Showing posts with label historical fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label historical fiction. Show all posts

Saturday, 17 March 2007

The House of Doctor Dee, by Peter Ackroyd

First published 1993.

OK. Having been passed through the hands of two other book-crossers whilst managing to not yet be completely read, I was determined to plough through this one.

How difficult a task had I set myself?

It was whilst trying to explain to my wife how I felt about this book that I think I hit upon a winner: Reading this novel was like watching a film by David Lynch. You know that what is going on is amazing, well-written stuff, but it is all so damn high-brow that it walks that very very fine line between 'brilliant' and 'extremely difficult to understand'.

I am on record for hating David Lynch. He is a talented Director that never seems to use his talents to create coherent stories.
Do I hate this novel? Not quite. The individual scenes - both in present-day London and the pre-scientific world of advanced philosopher John Dee - were sometimes vividly realised and most of time extrememly interesting. Yet it was a deep struggle to maintain enthusiasm for the overall book because of the obscure themes.

Without giving anything away, the final plot twists/revelations are of the kind that either make you re-evaluate the entire novel or shake your head in dismay. Personally, I like the type of questioning of the reality of narrative that the conclusion introduces, but it was too little too late to rescue the ungraspable, high-brow nature of the majority of rest of the book.

This may be an absolute gem for the right person. Perhaps a historian/scholar in early science/magic or someone really interested in philosophical thoughts on the identity of great cities like London over vaste expanses of time.

Give it a go, but don't hesitate to pass it on if you don't like the first three chapters. It doesn't "settle in" at any stage.

One of those deals where you suspect that the fancy ingredients are supposed to impress you, but they're not as good as more common fare. Chicken generally tastes better than pheasant.
This was a book-crossing book.

Wednesday, 7 February 2007

The Agony and the Ecstasy, by Irving Stone

Published 1961

What a staggeringly huge undertaking this book is!
This book is solely to blame for my having had little opportunity to read anything else this year. It is huge, it is dense, it is chock full of the most incredible detail and interpretations of the life of one of the greatest artists who has ever lived - Michelangelo.
Now, I have to admit, I have been going through a big historical phase over the last half year, so I was more than ready to take this tome on. But I should warn anyone else that this is no light read. If you are eager to absorb seemingly every minute detail of Michelangelo's 90 year life - the incredible trials and tribulations of religion and art amongst the birth of Italian Renaissance philosophy - then, by all means, pick this one up. You will be very well rewarded. Irving Stone has recreated 90 years of Renaissance Italy and its influencial cast in staggering, loving detail. I feel like a qualified art and sculpture expert having just passed through.
This tribute is about as far from a quick frolick around David and the Sistine Chapel as you can get. One gets the impression that every single known fact and body of work connected to the great artist is woven into this story - and it takes a helluva long time in getting through them all - but is never uninteresting.
A monumental achievement, it can perhaps be paralleled with some of Michelangelo's own projects. Only an inspired psycho would take on such a comprehensive, exhaustive project and yet live to tell the tale.

A relentless banquet so huge that it may be considered inhumane to face it all in one session. One or two walks around the block in between courses is highly recommended.