Run Charlie Run by John Wiber

Charlie Mahon is an a-hole. When not getting smashed (as in completely, utterly, mind-boggling drunk), he treats his girlfriend Natasha like garbage, abuses drugs, and is selfish beyond belief.

He is also a student at the University of Ottawa, which to this Carleton University graduate may be the worst trait of all.

But I digress.

Horrible, horrible Charlie is the anti-hero in the new, self-published debut E-novel Run Charlie Run by Ottawa writer John Wiber (see Kobo and Amazon links).  A recent English graduate from the University of Ottawa, Wiber’s book explores the dark side of Canada's national capital, while painting an unflattering portrait of the book’s protagonist.

At present, the book is available electronically for about $1, which is less than most cups of coffee, although Wiber does plan to release an audio version on iTunes by the end of the year.

The book’s plot focuses on a crime ring that operates in a run-down (some would say evil) house on Percy Street. Wiber’s creepy description of this operation is so realistic, I don’t think I will ever be able to stroll down Percy again without thinking of this novel.

Readers who find the terrible crimes portrayed to be unrealistic, only have to skim the recent coverage of criminal trials in the city to see that horrible crimes do occur in Ottawa.

With that in mind, I found the story to be quite captivating overall, even if the writing is uneven at times.  Furthermore, if I were to level one criticism, it is that the story takes too long to get to the main plot that is pretty good, albeit quite disturbing. In my view, too many chapters are spent focusing on Charlie’s imbecile behaviour, before turning to the meat of the story which, if you enjoy horror or dark fiction, is a page turner.

Looking forward, Wiber tells me that he is currently working on two novels that he hopes to publish, one of which is a sequel to Run Charlie Run. Based on what I read in the first book, I look forward to reviewing his second literary release.

3 out of 5 stars

Shooting the Bruce by Clive Doucet

Shooting the Bruce tells the story of Tom Travis, a Canadian soldier who served as a peacekeeper in several countries.  When he is stationed in Bosnia and Herzegovina during the brutal war that took place there in the 1990s he has a mental breakdown. After witnessing the most violent war in Europe since World War Two, he wakes up one day and can no longer recognize himself in the mirror.

Suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, Travis leaves the army for a civilian life. Unfortunately, his mental struggles continue to haunt him and he breaks up with his fiance. Alone, unemployed and unsure where to live, he eventually settles in the fictitious small town of Wemje, Ontario, in Bruce County, where he establishes a wildlife photography business and begins the process of psychological healing.

The ensuing novel focuses on how people reinvent themselves. In regard to Travis, this can be seen in the play on the verb “to shoot,” where he goes from a world where he routinely fires guns, to a tranquil rural setting where he shoots photographs of wildlife.

He is not the only character, however, who is changing or searching for meaning. There is Hannah Eaglesmith, the reporter for the local newspaper the Wemje Advocate, who is moving on from a failed marriage, while doing everything she can to teach her children about their aboriginal roots.

Then there is the young son of the owner of the Wemje Advocate, who first meets Travis while sports shooting, but then starts changing his views on nature after accompanying Travis on awe inspiring trips to photograph eagles. In fact, this questioning of hunters who kill animals for pure sport is a recurring theme in the book, as Travis, the former soldier who is traumatized by war, criticizes rural sportsmen who kill for pleasure.

Overall, this is a very well-written book that recounts a beautiful story about healing and rediscovery.

4 out of 5 stars

Ru by Kim Thúy

It’s fashionable in some circles to argue that the novel is a dying art form.  According to this group – which includes, ironically, published fiction writers – novels no longer have the power to move society, nor do they offer much space for new forms of artistic creativity.

In her remarkable debut novel Ru, Saigon born but now Montreal-based writer Kim Thúy clearly demonstrates that the reports on the death of the novel have been greatly exaggerated.

In a beautifully written, poetic story, she tells the tale of a Vietnamese woman who grows up in a rich household, before fleeing Vietnam following the Communist victory in the mid-1970s in her country’s long civil war. First landing in a Malaysian refugee camp and then moving to Quebec, the woman’s story is a moving account full of love and horror, beauty and pain, which manages to constantly celebrate the wonder of life.

Besides the touching narrative, what is truly remarkable about Ru is its format. Rather than using a conventional prose style, the story is told in a serious of poetic vignettes, which are akin to skimming through a literary album of photographs.

The best way I can describe this novel is to compare it to pointillism, the painting technique that uses distinct dots to create images. Thúy’s observations are contained in short passages of one to three pages long, (literary “dots” so to speak), which when combined produce a remarkably fluid tale.

