Book nine was a real collection of power houses as I had a choice between:

‘The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay’ by Michael Chabon

‘Gravity’s Rainbow’ by Thomas Pynchon

‘Midnight’s Children’ by Salman Rushdie

Choosing to pick a book that legitimately sat in the closest thing I have to a TBR pile – a shelf – I decided to take my first ever trip into the writing of Michael Chabon.

Goodreads summary: Joe Kavalier, a young Jewish artist who has also been trained in the art of Houdini-esque escape, has just smuggled himself out of Nazi-invaded Prague and landed in New York City. His Brooklyn cousin Sammy Clay is looking for a partner to create heroes, stories, and art for the latest novelty to hit America – the comic book. Drawing on their own fears and dreams, Kavalier and Clay create the Escapist, the Monitor, and Luna Moth, inspired by the beautiful Rosa Saks, who will become linked by powerful ties to both men. With exhilarating style and grace, Michael Chabon tells an unforgettable story about American romance and possibility.

Every few years, I try to ignite in myself a passion for comic books, with varying degrees of success. Having watched the animated television shows as a child and following various other hobbies that are occasionally simpatico with an interest in superheroes (computer games, wrestling, et al), it seems like it should only be a matter of time before I genuinely fall in love with the comic book world. But alas, it is not yet to be. In ‘…Kavalier and Clay’, however, the romantic, nature of the Golden age of comic books, and the escapism the narratives allow, serves as a brilliant backdrop to a story that often feels as much about the American Dream as it is people in lycra costumes.

Joe Kavalier and Sammy Clay are cousins and thrown together within the opening pages as Kavalier flees the oppressive Nazi regime threatening Prague, ending up in New York. Almost immediately, the sense of closeness and familial love, even between two teenagers who have not yet spent a day in each other’s company is established. From this, Chabon is able to spin a wide-reaching yarn that never fully escapes the crux of the life lead by the two men, whilst usually focusing particularly on their lives together. Thankfully, both characters engage from the start: Kavalier’s links to magic and Eastern Europe giving an exoticism to his presentation, whilst Clay’s problems concerning issues such as sexuality are hinted at to begin with before coming to a head as the narrative progresses.

It is the vulnerability of each man’s situation that helps to carry the reader through several hundred pages of their stories. Kavalier’s escape from Prague speaks to the often somewhat fantastical tone of some of the set pieces, relating effectively to his love for Houdini and interest in magic, before his desire to use art as a weapon for a marginalised voice sees him go to work with Clay in the comic book industry. Clay’s confusion about his sexuality during a time when people were less accepting of relationships that were outside of the norm also engenders a sense of sympathy for the character. Even as the two men make great leaps and bounds in creating comics, most notably the Escapist, they continue to be up against the ropes as we see the machinations of industry often clash with their desires for artistry and money.

It is Kavalier who is the most interesting protagonist; primarily because his arc twists, turns, expands and contracts in ways that Clay’s never really does. From waiting to support his family in their escape from Prague, to ending up (loosely) involved in combat during the Second World War, Kavalier’s journey is one of restless fury about the situation that led him to America. Whilst Kavalier does in many ways embody ideas surrounding the American Dream, ending up with money, a home and a wife in Rosa Saks, that never is presented as quite enough for the character. It also leads to some of the sadder moments in the narrative, moments that Chabon metes out every so often and which elicit legitimate emotion.

As you might expect of a book that is of this size, to do the novel justice in so few words is hard. However, what sticks with me is that sense of reality – admittedly helped by reference to genuine places and people – that Chabon creates throughout. The devil is in the detail and it is the little sepia tinged moments that come together to create an engaging sense of the world at large during and post war, as well as the rise and fall of the Golden Age of comics. An absolute triumph and well worth a read.

For book number eight, I had the choice between:

‘Purple Hibiscus’ by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

‘The Famished Road’ by Ben Okri

‘The Black Dahlia’ by James Ellroy

A distinctly African flavour to the majority of the choices, but my desire to read a James Ellroy novel superseded the other two choices. I was about to enter the world of ‘The Black Dahlia’.

