The story takes place in 1945, in a bombed out Italian villa. A young Canadian nurse takes care of a badly burned man, known only as the English patient. Her wounded surrogate uncle stumbles them, and joins the household. Which coincidence somehow seems reasonable. A young Indian sapper, a bomb-defuser, lives in the garden while he clears mines from the countryside. The story relies on flashbacks and internal dialogue, as the four of them limp through the physical and emotional aftermath of the war. There is a mystery to solved, which takes pressure off the rest of the story; the relationships among those present and missing is the real meat of the novel.

The writing in this book is gorgeous. Ondaatje evokes landscape vividly, and is one of those authors who says a lot with just a few words. Each character is given a lot of attention, and all are fascinating. Despite being a wartime novel, this is less about the horrors of war then about the profound solitude they engender. The two older men embody loads of moral ambiguity, while Kip and Hana are mostly reacting to the unrelenting sorrow they've been exposed to, and do so with strength and grace. This may be a comment on the complexities that arise from age and experience; it's hard to stay untarnished over the course of a lifetime.

There's an undercurrent throughout of disaffection, isolation, people intentionally turning their backs on familiarity and tradition, and the damaging aspects of obsession. This is a terrific book, worthy of rereading, and definitely deserves to be called a classic.

Skippy Dies, by Paul Murray - Julia's review

The title says it all...

Well, not really, but you've got to love an author who puts the main event right there on the cover. Paul Murray just wants to be clear, right up front, that this is what's going to happen. It won't be the end of the story, but it will be a very important factor, and we might as well just get it out there on the table right from the outset.


This book is much longer than I realized, being printed on extremely thin paper, and set in very small print. My copy is 660 pages. In this respect it is physically and thematically similar: the story doesn't seem as though it is going to touch on quite so many truths, from quite so many different angles.


To wit: Seabrook is a traditional Irish Catholic boys' school, running full frontal into the 21st century. There is a varied cast of characters: a disappointed futures-trader-turned-history teacher, a boy genius, an altruistic priest, a beautiful girl, a thug, an ambitious administrator, a swimming coach, and many others, all, it seems, with secrets. And of course there's Skippy, who has at least two gigantic secrets.


The story takes place over the course of an academic year. People fall in love, people cheat, restrain themselves, plan clandestine scientific explorations, sneak into the neighboring girls' school, deal and take drugs - the usual school stuff. There is complicated science, and crass pornography, and 19th century poetry. And somehow it all ties in, connects, reflects endlessly.


The most amazing thing about this book is how deeply the reader falls into the lives of the characters. There is a metaphorical hall of mirrors at Seabrook, with each succeeding generation experiencing the same epiphanies, and false starts. They're coming at life from from different angles, but somehow it's all the same. They're trapped in that hall, inevitably bumping into their distorted reflections, and mistaking them for reality. The themes of impotence, regret and futility are wound around one another, always present but never obvious. Most of the inhabitants of Seabrook are adolecents, and they have that terrible and misguided sense that what is happening at any one moment is the truth.


Did I mention that this book is also really funny? It is. And despite the fact that it took me way longer than I had imagined to get to the last page, I was kind of heartbroken at having to finish. The word I keep thinking of is engaging; the characters are just barely eccentric, the dialogue is always spot-on and hilarious, the many little subplots and interstices and wild imaginings hold your attention just perfectly.One of my very favorite books of the year, thus far.


You can hear all about Paul Murray's life, writing and literary tastes in the Powell's interview.


Jess Walter reviews Paul Murray. What's (slightly) better than reading a great book? Reading another's author's take on it.

Julia's review of Amsterdam

A pox on large print! I somehow ended up with the easy-to-read edition of this book, and felt shouted at the entire time I was reading it. I am trying to blame that for my huge disappointment in this novel. Which is sort of interesting, given all this Kindle debate - does the delivery system affect one's enjoyment of the product? Hard to say definitively; I've never read a book on a Kindle, and honestly I've always figured it wouldn't make much difference to me. But if I ever get a LARGE PRINT book again I will be tempted to send it back and wait for the original.

Sadly, I really don't think it would have helped to have a brand new, signed, hardbound copy. Ian McEwan is one of my favorite authors, I adore Booker Prize winners... what can I say? I figured I would love this book. Instead, it seemed contrived, predictable, and silly, though amusing at times. It is interesting to me that I feel just a tiny bit guilty disliking an award-winning work by a writer I like so much. Kind of like seeing my child's artwork pinned up on the classroom wall and thinking that the lines are awkward and the colors clash.


Where I heard about this book: Trying to catch up on all things McEwan.


What I thought of this book: Sigh. 3, no, 2 1/2 stars. He is a good writer.


What this book is about: A satire about two old friends who reconnect at a funeral. Over the course of subsequent weeks they make one another a promise, get angry, forgive, get angry again, and come up with a ridiculous plot for revenge. What exactly is being satirized? The press, politicians, celebrities; the usual suspects. I'm glad it was short - I probably would have made myself finish no matter the length.

(Originally posted on my own blog.)