The Penelopiad | Margaret Atwood #Novella

 

Independent Scottish publisher Canongate Books brings together some of the world’s finest writers, in the Myth series, each of whom has retold a myth from various cultures in a contemporary and memorable way. The project was conceived in 1999 by Jamie Byng, owner of Canongate, who hopes that 100 titles will eventually be published in the series.

Authors in the series include Karen Armstrong (A Short History of Myth), A.S. Byatt (Ragnarok), David Grossman (Lion's Honey), Natsuo Kirino (The Goddess Chronicle), Alexander McCall Smith (Dream Angus), Philip Pullman (The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ), Ali Smith (Girl Meets Boy), Michel Faber (The Fire Gospel), Victor Pelevin (The Helmet of Horror), Jeanette Winterson (The Weight), Su Tong (Binu and the Great Wall), Milton Hatoum (Orphans of Eldorado), Klas Östergren (The Hurricane Party), Dubravka Ugrešić (Baba Laid an Egg), Salley Vickers (Where Three Roads Meet), and of course, Margaret Atwood with The Penelopiad.

The Penelopiad was one of the first books published in this series, in 2005. Simply put, it's the story of Penelope as she waits for the return of Odysseus. But this is Margaret Atwood at her best, so much, much more is going on once you enter this world.

Penelope is dead and 'living' out her time in the underworld. From this place of eternal wandering, she decides to do some story-telling of her own, to set the story straight. Her story is interwoven with the voices of her very own Greek chorus - the twelve maids hanged by Odysseus on his return.

Our various mothers | Spawned merely, lambed, farrowed, littered, | Foaled, whelped and kittened, brooded, | hatched out their clutch. | We were animal young, to be disposed of at | will, | Sold, drowned in the well, traded, used, | discarded when bloomless. | He was fathered; we simply appeared 

Why were they hanged? What crime did they commit? What was Penelope's role in their downfall?

Atwood teases out these questions as she explores the roles of women in Ancient Greek life (and the many similarities to modern life) in verse and in prose. 

I was a kind girl...I knew I would have to have something to offer instead of beauty. I was clever, everyone said so...but cleverness is a quality a man likes to have in his wife as long as she is some distance away from him. Up close, he'll take kindness and day of the week, if there's nothing more alluring to be had.

The role of patience, waiting and the appearance of submission hide the reality of women's lives lived away from the male gaze. The friendship and jealousy, the camaraderie and gossip that makes up one's daily life, when one has nothing else to do.

There are many misunderstandings and many conversations misconstrued. Stories and myths are created to cover up deceit and misadventures. Where the truth lies, nobody really knows. Not even Penelope, in the end. Or the maids. All they know is that they were murdered and that their 'most pitiable end' has gone down in history unremarked and uncontested.

It pays to be conversant with The Iliad and The Odyssey, to appreciate where Atwood has used original narrative or woven in her own interpretation. Every word is wrought with an older meaning which leads back to the original stories. However the snarky, sardonic voice is pure Atwood!

I loved every minute with this novella and I plan to reread it at some point (maybe when I finally get around to reading Emily Wilson's translation of The Odyssey).

First Lines: 

• 'Now that I am dead I know everything. This is what I wished would happen, but like so many of my wishes it failed to come true.'

Favourite Quote:

We had no voice,
We had no name,
We had no choice,
We had one face,
One face the same

Have you read any of the other Myth series books?

Can you recommend which one I should try next?

I'm leaning towards Jeanette Winterson and A. S. Byatt at this point.

#NovellasinNovember

#MARM2020

The Illustrated Golden Bough | Sir James George Fraser #Readalong

Given the ridiculous amount of books I have on the go at the moment, the idea of starting yet another, seems rather ridiculous. But I struggle to pass up any opportunity to join a readalong at the best of times, but when it also means reading along with Jean and Cleo, then how could I possibly resist!

Jean @Howling Frog is hosting the spontaneous readalong in question. Part of the appeal is the lack of firm reading dates. Jean and Cleo plan to read 2-3 chapters a week, however my edition is The Illustrated Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. It's not only full of pretty colour pictures, but it's also the abridged version with only 221 pages (plus indexes).

First published in 1890 in two volumes (then three volumes in 1900 and finally a whooping twelve volumes in 1906-15), my one volume edition was published in 1996 with eleven chapters. Which means that my edition does not have the chapter on the crucifixion (that Fraser removed from subsequent editions after being criticised for including a Christian story in his comparative study of myths and pagan rituals and religions). A disappointing fact, that may lead me to search out the missing chapter online somewhere, to round out my reading journey. 

