veeronald's reviews
119 reviews

Despite the seemingly endless story (or shall I say, stories) contained within this oeuvre, this classic, this forgotten history, I can earnestly say that this book is a revival of English magic in itself. It is unsentimental, Dickensian, and all-encompassing, without being cumbersome. The practical, somewhat political, and mundane beginnings of this novel give way to a spectacle of originality that is far more rewarding than expected.

Just like the lights that people seem to think are present but can't seem to find, like the many roads and places of Fairy that confusedly wrap in and out of our consciousness, there is much to this book that lies on the threshold of our knowledge; tall tales and histories and details that we know are there, but can't seem to reach with our mind's eye.

I know the book was written over a long period of time, and the writing seems to reflect that. The characters will suddenly take on a new air, pieces of information will be forgotten, the plot will take a sudden turn to suit a particular new development... It's as if the novel was set down for a time and resumed once again with another frame of mind. There are a number of characters and events that don't seem to add up.

Much is left undone, or simply referential, which, it seems, only reflects the nature of the story itself. It seemed to arrive, out of a convention that dictates that the last page means the end of a story, at a decided ending. And yet nothing was quite resolved, nor ever hinting as anything further. It is the beginning, and not the end, of English magic.

A brief but relieving exploration of being quiet, sitting still, and searching inside yourself. I admire Iyer in that he doesn't impose anything but the choice for self-reflection, and nods towards life's limitations in doing so.

It dwindles by the end, becoming more expectedly formulaic than anything, but there a few moments of brilliance dispersed throughout. It's quiet read for a quieter mind.

"It takes courage, of course, to step out of the fray, as it takes courage to do anything necessary [...] The point of gathering stillness is not to enrich the sanctuary or mountaintop but to bring that calm into the motion, the commotion of the world."

Well, this book is a little disappointing. And yet I still like it. I can't quite figure it out (yet).

My own reading began with promise and interest, but soon dwindled for various reasons: a singular, linear, one-dimensional plot that, along with many of the scenes and characters, was neither surprising nor always believable; a eclectic troop of characters that, aside from their names, were nigh impossible to tell apart; actions and reactions seemed to be pulled out of a hat, written and rigidly unfolding as though through adherence to a schedule - mostly, I think, from an expectation of a reader's sentimentalism towards certain subjects (love being the obvious and most frustrating one), and perhaps because the book felt far too rushed to move forwards with action to bother planting the seeds of anything beyond what seemed like superficial voiceovers. The story and writing got sloppy in the middle, followed by an anticlimactic resolution (but overly sentimental/dramatic) that was far more focused on wedging in a love interest than resolving any of its original promises.

I'm sad about this book. I'd love to have read it if it were written well and developed with more complexity. I would like to know more about Goredd, about Seraphina, about her garden of grotesques, but I just can't bring myself to read the following book.

I shouldn't condemn this book for my own expectations and reading preferences; I think I just won't bring myself to read any more YA.

This is an original, entertaining satire. It feels like a highly personal account of one man's internal belief of Christianity, with any religious institutionalism removed. It's almost refreshing to see religion not as a checklist of regulations to follow.

But it doesn't try to be just that, and grates on my every nerve in its attempt to become a didactic guidebook for the good Christian. Lewis conflates far too many things with a dualistic interpretation of human experience - all good associated with his god, all bad with the devil (and the network of, honestly, entertainingly devilish demons). Something as natural as being happy is considered as a gift from god- something that "He" has bequeathed onto us and has nothing to do with our own free will, apparently - and something as innocent as drinking and enjoying hot cocoa is associated with the devil. It is a clever book that, even so, cannot mask the self-involved logic of a blameless god, forcing emotions and actions onto people and then backtracking and calling it free will.

As a work of fiction, it falls short as well. It doesn't so much follow any story as it sometimes elaborates on what seems like a tertiary plot line (I am not pointing this out as any kind of fault, only the nature of the book itself), but soon becomes very tiresome in its cyclical, formulaic progression - if I can even call it that.

I have so much to say about this book, and so little interest in actually caring about it. I can't even get started on the apparentness of Lewis' singular view of women, and his utterly dualistic notion of humanity. Just. Ugh.

Interesting, however, that devils should speak English and write like Lewis (who felt far to overwhelmed to compliment the book with a second opinion from an angel).

This is an interesting one. As with the book itself, a meandering exploration of so many thoughts and emotions, I'm not entirely I can fit all my flowing thoughts into one single blurb.

Suffice it to say, if you've ever enjoyed Hesse's fluid, casual, meandering, questioning writing, you will most certainly be entertained by this novel.