Originally published in French in 2010, Ru won the 2010 Governor General’s Award for French language fiction, in addition to other international prizes. Translated into English in 2012, the book was shortlisted for the Scotiabank Giller Prize. While it is a quick read, (I finished it in about three hours), the book’s 141 pages contain a lot of emotion, insight and characters. A remarkable work which shows that the novel can still be a brilliant art form.

5 out of 5 stars

Mr. Sebastian and the Negro Magician by Daniel Wallace

This novel left me deflated.  The build up was fantastic, (the first 80 per cent of the book is brilliant), but when the end came I shrugged my shoulders and said, "that's it?"  It was as if author Daniel Wallace run out of steam and was not able to provide the appropriate punchline to this otherwise excellent story.

The novel tells the tale of Henry Walker, a magician who used to be famous around the world, but who is now reduced to joining the B-list Musgrove's Chinese Circus as a bumbling Negro Magician. One night in Mississippi in 1954 he disappears after three white teenagers carry him off.  He is never seen again.

The narrative style is intriguing, as the narration switches from character to character.  This technique, which I enjoyed very much, gave the impression that we were discovering a truth that was not known to any single person, but which collectively could be deduced.

Unfortunately, I found that the story run out of steam at the end.  What had been an excellent book for the most part, became a tale that appeared to scramble as it searched for an ending.  This is too bad, because this could have been a wonderful novel.

3 out of 5 stars

Lamb by Bonnie Nadzam

I was disappointed by this novel.  Prior to reading to this book I came across positive reviews.  I was therefore really looking forward to reading it; unfortunately, the book did not live up to its billing.

The story focuses on a middle-aged man named David Lamb who is dealing with a divorce and his father's death.  During this difficult time, he befriends an 11-year-old girl named Tommie.  After concluding that he can save her from an empty life, they take a road trip from Chicago to the Rockies without Tommie's family knowing.

The story tackles various issues, including whether an adult and child can treat each other as equal friends.  On paper this is an intriguing concept. The fact that author Bonnie Nadzan can write is also encouraging.  For instance, consider this passage:

Let's say there were none of those truss towers of galvanized steel lining the highway this next day. No telephone poles. No wires. Say that Lamb's truck and the highway were the only relics of the actual world. The road was overcome with native grasses and aromatic flowers, with wild onion and pussytoes. Soft gaping mouths of beardtongue, and mountain lover, and buckbush and drowsy purpose heads of virgin's bower. Say it was like this that they crossed the Midwestern line beyond which the sky spreads itself open -- suddenly boundless, suddenly an awful blue.

At its best this novel contains beautiful prose.  Unfortunately, Nadzam comes across as an author who has a great idea for a book and can't wait to implement her plot, even if it means sacrificing the story's pace,  tone and settings.  This eagerness also results in wooden characters and scenes that serve as mere plot robots.  Tommie could have been an interesting character, but instead she comes across as an afterthought, whose only purpose is to raise the question, "can an adult and child be friends?"  Ditto for David Lamb.

My overall impression of this novel is that the author sacrificed many elements of the book for the sake of a plot line. This is too bad, because this story is a great idea that would have been excellent if accompanied by interesting characters.

2 out of 5 stars

The Imposter Bride by Nancy Richler

Nancy Richler is a fantastic writer and is a joy to read.  Her latest novel The Imposter Bride is a beautifully written story that focuses on a heartbreaking mother and daughter relationship (or better put, lack thereof).  The story begins with a mysterious European woman who arrives in Montreal from Palestine just after World War Two.  Set to marry Sol, a man who she has never met, she is told on arrival by her husband-to-be that he no longer wishes to marry her.  Amidst this rejection, it becomes clear that the enigmatic woman is not who she says she is, and that she has stolen the identity of a dead woman back in Europe.

Despite this, Sol’s brother Nathan asks the enigmatic woman if she would be his wife, and after she says yes the couple gets married. They soon have a girl named Ruth, and settle into a domestic life in Montreal.  The woman’s painful past, however, is something that she cannot escape.  One day she disappears, leaving her baby girl with her father and family.  The reader is left with only questions.  Who is this woman?  Where did she go?  Why did she steal the identity of a dead woman?  And most importantly, at least for Ruth who is now a little girl, why did her mother abandoned her, only to suddenly start sending her strange rocks from different regions in Canada?