Goodreads summary: On January 15, 1947, the torture-ravished body of a beautiful young woman is found in a vacant lot. The victim makes headlines as the Black Dahlia—and so begins the greatest manhunt in California history. Caught up in the investigation are Bucky Bleichert and Lee Blanchard: Warrants Squad cops, friends, and rivals in love with the same woman. But both are obsessed with the Dahlia—driven by dark needs to know everything about her past, to capture her killer, to possess the woman even in death. Their quest will take them on a hellish journey through the underbelly of postwar Hollywood, to the core of the dead girl’s twisted life, past the extremes of their own psyches—into a region of total madness.

‘The Black Dahlia’ in terms of the name given to Elizabeth Short and eventual effective name for the unsolved murder that ended her life in 1947 is one of true crime’s greatest mysteries. Who did kill Elizabeth Short, torturing her and mangling her body before cutting her in half and dumping her in a vacant lot? In ‘The Black Dahlia’ in terms of the book, James Ellroy uses this crime to explore the twisted lives of a bunch of Californians in a post-war America and does it with aplomb.

Sometimes there is just a perfect storm of things in a book that work for me. Links to true crime, a film noir-esque atmosphere, even a reasonable amount of the opening talking about boxing – they all worked well to engage me in the story from the moment I opened the first page. From the first few chapters that explore how Bucky Bleichert and Lee Blanchard first became opponents, and then partners, sets us up for a relentlessly paced, loosely based in reality, hard boiled crime thriller. There is no sentimentality here: people get hurt and die, cops are corrupt and violent, love is messy and complicated.

Although the big hook for the story is the ‘solving’ of the Black Dahlia crime, with Ellroy providing a perfectly feasible explanation within the characters he created to work alongside the true narrative, it becomes much more a story about the interwoven lives of those surrounded by the case and how quickly it takes over their lives. Even when the case becomes to all intents and purposes cold, it is the desire of Bleichert and Blanchard to provide closure that causes things to spiral downwards.

Ellroy manages to manipulate both the real facts of the Short case and the more sensationalist ideas about her (such as her being a lesbian, for example) to give perhaps an even more sordid narrative than what truly happened. The bleak descriptions of dive bars, motels and eventually places in Tijuana only serve to highlight the darker nature of the world that exists at this time for many a person. Coupled with several very blunt descriptions of violence and sex, Ellroy is unflinching in his presentation of the psyche of the very wounded roster of characters and how the excesses of life drive them to poor choices almost universally.

By the end of the novel, the case is resolved, but no-one feels better off for it. Even the slightest glimpse of hope in the last few pages is tinged by an all too fresh awareness of what happened before and where things went wrong. These characters, Bleichert et al, were never designed to be happy and the expectation is that they never truly will. Too many lies and missed opportunities have come and gone; the Black Dahlia serving as the catalyst to a downfall that was probably already fated to occur.

Though bleak and unflinching in its atmosphere, ‘The Black Dahlia’ is an excellent story with compelling, flawed characters who come to life in Ellroy’s set pieces. A brilliant book that is well worth the time to read.

My next three choices for book seven of my challenge were:

‘Different Class’ by Joanne Harris

‘Temeraire’ by Naomi Novik

‘Titus Groan’ by Mervyn Peake

As a teacher, I was tempted to check out ‘Different Class’, but as a teacher, I went with a book by an author I had once seen a student read – ‘Temeraire’ by Naomi Novik.

Goodreads summary: Aerial combat brings a thrilling new dimension to the Napoleonic Wars as valiant warriors ride mighty fighting dragons, bred for size or speed. When HMS Reliant captures a French frigate and seizes the precious cargo, an unhatched dragon egg, fate sweeps Captain Will Laurence from his seafaring life into an uncertain future – and an unexpected kinship with a most extraordinary creature. Thrust into the rarified world of the Aerial Corps as master of the dragon Temeraire, he will face a crash course in the daring tactics of airborne battle. For as France’s own dragon-borne forces rally to breach British soil in Bonaparte’s boldest gambit, Laurence and Temeraire must soar into their own baptism of fire.

‘His Majesty’s Dragon’ (seemingly republished as ‘Temeraire’ at a later date) takes the Napoleonic Wars and throws a myriad of dragons at the conflict. Unsurprisingly, as is the case with things that involve dragons of some sort, the result is well worth checking out, even if the interactions with the winged creatures are far more interesting than the aerial combat.

Having captured a close to hatching dragon egg from a French ship, Captain Will Laurence becomes the man who takes control of Temeraire, a rare Chinese breed of dragon. With the harnessing of a dragon comes a life of kinship that rips Laurence away from his naval career and forces him into the Napoleonic War on the back of his new companion. The French aren’t the only enemy though as Laurence and Temeraire both find transition into a brave new world is never quite as straightforward as one would like.