(I have found the Project Gutenberg ebook here).

I've now had The Golden Bough lurking on my bookshelves since the year 2000. I started reading it back then, but my interest fizzled out part way through. I'm hoping that Jean and Cleo can help me finally finish this book.

Frazer was born in 1854 in Scotland. He was a social anthropologist. His work describes the three stages of human belief from primitive magic to religion to reason & science. He said,

Books like mine, merely speculation, will be superseded sooner or later (the sooner the better for the sake of truth) by better induction based on fuller knowledge."

His critics were not only upset by the inclusion of the Christian story, but one Edmund Leach, "one of the most impatient critics of Frazer's overblown prose and literary embellishment of his sources for dramatic effect" said that,

Frazer used his ethnographic evidence, which he culled from here, there and everywhere, to illustrate propositions which he had arrived at in advance by a priori reasoning, but, to a degree which is often quite startling, whenever the evidence did not fit he simply altered the evidence!

Frazer was a social anthropologist interested in speculative human psychology; Leach (1910-1989) was a social anthropologist interested in functionalism and kinship structures. As Frazer predicted, his ideas were superseded by newer, modern methods of reasoning and science. Many of Frazer's ideas may now be outdated, but the conversation had to start somewhere.

I'm curious to see what he has to say. 

As a frustrated amateur anthropologist from way back, I feel that I should warn Jean and Cleo that I'm about to enter into a topic and subject matter that I have been known to obsess over ad nauseam. Blogger beware!

My first caveat is that I'm not always convinced by the idea of continual progress dressed up as a positive forward march for all humankind. Evolution, change and adaptation - yes, by all means - but it's not necessarily superior or better; it's just different - a sign of modification and acclimatisation - not ascendancy. 

My other bias is that I view all religion as part of our human urge to create a life narrative - a story that seeks to satisfy our need to ascribe our lives with a higher meaning and purpose. We're all looking for something bigger than us, something to belong to that gives our lives significance. 

Thousands of years ago, the gods inhabited the heavens. They were powerful, unpredictable and not of this earth. Then, curiously, within about 500 yrs of each other, the main civilisations on this planet at that time, all grew tired of these distant, uncaring, demanding gods and turned to something, or someone closer to home. Jesus, Buddha and Mohammad changed the spiritual narrative into a more personal one. It became a story about people, here on earth, with human frailty and flaws as well as the potential for goodness and kindness and altruism. 

Some wonderful stories have grown out of these traditions, but so too, have many poor ones. Ones that no longer serve us well. In the end, though, it's whatever works for you. You have to find the story that gives your life significance. Just don't try to convince me that your story is somehow better than any other story. Like all stories, some people are into it and some aren't. Some win awards and some don't. Some are hidden gems and some would probably be better if they got pulped. Trying to convince anyone that your story is more right than any other, will only lead to discontent, vexation and hostility.

That's the personal predisposition I bring with me whenever I delve into the topic of myth, magic and religion.

I'm extremely curious. I don't feel it necessary to believe any of it. My lens is impersonal and pragmatic. I'm like an interested outsider, looking in, trying to understand how something works and what it looks like in practice. I'm looking for the patterns, the rituals & rites, and the timelines. But mostly, I'm looking for the reason why. 

I'm endlessly fascinated by the stories we tell ourselves. What do they reveal about the times in which we live, what need do they fulfil, how are these stories used (for good and for evil) and how do these stories get converted into our daily routines and practice? 

Post-Introduction update:

• I should have read the Intro by Robert Temple before publishing this post.
• He posits a kinder way of viewing Frazer's work than did Leach.
• Temple clarifies Frazer's anthropological position as an interest in taboos and totemism.
• He believes that Frazer took 'the grand view' surveying 'world history as a whole'.
• Temple saw Frazer's ability to 'change his hypothesis if he saw it to be inadequate' as one of two 'exemplary characteristics.' The other being his 'disregard for excessive specialisation'. 
• He concluded with, 'Frazer was essentially a nineteenth-century thinker, and approaches to social anthropology have changed....some of his views are no longer compatible with current thinking. However (his work) remains a vital part of cultural history. It is a unique archive and work of literature, and Frazer's splendid prose style is a pleasure to read.'
• A far more generous appraisal of The Golden Bough and Frazer, I'm sure you will agree.