Richler’s writing is excellent.  To give you a sense of her skill, consider the following passage in Ruth’s voice as she observed a teacher at school:

I was twelve before I saw an adult cry. I’d seen adult eyes fill with tears before then, the time Elka was wearing a brand-new black dress when Sol came home from work, for example, and he looked at her and said, ‘What’s that?’ But if Elka’s tears spilled over into crying when she fled the kitchen that day (Sol hot on her heels, apologizing) I didn’t see that. Nor did I see anything but moistness in my father’s eyes when Old Yeller died or when the dreaded doctor’s call came for Bella and the news turned out to be good. When the adults in my life cried they did it behind closed doors. Until Mr. C, my sixth grade teacher, who handed out a quiz one November afternoon, then stood by the window with tears running down his cheeks.

The emotion that best describes this book is beautiful sadness.  While filled with loss and heartache, this chronicle of a young girl’s search for her mother is told in a very moving way. It is therefore no surprise that the book was a shortlisted nominee for the 2012 Scotiabank Giller Prize.  Equally, I nodded my head in agreement when I learned that her first novel Throwaway Angels was shortlisted for an Arthur Ellis Award for Best First Novel, while her second book Your Mouth Is Lovely won the 2003 Canadian Jewish Book Award for Fiction and the 2004 Adei Wizo Award.  After being very impressed with her most recent book I plan to read her first two works.

4 out of 5 stars

Slow Man by J.M. Coetzee

This book disappointed me. The potential for this literary work was so immense, the writing of such high quality, and the explored themes so profound, that this novel could have been a masterpiece. Unfortunately, due to a major, major screw up, what should have been a brilliant work turned out to be a significant disappointment.

The story revolves around Paul Rayment, a sixty-something man originally from France who lives in Adelaide, Australia. An avid cyclist, the book opens with an accident in which a car crashes into Rayment's bicycle, resulting in the amputation of one of his legs. Depressed by his new found handicap, he hires a serious of nurses, none of which he likes. On the verge of giving up hope, he hires a  Croatian expatriate named Marijana Jokic, who is married and has three children.

Rayment soon falls in love with his new nurse, and begins to get involved with her children in an attempt to get closer to her. If the book had stuck with this plot, and had had the discipline to develop a storyline from this pretty impressive foundation, this novel would have been excellent. The relationship between Rayment and his nurse is sufficient to touch on big themes: the trauma of losing a limb and dealing with old age; the common immigrant experience; the moral dilemmas of falling in love with a married woman; and the morality of interfering with her children. In addition to this great material, the book contains absolutely fantastic writing. In fact, after reading this book, it become clear to me why Coatzee won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2003.

Unfortunately -- and I cannot stress this enough -- the novel suffers from a huge flaw. About a third of the way, a character named Elizabeth Costello barges onto the scene. An ageing Australian writer, Ms. Costello simply appears on Rayment's doorstep, full of knowledge of the lives of the various characters, and overflowing with advice. The appearance of this personality comes completely out of the blue, is never fully explained, and is incredibly jarring. What was up to then a very realistic and moving story, is suddenly turned on its head by a fantastic persona. This completely random character ruined the book for me. It was as if one was watching an intelligent documentary on the Second World War, when all of a sudden a pink unicorn flashed onto the screen.

It is obvious that Coatzee is a superb writer and I plan to read his other books. That being said, the introduction of this confusing character ruined what was otherwise a brilliant novel. If one is kind one can say that this faux pas was simply a poor choice in literary judgement; if one is feeling a bit harsher, one can say that Coatzee took the easy way out in his attempt to resolve the plot lines that he originally set up.

3 out of 5 stars

Carnival by Rawi Hage

This is a difficult book to review. If you are a reader who enjoys experimental literature, then this novel will likely appeal to you, if not seem right-down brilliant. For those who don't have patience for unconventional prose, however, and who are not impressed when an author foregoes a structured story, then chances are that you will find this work a waste of time. To use an analogy, this book is like abstract expressionism, i.e. fans can make a valid case for why it's high art, while detractors can make an equally strong case for why monkeys could make better art.

This novel does not have a plot per se, but rather a context with recurring characters. Set in an unspecified city in the Americas that has a carnival, the book revolves around a taxi driver named Fly.  Raised in a circus, (his mother was a trapeze artist and his father a "man from the East" whose piloted a flying carpet), Fly was raised by a bearded woman after his dad disappeared and his mother subsequently hung herself. After leaving the circus, he travelled to the Americas where he ended up working as a taxi driver, while reading a mountain of books during his spare time.