Naturally, the relationship between Temeraire and Laurence forms the crux of the narrative and is needed to be one that engaged the audience, which it does. Where Novik should be commended is how natural it feels for dragons to exist within this historically accurate representation of 19^th Century Britain, whilst also creating a relationship between the two main protagonists that feels realistic and strong. That both characters go through similar moments of self-doubt and self-discovery helps in this as they turn to each other for mutual support at times of difficulty.

Temeraire’s dialogue in particular works well to create a character that feels unique in a cast of dragons, whilst also giving voice to the queries and concerns of a newcomer to the world. At times, it even creates some small pockets of humour as Laurence has to explain the unwritten (and sometimes written) rules of society that underpin social interactions. The dragon feels at once wise but child-like; not an easy combination but pulled off with aplomb.

The intimate relationship between Laurence and Temeraire is interesting to see being developed; the same cannot be said for the combat. That is not to suggest it is all bad – there is a real sense of the all-out action that you might expect in battles between dragons and the crews that ‘pilot’ them. However, in the frenzy, some clarity was lost for me and it all too often felt like it became a raft of names and actions more than anything else. Your mileage may vary though as I’m sure there are many who will admire the dramatic set pieces created by Novik’s descriptions.

Being the first book of a series of nine, the issue can be that the stakes are never really high enough to build tension. However, Novik skilfully sidesteps that pitfall by focusing more on the growth of Temeraire and the friendship between rider and dragon. The ending, whilst presenting an important battle between the two armies, also fulfils somewhat of a narrative arch though still leaving the author many places to go over the next eight books. Books that, given the time, I’m sure I’ll find myself checking out in due course.

The next three options I was given for book six were:

‘Invisible Man’ by Ralph Ellison

‘Crazy Rich Asians’ by Kevin Kwan

‘A Death in The Family’ by Karl Ove Knausgård

Seeking a little more glamour after the mud-laced steps of ‘The Gallows Pole’, I chose to read ‘Crazy Rich Asians’.

Amazon summary: When Rachel Chu agrees to spend the summer in Singapore with her boyfriend, Nicholas Young, she envisions a humble family home and quality time with the man she hopes to marry. But Nick has failed to give his girlfriend a few key details. One, that his childhood home looks like a palace; two, that he grew up riding in more private planes than cars; and three, that he just happens to be the country’s most eligible bachelor.

On Nick’s arm, Rachel may as well have a target on her back the second she steps off the plane, and soon, her relaxed vacation turns into an obstacle course of old money, new money, nosy relatives, and scheming social climbers.

‘Crazy Rich Asians’ is the Ronseal of books. If you are looking for a novel that has crazy Asians, rich Asians, and crazy rich Asians, it does exactly what it says on the front cover. Whilst the story often feels like a procession of set pieces that are designed to amaze the reader, the overall narrative is underpinned by some interesting social commentary and a sense that even with millions to your name, the world is not always a great place.

‘Crazy Rich Asians’ never professes to be anything more than a romp through the world of modern Asia and the lives of a succession of ever richer, ever more beautiful families as a wedding is due to take place in Singapore that is the talk of the country. Within that, the decision of the main male protagonist, Nick, to invite his girlfriend, Rachel, to the wedding sparks controversy due to the loftier expectations of the moneyed relatives who believe that name value is all that matters when it comes to a match. Playing opposite this plotline is the story of Astrid, Nick’s cousin, whose world begins to collapse around her in a way that no number of Gucci dresses can ever truly resolve.

As an outsider to the world that Kwan creates, I can only be amazed by the mere idea that extravagance exists on the level that is portrayed throughout the book, extravagance that I can only assume stems from some form of legitimacy. Any questions as to the validity of the picture painted by Kwan are easy to downplay when the detailed description of designers, styles and attires come thick and fast. Indeed, the biggest issue I had with the cast of characters as a whole was that everyone seemed not only rich, but incredibly beautiful. Whilst the idea of attractive people also being people who manage to get themselves into a position of wealth isn’t hard to fathom, everyone being inches removed from a model began to become almost too knowing in its attempt to create the façade of a perfect world.