Circe by Madeline Miller

I recently read and loved The Song of Achilles, and couldn't really understand why I had waited so long to read a book that was so obviously designed to appeal to my reading temperament. Ancient Greek mythology, historical fiction, women's issues and award winning book all packed into one delightful package.

I was determined not to make the same mistake with Madeline Miller's second book, Circe.

Eight years in the making, for the early fans of The Song of Achilles, Circe would have definitely been worth the wait. I discovered a rich, engrossing, fabulous ride into the Ancient Greek world of gods, goddesses, nymphs and legends all told from the perspective of the daughter of the sun god Helios and the ocean nymph, Perse.

Circe, the nymph of potions and herbs, has long fascinated me thanks to a visually stunning painting by J. W. Waterhouse that I spotted in one of my early visits to the Art Gallery of NSW gift shop. A print of Circe Invidiosa has been hanging on my wall ever since.

I love the colour of the liquid in the bowl as it flows into the sea (that I now know was used to turn the beautiful naiad, Scylla into an ugly, deadly monster) and I love the look of incredible intent and purpose on Circe's face. This is a woman who will not be crossed or deterred from her course. Beauty and power, good and bad reside in her actions. I've always wanted to know what she was thinking about at this moment.

Miller gives me options to ponder. 

I moved straight-backed, as if a great brimming bowl rested in my hands. The dark liquid rippled as I walked, always at the point of overflow, yet never flowing.

Circe Invidiosa (1892) - J. W. Waterhouse

Telling the well-known and much loved story of Odyssey's travels via a feminist lens is not new. Pat Barker went there recently with The Silence of the Girls and Margaret Atwood has also been there with The Penelopiad, which, like Penelope herself, is still waiting patiently on my TBR. (I'm sure there are more examples, but I'm too tired to search them out tonight). 

I enjoy these modern interpretations of ancient stories. A lot. 

Back in my twenties I dabbled wit a few Marion Zimmer Bradley retellings - The Mists of Avalon and The Fall of Atlantis in particular. But don't get my started on my Arthurian obsession!

The ancient myths and legends were guideposts for the people of the time to help them to explain the world they lived in, gave meaning to their lives, validated their experiences and entertained. Generally this world was a world of men.

Our lives now are far more equal, balanced and diverse. Acceptance and openness are the norms we have come to expect in our lives and in our literature. No longer is, humbling women the chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep.

Miller has reclaimed the role of women in this world of men. They are not just put there to be the playthings of men. Their lives are not to be judged or explained by men alone. 

With this retelling, Miller has turned a somewhat chest-thumping, male-ego excursion into adventure and boastful escapades (The Iliad) into a more human, more authentic and more possible version of events simply because it considers more than one perspective.

In these modern retellings women have active roles, they have agency over their life choices and they have their own opinions and ideas.

I, for one, rejoice at this modern turn of events. And I wait with baited breath for Miller's next venture into this ancient world.

Favourite Quotes:

That is one thing gods and mortal share. When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world.

Every moment mortals died, by shipwreck and sword, by wild beasts and wild men, by illness, neglect and age. It was their fate...the story that they all shared. No matter how vivid they were in life, no matter how brilliant, no matter the wonders they made, they came to dust and smoke. Meanwhile every petty and useless god would go on sucking down the bright air until the stars went dark. 

Favourite Character: Circe, naturally.

Favourite or Forget: One of my best reads this year so far. It was gorgeous, epic and enchanting! I'm very disappointed that Circe did not win The Women's Prize this year.

Facts:

• Longlisted for the 2020 International Dublin Literary Award.

5/20 Books of SummerWinter

Sydney 16℃

Dublin 18℃

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

I'm not sure why it has taken me so long to get my thoughts together about The Song of Achilles, but sitting down to write about my response to this amazing story is probably a story in itself!

It was during my early high school days that my love of history developed. My first history class took me into the fascinating world of Tollund Man - the mummified bog body found in 1950. I was amazed at what scientists and historians were able to deduce from these remains about the world and times he lived in. There was even a Seamus Heaney poem - my first (very young) adult experience of seeing how we have always made up stories and songs to help us interpret and reinterpret our history and give meaning to our present day experiences.

Some purists and classicists may disapprove of this mode of story telling, but retelling old stories with modern sensibilities helps to keep the old stories alive. Old ideas such as hubris can be brought to life for contemporary audiences to ponder about how it might present itself now.

That's what Madeline Miller does so well here.