Fly drives around the city observing and interacting with an eclectic set of characters: Linda the prostitute and her tragic son Tammer; the attractive Zainab; the revolutionary Otto; the drug dealer Zee. Certain passages in the book are beautiful, with a masterful mix of poetry and first-rate prose. In fact, at its best, this novel produces a hypnotic, even hallucinatory feel that is captivating. Unfortunately, this literary "high" cannot be sustained throughout the entire book. In my view, too many parts of the novel seem forced, as if the author were striving to produce the perfect sentence and paragraph, but instead created pretentious passages. That said, as someone who likes experimental novels, I found that the positives far outweighed the negatives.

3 out of 5 stars

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

It's 1946 and the United Kingdom is recovering from the Second World War. While living in London, writer Juliet Ashton receives a letter from a man in Guernsey, an island in the English Channel off the coast of Normandy, which was captured by the Nazis during the war.

This letter sparks a series of written exchanges that reveal to Juliet a remarkable literary society that was formed on the small British dependency during the war. As she begins to receive letters from the inhabitants of Guernsey, she begins to learn the remarkable story of a rural, seaside community that would gather to discuss books, as they suffered through the horror of the German occupation. This discovery eventually leads her to travel to the small island where her life will be changed forever.

From a stylistic point of view this novel is truly remarkable. Rather than using a traditional literary narrative, the story is structured through a series of letters and occasional telegrams, by or to Juliet. Despite my initial doubts, this innovative writing technique did not negatively impact the narrative flow in any way. In fact, even though the entire story is written through letters and telegrams, the pace and character development flowed just as well as in the best novels.

The plot is also very original. Many people may not know (myself included before reading this book) that the Nazis occupied part of the English channel. Strictly speaking, Guernsey was a piece of England that was captured during the war. Recounting this history, while blending it with a story that celebrates literature, is a true joy to read.

That being said, one critique that I do have is the ending. While I found the plot, literary style and narrative flow to be outstanding, I got the sense by the end of the book that the co-authors had run out of ideas and were scrambling to finish the story. The unfortunate result is a Hollywood-like ending that feels forced and disjointed. This disappointed me, because overall I thought this was an extraordinary book, and I would have liked to have read an ending that was more worthy of its potential.

4 out of 5 stars

Saturday by Ian McEwan

Is it obligatory for a reader to praise literary brilliance? This peculiar question arose in my mind after reading Saturday by renowned English novelist Ian McEwan. The book is set in London and takes place on a single day, Saturday, February 15, 2003, on the date of a massive anti-war demonstration against the planned 2003 invasion of Iraq. The novel follows Henry Perowne, a 48-year-old neurosurgeon, as he goes through his day. We see Henry watch a fiery plane in the sky through a home window as it makes an emergency landing at the airport; observe the massive anti-war protest after leaving his house; get into an argument with a troubled man following a car accident; play squash with a colleague; perform surgery; and prepare dinner for a family gathering with his two adult children, wife and father-in-law.

As his day progresses, Henry thinks about the impending war (he believes Saddam Hussein is a monster and is not convinced that the war would be a bad thing); reflects on the relationship with his children and wife; wonders how human consciousness arises out of the brain; questions the validity of literature; and asks difficult questions about forgiveness. The writing is ridiculously good (one could even use the word "genius"), the themes fascinating, and the narrative structure highly original.

So why did I shrug my shoulders when I finished the book? Probably for the same reason that I shrug when I hear opera. If you go to the opera, you can't help be appreciate the incredible skill required for each performance, the theatrical presentations, and the wide range of themes that can be presented. At times, I must confess that I have been swept away by certain operatic pieces, and moved by some storylines. However, when I look at opera in general, I can't help but conclude that this is a pompous artform that takes itself way to seriously. Is this a gauche opinion? Perhaps, but it's what I think.

I had a similar feeling with this book. During several passages, I was left with the sense that I was an audience member hearing a speech by a highly intelligent man, who had done meticulous research. As the speech progressed, however, I had the sense that the "orator" was more interested in making clear how smart they were, rather than  engaging with the crowd. My favourite books are those in which the author and reader form a partnership in the telling of a story. This novel, in contrast, seemed more like a lecture than a common journey through a fictional world.