Similarly, at times the narrative is driven along by the reader’s desire to read about the next ostentatious display of wealth rather than any real focus on the plot. To be honest, that works well enough to carry the narrative until the overarching storyline takes a more serious turn, but at times it is somewhat similar to ‘Ready Player One’ of all books – you are just waiting to read the next overt display of wealth/80s pop culture reference rather than actually feeling truly invested in the storyline.

To leave ‘Crazy Rich Asians’ as a book that solely relies on the obvious engagement caused by the wealth of its characters would be crass and unfair. As mentioned previously, the storyline does take a turn for the more serious in the latter third, and whilst some may feel that it is a fairly facile in the grand scheme of things, I was invested enough in the characters to be legitimately shocked and intrigued by where the narrative was heading. If that isn’t what a book is supposed to do, I don’t know.

‘Crazy Rich Asians’ doesn’t exactly try to be subtle, but across the course of its narrative there are enough interesting moments, social commentaries, sarcastic footnotes and engaging characters to make it worth a look. It may not change your literary world, but it will make you turn a page or two.

With book five, I was given the choice between:

‘The Gallows Pole’ by Benjamin Myers

‘The Golden Notebook’ by Doris Lessing

‘Midnight’s Children’ by Salman Rushdie

Of the three books, I went for the one that was probably the least well known – ‘The Gallows Pole’. Having picked it up during a Kindle Sale of some sort, it had been opened a couple of times but never properly read. Until now.

Amazon summary: From his remote moorland home, David Hartley assembles a gang of weavers and land-workers to embark upon a criminal enterprise that will capsize the economy and become the biggest fraud in British history. They are the Cragg Vale Coiners and their business is ‘clipping’ – the forging of coins, a treasonous offence punishable by death. When an excise officer vows to bring them down and with the industrial age set to change the face of England forever, Hartley’s empire begins to crumble. Forensically assembled, The Gallows Pole is a true story of resistance and a rarely told alternative history of the North.

‘The Gallows Pole’ was dripping with mud and the smell of sweat oozed out of every page that I read. Throughout the story, Myers does a brilliant job of bringing 18^th Century Yorkshire to life, a world that is as wild and dangerous as the men who live upon it. Every setting and fluctuation in the season is presented in glorious detail, further emphasising the harsh and unflattering lives lived by the Cragg Vale Coiners and those who lived in the moors. They respected the land, harsh and unforgiving as it was, believing that it would see them right when needed.

It is this clash between the old world values of working the land, getting your hands dirty and looking after your kith and kin, against that of encroaching industrialisation, that drives the narrative forward almost as much as David Hartley’s attempts to line everyone’s pockets with counterfeit gold. Though Hartley is never played for sympathy, especially in his written ramblings from a jail cell after the law catches up with him, the awareness of how lives such as those represented in ‘The Gallows Pole’ were due to change so significantly does at least give you pause for thought. Drunken and rugged though they were, the Coiners just wanted a better life and were not long for the modern world that was about to hit them hard in the coming years.

The descriptions of the less than positive facets of life as a treasonous coin clipper are told in unflinching detail, including several acts of violence that even had myself wincing with pain. Considering this is all meticulously researched makes the aggression shown from the men to their fellow peers even more disheartening. Acts of violence are a means to maintain status, and Hartley is never too many words away from a threat that you know if more than possible a viable outcome of the confrontation.

Hartley as the main protagonist is interestingly realised as a man who oftentimes seems more excited by the prospect of the ‘celebrity’ surrounding being ‘King’ than any true desire to protect his men and their relative families. Though he does once reward his men with a feast after a day’s hard work, it is the songs and rhymes that proclaimed his value that he ends up reminiscing about during his time behind bars.

‘The Gallows Pole’ and the world it explores is unashamedly masculine, but the occasional dabbling in this situation viewed through the eyes of a woman are all the more rewarding for it. Indeed, from an early section where Grace Hartley compliantly allows David to complete his husbandly duty whilst her mind wandered to the spiders and dust around the room, to her stoic responses to her husband’s incarceration and eventual death, and the actions she takes in the epilogue, her involvement is engaging, if brief.

Grace’s aforementioned actions in the epilogue do almost come as one last middle finger to the authorities that attempted to keep the Cragg Vale Coiners from their illegal behaviours. That it would come against a backdrop of a sea change to life in the area leave the gesture ultimately futile, but could fan the flames of any particularly anti-establishment reader as the little guy gets one over on those that try to contain him.