Using the well-known, very masculine, very war-like story of The Iliad and turning it into a romance between Achilles and Patroclus gives this old story a new lease of life. This is still a world of men and war, but Miller gives a us a chance to see this world through the eyes of Achilles goddess mother, Thetis and through the ideas of a captured Trojan girl, Briseis.

The first half of the story that fills in the childhood back story of both young men is the most interesting part to my mind. It shows the human side of Achilles before he gets caught up in his prophecy and god-like fate. I also found their first love scene to be one of the most tender, beautiful moments I've ever read.

Once we moved into the world of The Iliad proper, I felt less involved until Briseis turned up. Seeing the camp though a female lens while being reminded of how the lives of women and children were affected by this long siege was a nice touch.

I also enjoyed the scenes between Patroclus and Achilles that showed their relationship at work - how they influenced each other, how they debated, argued and compromised, how they knew each other so well that they knew what to say and how to say it to appease or enrage each other.

It is these contemporary humanising additions that allow a modern reader to reach into the old story again to find deeper meaning. Reading between the lines and filling in the gaps is the realm of all artists. Reinterpretation is a continual process, dependant on the era and experience of those doing the reinterpretation.

Homer's Iliad was just one (and possibly the first) interpretation of the events that happened on the plains of Troy to explain to those left at home and those who came after, what happened. We all seek meaning and purpose in our lives. We want to make sense of big world events. Our search for understanding, knowledge and insight is perennial.

Revisionism is a natural, organic process that occurs during, and for, every generation. The Song of Achilles is a stellar example of how that can work.

Favourite Passage:

But fame is a strange thing. Some men gain glory after they die, while others fade. What is admired in one generation is abhorred in another....We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory.

Favourite Character: Briseis - she is brave, loyal and inclusive.

Favourite or Forget: Favourite, but not likely to be a reread. Highly recommended to lovers of historical fiction, Ancient Greek retellings, or for those looking for LGBTQI themes.

Facts: Winner of the Orange Prize 2012

Poem: The Song of Achilles

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

I like to think that I have taken my 'what to read whilst travelling' choices to an inspired level of brilliance, but I really outdid myself with our recent trip to Japan. Reading Murakami in Japan now feels like the ONLY place to read Murakami!

Not only does the usual Murakami weirdness make sense when you're actually in Japan, but you also realise just how important the environment is to Murakami and his characters. His descriptions of the trees, forests, waterways and urban spaces are everywhere as you move around the country. As are the crows.

In this case, the boy named crow is a mentor to our young protagonist, Kafka Tamura, perhaps an alter ego, a Japanese Jiminy Cricket. Whatever crow is or isn't, right from word one, Murakami is flagging that symbolism, mythology and psychology will be our prime concerns in Kafka on the Shore.

In Japanese mythology, crows are seen as a sign of 'divine intervention in human affairs' (wikipedia). Western mythology tends to associate the crow with bad news or as a harbinger of death. They're selfish, spread gossip and neglect their young. And they're everywhere in Japan. They sit on telegraph wires, fence posts and roof tops. You often wake up to their cawing, even in the city.

Cats are the other creatures that dominant not only Murakami stories, but many Japanese stories, yet curiously I didn't see one single cat in three weeks, let alone a talking cat! The opposite of the crow, cats are creatures of good luck, although still often associated with death and hauntings.

Silence, I discover is something you can actually hear.

There is no denying that Murakami is on very intimate terms with kooky.

If the talking cats weren't enough, a cameo appearance by Johnny Walker and Colonel Sanders of KFC fame might tip you over the edge. A reference to the (fictional) Picnic at Hanging Rock as an example of another group loss of consciousness event caught my eye. Did Murakami know that it was an urban myth? Is that what he was implying about his own story? The sense of mystery and other-worldliness was certainly a shared atmosphere between the two stories.

I was also amazed by truck drivers who suddenly became classic music afficiandos, quiet librarians who turned out to be sex fiends and sex workers who quoted philosophers. What's not to love? The kookiness gets under my skin and into my head. Just like what happened to me with his previous books.

1Q84 is still roaming around in my head, Colourless Tsukuru less so, but it's still a memorable book experience.

Things outside you are projections of what's inside you, and what's inside you is a projection of what's outside you. So when you step into the labyrinth outside you, at the same time your stepping into the labyrinth inside. 

One of the really enjoyable aspects to reading Murakami in Japan is the place names. Suddenly they really mean something. Most of the action in Kafka takes place in Takamatsu on the island of Shikoku. 