I am sure that a lot of people would disagree with this point of view. For instance, a review in the English daily The Times stated that McEwan was potentially the best novelist in Britain. It is also true that an army of English PhD students could find countless things to analyze and discuss about this book. That is why it is unsurprising that this novel, in both hardcover and paperback format, sold hundred of thousands of copies. That being said, this book did not captivate me. So to answer the question at the beginning of this review, no, it's not mandatory to fall in love with literary brilliance. Just as there is nothing wrong with disliking opera, one can shrug their shoulders when reading high-class literature. As well, for what it's worth, I would recommend a novel like Everyman by Philip Roth, rather than Saturday, if you wanted to read a meditation on the human condition.

3 out of 5 stars (if you don't like "opera")
4 1/2 of 5 stars (if you are an "opera" lover)

Under The Skin by Michel Faber

For years, Isserley has driven in the Scottish Highlands in her red Toyota Corolla on the lookout for men. Searching for strong, muscular hitchhikers, she cruises the highways for males. (Females hitchers do not interest her). The men that get into her car include a wide range of personalities, such as: unemployed drifters; a frantic father desperate to get to the hospital to witness the birth of their child; the mentally disturbed; travellers; rapists; drunks; those running away from their lives; and adventurers. What brings all of the men together is the common threat of a horrific fate that they are completely unaware of.

Who Isserley is and what she is doing in the north of Scotland is something that the reader needs to discover for themselves. What can be revealed, however, is that this book is a brilliant – if not downright creepy – story that reveals a first-rate talent.

This highly original novel, which was shortlisted for the 2000 Whitbread Award, is difficult to pigeonhole. Combing elements of horror, science fiction and classic literature (the Guardian has compared Michel Faber to Joseph Conrad), this work is a wonderful debut of a fanstaic author. I must confess that in certain parts of the book I shivered with the creeps, as the captivating story overtook over my imagination. As I pushed myself to read further, however, I soon discovered a plot that was utterly fascinating and also tragic. This is a great read that will spook you, make you think and, perhaps most importantly, allow you to discover a fantastic writer with a incredible imagination and skill.

5 out of 5 stars

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

This novel is a beautifully written story that contains a heartbreaking meditation on human mortality. Written in a straightforward yet utterly engaging style, this is a brilliant science fiction book that masquerades as a traditional fiction novel. For those who are not familiar with the plot, (and if you are not, I highly encourage that you not find out before reading this story in order to let the book fully work its magic), the tale begins like a classic literary novel. If you didn't know better, you could be mistaken for thinking this was a classic book of English literature set in contemporary times. As the story evolves, however, the brilliant plot and themes begin to reveal themselves,  leaving the reader mesmerized.

The book's narrator is a woman named Kathy H., who recalls her time as a student in a peculiar boarding school in the English countryside called Hailsham. Remembering her experience growing up with her friends Ruth and Tommy, Kathy begins to reveal the mystery of the school, and more importantly the tragic destinies of the school's students. When the reader finally discovers what the students are, and then near the end of the book what the teachers were trying to accomplish with the school, the reader can't help but be overwhelmed with emotion and thoughts on justice, ethics and ultimately mortality.

Never Let Me Go was shortlisted for the 2005 Man Booker Prize but lost out to John Banville's The Sea. In my opinion, the jury awarded the prize to the wrong author, as Kazuo Ishiguro's novel is, in my view, vastly superior to Banville's book. While The Sea is a well-written book, it did not capture my imagination, nor was the plot that captivating. (See my review here). By contrast, I found Never Let Me Go to be a fantastic novel with a highly original plot and wonderful writing.

5 out of 5 stars

The Sea by John Banville

Picture the following scene: You are having dinner with a brilliant, erudite and cosmopolitan person. Initially, your guest mesmerizes you with stories of travelling around the world and meeting famous people. However, as time passes by, the conversation begins to drag on, and what was once magical is now slightly annoying. By the time dessert arrives, you want dinner to end and your guest  to go on his way.

For me, reading John Banville's The Sea was like having dinner with the aforementioned fictitious guest. For many people this statement is likely outrageous, especially given that this novel won the 2005 Man Booker Prize. Banville is without a doubt a magnificent writer, and to say otherwise is bound to create criticism. However, if I were to be completely honest, I must confess that this book slowly started to wear on me. It's true that in the opening sections I was captivated by the writing. However, with each passing page, I become increasingly (dare I say it?) bored. The intriguing ending saved the novel for me, but not enough to make me rave about this book. Yes, I could write numerous English PhD theses on the book's different themes, while making varied commentaries about art, death and longing. Yet, to be perfectly frank, I have to say that I found some of the commentary on this book to be a tad pretentious.