Occasionally heavy work, but an otherwise interesting historical slice of fiction from a time in the not too distant past, this books deserves all the recognition it received.

With book four, I was given the choice between:

‘The Song of Achilles’ by Madeline Miller

 ‘My Brilliant Friend’ by Elena Ferrante

‘Shadow of the Wind’ by Carlos Ruis Zafon

These were all books I (naturally) had strongly desired to read between my interests in Greek mythology, my awareness of Elena Ferrante as a renowned author, and a genuine enjoyment for works of metafiction. It was the latter that won out in the end. Little did I know that it was a choice that led to me reading the best book of my Scaling the TBR Pile experience thus far.

Goodreads summary: The international literary sensation, about a boy’s quest through the secrets and shadows of postwar Barcelona for a mysterious author whose book has proved as dangerous to own as it is impossible to forget.

Barcelona, 1945 – just after the war, a great world city lies in shadow, nursing its wounds, and a boy named Daniel awakes on his eleventh birthday to find that he can no longer remember his mother’s face. To console his only child, Daniel’s widowed father, an antiquarian book dealer, initiates him into the secret of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, a library tended by Barcelona’s guild of rare-book dealers as a repository for books forgotten by the world, waiting for someone who will care about them again. Daniel’s father coaxes him to choose a volume from the spiraling labyrinth of shelves, one that, it is said, will have a special meaning for him. And Daniel so loves the novel he selects, The Shadow of the Wind by one Julian Carax, that he sets out to find the rest of Carax’s work. To his shock, he discovers that someone has been systematically destroying every copy of every book this author has written. In fact, he may have the last one in existence. Before Daniel knows it his seemingly innocent quest has opened a door into one of Barcelona’s darkest secrets, an epic story of murder, magic, madness and doomed love. And before long he realizes that if he doesn’t find out the truth about Julian Carax, he and those closest to him will suffer horribly.

As with all astounding novels, The Shadow of the Wind sends the mind groping for comparisons—The Crimson Petal and the White? The novels of Arturo Pérez-Reverte? Of Victor Hugo? Love in the Time of Cholera?—but in the end, as with all astounding novels, no comparison can suffice. As one leading Spanish reviewer wrote, “The originality of Ruiz Zafón’s voice is bombproof and displays a diabolical talent. The Shadow of the Wind announces a phenomenon in Spanish literature.” An uncannily absorbing historical mystery, a heart-piercing romance, and a moving homage to the mystical power of books, The Shadow of the Wind is a triumph of the storyteller’s art.

As a reader, I love to read books about books. Books that mess around with the very boundaries of their being get me excited in a way that few genres really do. A novel called ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ about (primarily) a novel called ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ is a simple enough conceit, but just adds an extra layer on top of what turned out to be a dramatic, heart wrenching and warmly humorous narrative that had me rushing to the end to find out what happened to Daniel Sempere and the mysterious author, Julián Carax, who wrote ‘The Shadow of the Wind’.

Starting a story with a father taking his boy on a trip to ‘The Cemetery of Forgotten Books’ was always going to evoke an element of the fantastical, and this feeling pervades throughout the plot. Though grounded firmly in 1945 Barcelona, one that is brought to life by Zafon’s deft description, there is always a sense that something extraordinary is occurring in the life of Sempere, the protagonist and narrator for most of the novel. Being little more than a teenage by the end of the narrative, many of these descriptions serve to convey Sempere’s fluctuating and deep-seated emotions as he often naively stumbles through a world of events that seem beyond his control. As he moves closer to solving the mystery of Carax and new, scary people rear their heads and come out of the shadows, Sempere never quite gets a chance to take stock of the perils that lay ahead and we are thrust ahead alongside him to the finale.

It is the mystery element of ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ that helps to drive things forward as it plays out as addictively engaging as the latest crime thriller. Each chapter provided something new: a glimpse of Carax’s past; a tense encounter with a shadowy man hell-bent on recovering the book; a run-in with Inspector Fumero, the police detective taking advantage of a post-civil war Spain to make up his own rules. In particular, every new character that is introduced feels fully realised and part of a wider world that is forever working even when you aren’t reading specifically about it. A personal favourite was Fermin Romero de Torres, one time tramp turned friend to Sempere. The warm humour that was mentioned was primarily from the mouth of Fermin as he was given a chance to turn his life around again by the Sempere family, often in rather touching and occasionally dubious guidance to Daniel about affairs of the heart.