We didn't get to Shikiko with this visit, but we did see one of the huge bridges, from a distance, that joins Shikoko to Honshu and we spent some time at the station that is the interchange for the JR line that goes to Takamatsu. Seeing the name of the city featured in my book up in lights suddenly grounded this surreal story into reality.

This is only my fourth Murakami (see my Author Challenge tab for details) so I'm not sure I can safely name all his common themes and ideas, but there are a few that I've clocked. Going into the woods/fear of getting lost, weird sex, talking creatures, dreams, random jazz references, loneliness and silence. And for me, the reader, there is an over-riding sense of bewilderment (WTF was that about?) as well as an overwhelming sense of wanting more (whatever it was a think I like it!) 

I'm caught between one void and another. I have no idea what's right, what's wrong. I don't even know what I want anymore. I'm standing alone in the middle of a horrific sandstorm. I can't move, and can't even see my fingertips.

Murakami doesn't wrap his stories up with a neat, tidy bow or resolve many of the story lines. This should be totally frustrating...and it is, but somehow you love being kept in the dark and confused at the same time. Perhaps it's the likeable characters? Or perhaps it's the not so subtle way he plays with your head? Or perhaps it is the hope that the next book he writes will bring you one step closer to understanding this maddening man and his ability to suck you into his world. 

Every one of us is losing something precious to us....Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's how I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories.

Image source

Murakami likes to do the whole books in books thing. Kafka's backlist was an obvious start -The Castle, The Trial, Metamorphosis and In the Penal Colony in this case. But he also referenced The Arabian Nights, the complete works of Natsume Soseki, a book about the trial of Adolf Eichmann (I can only assume it was Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem), Electra by Sophocles, The Tale of the Genji and 'The Chrysanthemum Pledge' in Tales of Moonlight and Rain by Ueda Akinari.

So many tangents, so many connections, which one should I tackle next?

The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree by Shokoofeh Azar

The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree has been attracting my attention for several months now, however it took its recent longlisting for this year's Stella Prize to finally make me pick it up. I'm nothing but a Stella groupie!

The cover alone might have been enticement enough (a collage of three of Azar's art works), but the promise of a mystical, magical tour through the horrors of revolutionary Iran, 'using the lyrical magic realism style of classical Persian storytelling', was the final prompt I needed to make this my first book to read from this year's prize.

Magical realism can be a problem for many readers I know. I'm happy to embrace some forms of magic realism more than others. I especially like those that draw fairy tales, fables and myths into our modern real-world setting. (FYI: I'm not so keen on the type of magic realism that brings in a lot of deliberately disorientating layers and details. I like my magical realism to still make sense somehow!)

Azar's use of magic realism did that and more. It's quite a skill to weave a story that allows your somewhat sceptical reader to accept the existence of ghosts, jinns and mermaids. But Azar did it for me - I was with her from the start, on that level at least.

However, it did take me a while to get going. It may have been a translation thing or it may have been a slightly different approach to sentence structure. Many of the books I gravitate towards lately are ones with concise, short sentences. So maybe it was simply my lack of practice in reading longer, flowing, complex sentences. Whatever it was, I found the start of The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree choppy and erratic.

It wasn't until the special circumstances of our narrator were revealed at the beginning of chapter 5 that I was hooked. Suddenly the 'playful, poetic and deeply melancholy' Alice Pung quote on the back cover came to life.

I dropped into a dreamy, almost trance-like state every time I picked up the book. Jinns and groves of trees haunted my own dreams as fleeting childhood memories of news items about the 1979 Revolution were triggered by events in the story. It was angry, it was heart-rending, it was glorious, mesmerising and confronting.

Azar has given us a classic story of good and evil. Her words are fluid as is her approach to time and truth. Belonging, love and loss are the major themes while the search for solace is the main concern for her characters. Given the horrific events that occurred during the Iranian Revolution, it is easy to understand why and how an author would choose to wrap these unreal events up in mythology. When the real world you live in suddenly gets turned on it's head, sometimes the only response is imagination and the only hope is magic.

I, for one, hope with all my heart, that this story gets shortlisted for the Stella - it deserves to get as much attention as possible.

Translated from Farsi by Adrien Kijek#AustWomenWriters
#Stella2018

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry

As most of you know, the past couple of months or so has been rather 'meh' for me and my family. As a result I've been searching through my rather extensive (okay, out of control) TBR piles for comforting, cosy, entertaining reads to ease me through this time.

The Essex Serpent came highly recommended to me via a colleague as exactly that kind of read.