This story tells the tale of Max Morden, a middle-aged Irishman who returns to the seaside town where he spent his holidays as a child. Dealing with the recent death of his wife, he recalls his time with the Grace's, a wealthy family in which he experienced love and death for the first time. On the surface this is an interesting premise, and I really enjoyed parts of the book. Nevertheless, by roughly the middle part of the story, I couldn't help but want the novel to end. I am glad that I read this book, and I do plan to read other literary works by Banville. That being said, I did not fall in love with this story.

3 out of 5 stars

Hallucinating Foucault by Patricia Duncker

This is a brilliant novel. The book revolves around an unnamed 22-year-old Cambridge graduate student in French literature, who is writing a thesis on the work of Paul Michel, a fictitious homosexual French novelist. In the beginning, our narrator is not interested in Michel the man, but only in his written work, which first emerged in the 1960s. However, after his girlfriend tells him that Michel has been held for years in a mental institution after being diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic, he decides to go to France to meet the author of the books he is studying.

Once in France, the narrator meets Michel and falls in love with him. After pleading with the hospital to release the famous author, the two men embark on a road trip that changes both of their lives. Hiding in the background, meanwhile, is the ghost of French philosopher Michel Foucault, and his mysterious relationship with Paul Michel.

The central theme of this book is the relationship between author and reader. Some hold the view that this relationship should be limited to the printed page, and that the life of a writer outside the confines of their work is not important. In this excellent novel, however, Duncker turns this proposition on its head, by presenting a vivid portrait of the novelist Paul Michel, while keeping anonymous the name of the “reader”, presented in the form of the young Cambridge student.

In the hands of a less talented writer, this book could have been incredibly pretentious. In the skillful hands of Duncker, however, questions of love, human relations, the role of literature, and the symbiotic interaction between author and audience are presented in a captivating and thought provoking way.

A great book that should be read by anyone who loves literature.

5 out of 5 stars

Mr Mee by Andrew Crumey

Andrew Crumey is a literary contradiction. On the positive side, he is capable of being a brilliant novelist who can weave literary magic. When he’s at his best (which is often the case) his words are a sheer delight to read and his narrative flow hypnotic. Unfortunately, he can also come across as an academic bore, and in the process affirm the worst stereotypes of university English departments. He is also not shy about getting weird, as is the case with the creepy sex scenes in this novel that are borderline porn. To use a metaphor, reading Crumey is like listening to a breathtaking symphony, but just as the orchestra is building to its climax, the music suddenly stops and a crazy person – with a whoopee cushion in hand – suddenly starts making fart noises while taking off his clothes. As I said, this book is part-genius, part-child-prank.

This is the third novel by Crumey that I have read. The first I thought was so-so, while the second I loved. This book falls somewhere in between. From a stylistic point of view Mr Mee is extraordinary. Crumey’s ability to construct a single, unified tale by combining three separate stories is masterful. While it’s true that he uses the same narrative structure as in Music, in a Foreign Language, his writing is so good one can easily overlook the fact that he’s recycling a previously used narrative structure.

But not everything is perfect with this novel. In certain parts, the narrative flow comes across as the dry musings of an old, boring literature professor, whose pedantic whine will put anyone to sleep. In his defence, Crumey could argue that the character in question is a middle-aged literature professor, and that my problem is that I don’t like this character, not that he is poorly written. There is some truth to this. Nevertheless, a boring personality is still a bore, and no amount of literary analysis can say otherwise.

On the opposite spectrum, some of the sex in this book is unnecessarily voyeuristic. This disturbed me a bit, as I got the feeling that the final sex scene was inserted not because it fit, but because Crumey simply wanted to write a creepy sex scene. If the central theme of your book deals with sexual taboos (e.g. Lolita) then it makes sense to include otherwise shocking sexual acts. If your book does not require it, however, then inserting gratuitous sexual behaviour in an otherwise excellent book is simple gratuitousness.

What about the plot? Well, this novel weaves together three separate tales. The first narrator is Mr Mee, a mind-boggling naïve Octogenarian who is searching for the mysterious Rosier Encyclopaedia, an 18th century work that reportedly proves the non-existence of the universe. The second narrator is a middle-aged professor in the same town as Mr Mee, who writes a book about two men called Ferrand and Minard, two minor characters who appear in the Confessions of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. The third story describes the adventures of Ferrand and Minard, which may or may not have been written by the middle-aged professor. In masterful strokes, this novel blends these three stories into a coherent whole. This otherwise fantastic work, however, is undermined by certain chapters that are mind-numbing, as well as some sex scenes whose only purpose it would appear is to allow Crumey to write them.