A novel if often furthered with a genuinely sympathetic protagonist and an antagonist that is easy to despise. In Sempere and Fumero, that is exactly what Zafon provides. Fumero in particular is a product of a world turned upside down and struggling to work outs its position in a post-war Europe, though rather than the feelings of isolation and sadness that permeates many of the other characters, Fumero uses this atmosphere to control and destroy those who stand against him. With no redeeming features, Fumero acts as a perfect counterpoint to Sempere’s naïve youth.

At its heart though, the book is about love. From his love of ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ to the first heartbreak in the house of Clara Barceló and his subsequent attempts to woo Beatriz Aguilar, Sempere has the life or death emotional spectrum that can only exist in the world of a teen. This duality of love, as something that can both nourish and harm, is explored in the lives of other characters as well, though often it leads to decisions that can only really be considered negative or restrictive in nature. Over the years that the narrative covers love is often chosen as a way to feel less alone as the world around people turns darker and more foreboding.

A wonderfully plotted and beautifully evocative novel, ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ was a great read that moved me as the twists and turns of the narrative revealed the tragic realities of events long ago. Heartily recommended.

The choices for the third book in my attempt at Scaling the TBR Pile were:

‘Wizard of the Crow’ by Ngugi wa Thiong’o

‘The Secret History’ by Donna Tartt

‘Fates and Furies’ by Lauren Goff

Whilst fate seems to want me to read ‘Wizard of the Crow’, I fancied something a little quicker after the occasional slog that was ‘Snow Crash’. Having had ‘Fates and Furies’ discussed in the same breath as books like ‘One Day’, I felt it would be a nice change of pace from Stephenson’s sci-fi machinations.

Goodreads summary: Every story has two sides. Every relationship has two perspectives. And sometimes, it turns out, the key to a great marriage is not its truths but its secrets. At the core of this rich, expansive, layered novel, Lauren Groff presents the story of one such marriage over the course of twenty-four years.

At age twenty-two, Lotto and Mathilde are tall, glamorous, madly in love, and destined for greatness. A decade later, their marriage is still the envy of their friends, but with an electric thrill we understand that things are even more complicated and remarkable than they have seemed.

The first thing that hits you upon reading ‘Fates and Furies’ by Lauren Groff is the darkness that pervades throughout the narrative even as early as the second chapter as the focus splits in two. The narrative voice that occasionally adds a greater understanding to an exchange or a thought positions us to follow Lotto’s life story, one that we are thrust into at the point of birth and not enough years away from his father’s passing. He is ‘the shining one’ and it is his story that is representative of the ‘Fates’ that are mentioned in the title of the novel.

The speed at which Groff takes us through Lotto’s life, his eventual marriage to Mathilde and his career as a failed actor and eventually successful writer is indicative of a feeling of time slipping away for most of the characters in the story. Once bright young things, the passing of the months and the years – sometimes in a matter of sentences – presents a world that begins to dull around the edges; the march towards the mundane, punctuated with stories of death, divorce and childlessness. The parties that went on into the small hours gave way to depression and self-doubt as the reality of an unfulfilled life takes over.

Throughout, it is the relationship between Lotto and Mathilde that carries him through. In the first half of the book, she appears rather than acts more often than not, a mirror through which we see Lotto’s thoughts and frustrations. It isn’t until ‘Furies’, the second half of the novel, where Mathilde really gets to shine as we see things through her eyes. Behind every good man is an even greater woman, and Mathilde definitely tries to be that for Lotto, though sometimes in a fashion that felt as if it lacked believability.

Indeed, whilst Groff’s book is eminently readable and the prose does a wonderful job of selling the reader the passionate love that Lotto and Mathilde hold onto as best they can, there are moments towards the end of the novel where things do spiral out of control. Mathilde’s early years, in particular, do stretch the boundaries of plausibility, and whilst this view of the story through her eyes adds pleasing layers to the narrative, it did feel a little too coincidental at times the manner at which elements of plot managed to link up further down the line.

The toll that living takes upon several of the characters only helps to add to the foreboding tone that is often just below the surface. The body count is surprisingly high for a book that focuses on a romance between two people as family members die, acquaintances and lovers commit suicide, and we even get some sexual assault thrown in during a time when Lotto was struggling to fill the void left by his father. The only thing that competes with death and love is sex, though it is both lauded and derided in equal measure as the raunchy days of youth turn into the tired attempts of age.