Right from the beginning I went along for the ride that Sarah Perry set up so lushly. The Victorian time frame, the hint of danger, mystery and myth as well as a full cast of engaging characters kept me engaged and eager to pick up my book at the end of each day.

As most of you know, I don't write book summaries. But if you want to know what the book is about, without actually, you know, reading it yourself, and you've managed to miss all the talk it, you can read the Goodreads blurb here.

Personally, I loved the focus on all the ways we love - parental love, friendship, the first flush of romantic love, unrequited love and the long term, loyal love of a happy marriage. Having taken the time to consider Perry's epigraph, I was conscious of her intent the whole way through and it added to me reading experience.

I found The Essex Serpent to to a warm, generous and joyous read. Highly recommended as a holiday read or for those feeling jaded and in need of a good old-fashion reading romp.

The gorgeous William Morris-esque cover, designed by Peter Dyer, was simply an added bonus every time I picked it up.

The Essex Serpent has also been read and reviewed by Simon @SavidgeReads and Cosy Books.

It was shortlisted for the 2016 Costa Novel Award and longlisted for this year's Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction.

Hot Milk by Deborah Levy

I am proud to say that I managed to read half of this year's Booker shortlist before the winner was announced.

Do Not Say We Have Nothing was an epic multi-generational family saga, His Bloody Project was a psychological historical fiction crime story, but Hot Milk was...?

Two days later, I'm still not sure what it was.

Hot Milk was definitely the one that came from somewhere completely different though.

I nearly gave up on it at one point, but there was something about the sandy, salty, grungy coastal area of Spain that Levy described and something about the passive-aggressive mother/daughter relationship that kept drawing me back in.

There was a hint of disquiet - who was watching who and who was studying who? A suggestion of danger or dread hung in the air. Careless actions and hypochondria dripped off every page.

I read some reviews that used the word 'dreamy' to describe the pace of this book as well as the narrator's view of the world, but I found it murkier than that. Fear and pain kept this story going. And hidden selves.

The numerous references to breast feeding and maternal nurturing gave us clues to understanding the title. Mythology and story telling also cropped up as themes. The constant reference to medusa's and their stings, suggested that Levy was playing around with whole worlds of symbolism - a mask, unresolved father issues, female rage, nihilism?

There was probably more going on behind this simple story than first met the eye, but it's wasn't easy to discover. It seemed light weight, but it wasn't.

It's after affects are lingering far longer than a simple story about a mother/daughter holiday in Spain has any right to. Levy carefully kept us off balance all the way through and the climax was worth waiting for. Sort of.

But still I have some doubts...I'm willing to accept that there are layers to be mined, but what's the point?

Have you read any Levy before?
Is this meandering, figurative style how she usually approaches her story-telling?

The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro

I've managed to get to this point without reading any reviews for The Buried Giant. Therefore, when I began reading it last week I had no idea what it was about or what to expect.

There is something very thrilling & even a little daunting about opening a new book by such a well-known, well-regarded author that includes a leap into the great unknown. It's an act of reader faith.
Where will this story take me? Will I like it? What will I discover along the way?

A part of me wants to say nothing at all about The Buried Giant so that you have the pure, unadulterated pleasure of discovering this bittersweet tale about memory and love all by yourself, like I did. But that would make for a very brief & rather pointless review!

If you've read this far, I have to assume you want to know whether this book is for you or not.

I've only read two Ishiguro novels before this.

The Remains of the Day, which I thought was an exquisite story of yearning, restraint & repression and Never Let Me Go, which I failed to get into at all.

The first book is set in post war upstairs/downstairs England while NLMG has a futuristic dystopian setting. TROTD follows an aging butler come to terms with the decisions and choices he's made in life around duty, honour & class. While the latter is a boarding school romp with some creepy cloning issues!

Where could Ishiguro possibly go after that?

Shall I tell you?

Alright.

Go back.
Waaaaay back!

Back to post-Arthurian England. Back to a Dark Ages world of Saxons and Britons. Back to a time steeped in mythology & legend where she-dragons, ogres, pixies and curious memory-sapping mists prevail.

Axl & Beatrice are a couple to take into your heart forever.

Ishiguro's language is careful, gentle and deliberately paced to slow your reading down. Each sentence is savoured, each emotion rolls off the page as the subtle tension builds.
What will their missing memories reveal?

'It would be the saddest thing to me , princess. To walk separately from you, when the ground will let us go as we always did.'

The Buried Giants won't be for everyone, but if you're prepared to go along for the journey, you will be well rewarded.