In short, this novel is half-Beethoven-genius, half-whoopee cushion clown.

3 1/2 out of 5 stars

Goldman's Theorem by R.J. Stern

I have a suspicion that Ron Stern is a great guy to hang out with. A full-time mathematics professor at Concordia University in Montreal, Prof. Stern decided to write a novel a few years back. According to the 2009 press release from Concordia,  "Stern's goal was to write something satirical and over-the-top, but that still spoke truth about academia. The 'feel' of the story might be described as The Big Lebowsky meets Sideways in a campus novel."

My take? This is the work of an interesting academic who likes to push his personal boundaries, which explains why a mathematician is dabbling with fiction. As for the final product? Well, the novel leaves much to be desired, even if it is funny in parts.

Goldman's Theorem tells the story of Simon Goldman, a mathematics professor in the fictional University of Northern Vermont near the Canada - United States border. After years of apparent inactivity, Goldman announces that he has cracked the P versus NP Problem, which is one of the millennium problems. The news sparks a flurry of activity from the university's administrators who are eager to capitalize on this breakthrough. Yet amidst this joy from the university community, doubts begin to emerge on whether the proof is accurate.

This book left me with mixed feelings. When I first started reading it I thought it was terrible. It's true that Stern wanted to write a comedic book that poked fun at academic administrators, and that the slapstick humour was presented on purpose. This desire for high comedy, however, seemed to me like a veiled attempt to hide literary naivety. Stern is an accomplished mathematician, but an experienced fiction writer he is not, which comes across clearly in this book.

Nevertheless, things picked up about half-way through the story. Certain passages were quite funny and the writing significantly improved. My thoughts are that Stern got better as an author as he practiced writing fiction, which is why the second-half is much better than the first. As a result, by the end of the book, I become quite interested in the characters and the final outcome. That being said, if I had to do it again, I probably would not have picked up this book.

2 1/2 out of 5 stars

The Indian Clerk by David Leavitt

I am not sure how to react to this novel. Although it is beautifully written, impeccably researched and filled with several fascinating details, (the world painted here is so rich it could be an epic movie), this book still made me feel, "blah".

This novel is based on the incredible true story of Srinivasa Ramanujan, a self-taught mathematical genius who worked as a clerk in India, before being invited to Cambridge University after writing a letter to the famous English mathematician G.H. Hardy. In the ensuing pages, a vivid portrayal of England just prior and during World War I is presented, while a cast of famous characters (such as the renowned philosophers Bertrand Russell and Ludwig Wittgenstein, as well as the British mathematician John Littlewood) are scattered throughout the book.

So why am I so blasé about this story? The main problem is that Ramanujan, who is supposed to be the central focus of this book, comes across as an afterthought, playing second fiddle to Hardy's life. In fact, on various occasions, I had the sense that I was reading a literary biography of Hardy, rather than a novel about Ramanujan. As a result, after reading 478 pages, I still had no clear sense of who this brilliant Indian mathematician was, and instead was left with the sensation of having been given a long, generic sketch that could have been gathered by reading a Wikipedia entry.

The second problem with the novel is that it comes across as wooden in many parts. To use an image, the book reminded me of those stodgy, British-dramas that one only sees on TVO or PBS, and which despite looking interesting you never watch, because you know deep down inside that they will bore you. Coming to this realization after completing this book really upset me for I was really looking forward to reading it.

3 out of 5 stars

Music, in a Foreign Language by Andrew Crumey

This novel is very impressive. In a previous review, I was fairly critical of Andrew Crumey’s work. This book, however, made me see why so many critics have raved about this British author.

The captivating story revolves around two friends, Charles King and Robert Waters, as they struggle to live in a fictional police state in England. After publishing an underground pamphlet called Flood as youth, the two grow up to be professionals, with King becoming a physicist and Waters a historian. However, when Waters is tapped by the government to write a book on the English revolution in this alternate Britain, their subversive past catches up with them, and both are put under immense pressure to betray each other.

Besides this intriguing story, what really blew me away was the multilayered narrative style. The book is anchored by a mysterious narrator who, we are told, wants to write a novel about two people named Duncan and Giovanna who meet on a train. As Giovanna enters the train car, Duncan is reading a book by a surreal Italian writer called Alfredo Galli (who does not exist in real life). In due course, we learn that Waters is the father of Duncan, and the role that King plays in Duncan’s life.