What Groff manages to do in ‘Fates and Furies’ is present a love story about a twenty-four year marriage that ends up feeling less than romantic when viewed across the whole. Even though their love is presented with effective description, the emotion is often fuelled by success or maintained through lies and secrecy. By splitting the two narratives so effectively, Groff manages to present the darker underbelly of what we have witnessed after firmly establishing the relationship of Lotto and Mathilde in all its seeming honesty.

A worthwhile read – I gave it 4/5 at Goodreads. Follow my account at https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2005594.Liam_Byrne

For book two, my three options were:

‘Red Mars’ by Kim Stanley Robinson

‘Look Who’s Back’ by Timur Vernes

‘Snow Crash’ by Neal Stephenson

Neal Stephenson is an author who I own two books by (the aforementioned ‘Snow Crash’ and ‘Cryptonomicon’), but I’d never really even opened the first page let alone cracked the spine of either. I saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum as well due to ‘Snow Crash’ being the biggest book of the trio.

Goodreads synopsis: In reality, Hiro Protagonist delivers pizza for Uncle Enzo’s CosoNostra Pizza Inc., but in the Metaverse he’s a warrior prince. Plunging headlong into the enigma of a new computer virus that’s striking down hackers everywhere, he races along the neon-lit streets on a search-and-destroy mission for the shadowy virtual villain threatening to bring about infocalypse. Snow Crash is a mind-altering romp through a future America so bizarre, so outrageous… you’ll recognize it immediately.

When it comes to a) science fiction narratives and b) length books, I occasionally feel that the pure workload that is required deserves merit, whether I particularly end up enjoying reading or not. A few years back, when I read ‘War and Peace’, I couldn’t honestly say I enjoyed every moment, but a book with that much content and complete focus on presenting the story the author wanted, length be damned, meant I came out of it feeling my time had been well spent, even if some evenings spent with the book were not particularly enjoyable.

‘Snow Crash’ isn’t anywhere near the length of ‘War and Peace’, but Neal Stephenson clearly had the story he wanted to tell and he was going to tell it without any desire to hold his reader’s hands or dumb things down for those who were unwilling to work for it. Unfortunately, this kills the pace of the book at times as crypto-religious exposition takes up page after page whilst I was left waiting for the action. If you bought into what Stephenson was selling you, this would have all been worthwhile. For me, it just felt like a lot of sizzle with no steak.

What Stephenson does do well is world building and action sequences. You get a keen sense of the world that Hiro Protagonist and Y.T. as one that sits just close enough to what exists now for it to be eerily feasible, yet also allowing some wilder flights of fancy across the narrative. Calling one of your main characters Hiro Protagonist is a little bit too cute for my liking, something which Stephenson is want to do at times. However, little touches like the rule book for using toilet paper at the Fed are legitimately funny and show Stephenson at his best.

The use of two main protagonists allows Stephenson to send them both off in different directions. This comes in handy when Hiro’s ‘part’ of the story slows down as he engages in crypto-religious discussion with The Librarian as at least Y.T. is engaged in action and adventure. Though Hiro’s discoveries are key to the overarching narrative, as well as showcasing some deep knowledge by Stephenson himself, it slows things down in a way that feels unnecessary to me. To others, I’m sure they’d love the slow unveiling of all this mystical and historical information. Even though it was central to the plot in many ways, the delivery of this never quite sat right with me.

Though at times this may sound like I didn’t enjoy the book, it still all worked together to make the last hundred pages or so a genuinely riveting read. I cared enough about the outcomes for Hiro and Y.T., alongside an interest in other characters who had been introduced by this point, most specifically Raven, a guy who is incredibly dangerous and not so good at keeping his temper. This race to the end was where the book did pick up pace, helped by the narrative/world building Stephenson had done up until that point and an increased focus on the action as the end game became more apparent.

It leaves me in an odd position. I celebrate the intelligence of Stephenson’s writing, as well as his unflinching approach to long form storytelling, whilst not necessarily being desirous of reading anything else he has put out there as I’d expect more of the same. It isn’t hard to see why Stephenson has built up a decent, if niche, following and reading ‘Snow Crash’ was definitely worthwhile, just not the eye opening experience I had perhaps expected.