The ensuing story is a collection of multi-layered plots that is beautifully written. There is the mysterious narrator (whose true identity we discover at the end of the book), the story within Alfredo Galli’s fictional novel that Duncan reads while on the train, the thoughts of Duncan, who is seeking to find the truth about his father's death, and the relationship between King and Waters, who must grapple with defending their friendship from betrayal. Like a beautiful musical work with several layers, this rich story blends and weaves various plots together to tell a wonderful story.

5 out of 5 stars

The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa (Translated from the Japanese by Stephen Snyder)

A housekeeper is hired to take care of an old mathematics professor with a head injury. Due to a car accident in 1975, the professor’s memories stop in that year and any new memories are limited to 80-minutes. Once this period of time has passed, the new memories are replaced with other experiences that are 80-minutes long, in a process that is repeated endlessly. This lack of short-term memory, however, is compensated by the professor’s ability to maintain his mathematical knowledge, which he puts to constant use in the various math puzzle contests that he enters.

The professor’s sister-in-law explains this strange situation to the housekeeper before she begins her job. The sister then retreats to her house where she is no longer seen, leaving the housekeeper to take care of the professor – who lives in a neighbouring cottage – all by herself.

So each morning, as she arrives for work, the housekeeper must reintroduce herself to the professor, whose suit is filled with notes that remind him of important things, many of them mathematical, but others about new realities such as the presence of the housekeeper. From this unusual dynamic a beautiful friendship is born. The relationship becomes even stronger when the housekeeper’s son (who the professor calls “Root” because his flat head reminds him of the square root sign, a fact that he writes down in a note that is clipped onto his suit with a binder clip), begins to come to the cottage. The ensuing interactions between the three awaken a love of math in the housekeeper and her son, as they both come to see the beauty in numbers, and also the kind heart and soft nature of the professor.

In this lovely and touching novel, Yoko Ogawa paints a beautiful portrait filled with tenderness, true friendship and the wonder of mathematics. This book also declares that even in a world where memory is short (in this case, only 80-minutes long) humanity can still flourish, and friendship nurtured by the magic and wonder of numbers.

5 out of 5 stars

Mobius Dick by Andrew Crumey

When this book was published in 2004 it was hailed as a brilliant novel. The British press in particular went gaga, as they gushed over the complicated tale based on quantum mechanics. My opinion is less sanguine. While conceding that it is very well written, this is not the ground-breaking work that so many reviewers described.

The story revolves around a physicist named John Ringer and the idea that parallel universes are possible. This idea is made plausible by a plot line involving a corporation that wants to use quantum computers to build a global communication network. When approached by a former student who is working to establish this network, Ringer replies that the quantum computers, if ever put into effect, could cause irreparable harm to the fabric of reality as they could unleash a wave of parallel worlds crashing into each other.

Within this context, the reader is faced with a whirlwind of characters that include, among others, the physicist Erwin Schrödinger, the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, the composer Robert Schuman and the writer Herman Melville. These scenes overlap with the story of John Ringer, as he visits a remote village in northern Scotland.

As a science fiction fan this book should be right up my alley. Furthermore, given that Crumey is an excellent writer (the narrative flow is quite good) this would seem like a certain home run. When I finished the novel, however, I couldn't help but shrug my shoulders.

To begin with, this book does not deal with a ground-breaking theme. The Schrödinger's Cat Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson, which was first published in the late 1970s, discussed parallel universes and the implications of quantum mechanics. The famous Schrödinger cat experiment, meanwhile, which plays a key role in Crumey’s book, has appeared in numerous other books. This doesn't mean that writers should shy away from quantum mechanics. In fact, as a sci-fi fan I would argue the opposite. However, we also can't pretend that this novel deals with previously unexplored themes.

On a more annoying note, Crumey occasionally descends into moments of banality. For instance, some of his sex scenes are pointless, while certain pieces of dialogue come across as blather. It’s as if Crumey, who has a PhD in theoretical physics, assumes that he can’t explain certain ideas to a regular reader (he could be right), so he throws in mindless dribble for amusement (which is annoying). To use an analogy, it’s like a cutting-edge comic who suddenly loses his intelligent creativity and in a moment of panic reverts to fart jokes.

This book is definitely ambitious and deals with a subject that is quite hard. (You try to write a novel based on quantum mechanics and parallel universes involving, inter alia, classical musicians, philosophers, physicists and members of the Nazi party). Credit must therefore be given where it's due as this book does aim to be intelligent. Just because a book is ambitious, however, does not make it good, and simply because a novel is well written does not mean it is a masterpiece.

3 out of 5 stars