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Lemprière's Dictionary
It is 18th-century London and John Lempriere, a young scholar, is writing a dictionary of classical mythology in an attempt to exorcise the demons raised by his father's violent and bizarre death. While tending to his father's business affairs, Lempriere discovers a 150-year old conspiracy that has kept his family from its share of the fabulously wealthy East India Company. But as John begins to untangle the years of mystery and deceit, people begin to die, in ways that mirror the very myths he is researching....
An international best-seller and winner of the Somerset Maugham Prize, Lempriere's Dictionary is the debut novel from Lawrence Norfolk, one of England's most innovative, internationally acclaimed young authors.
An international best-seller and winner of the Somerset Maugham Prize, Lempriere's Dictionary is the debut novel from Lawrence Norfolk, one of England's most innovative, internationally acclaimed young authors.
626 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1991
70 people are currently reading
2,008 people want to read
About the author
Lawrence Norfolk
28books110followersLawrence Norfolk (born 1963) is a British novelist known for historical works with complex plots and intricate detail. His novels are also known for their unusually large vocabulary.
He was born in London but lived in Iraq until 1967 and then in the West Country of England. He read English at King's College London and graduated in 1986. He worked briefly as a teacher and later as a freelance writer for reference book publishers.
In 1992, he won the Somerset Maugham Award for his first novel, Lemprière's Dictionary, about events surrounding the publication, in 1788, of John Lemprière's Bibliotheca Classica on classical mythology and history.
His second novel, The Pope's Rhinoceros, is based on the history of an actual animal also known as Dürer's Rhinoceros. Themes in the work include the lost city of Vineta, the sack of Prato, and the Benin bronze-making culture on the river Niger.
He was born in London but lived in Iraq until 1967 and then in the West Country of England. He read English at King's College London and graduated in 1986. He worked briefly as a teacher and later as a freelance writer for reference book publishers.
In 1992, he won the Somerset Maugham Award for his first novel, Lemprière's Dictionary, about events surrounding the publication, in 1788, of John Lemprière's Bibliotheca Classica on classical mythology and history.
His second novel, The Pope's Rhinoceros, is based on the history of an actual animal also known as Dürer's Rhinoceros. Themes in the work include the lost city of Vineta, the sack of Prato, and the Benin bronze-making culture on the river Niger.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 113 reviews
March 13, 2019
Lawrence Norfolk can make out of history whatever he wants so he turns history into a gloomy phantasmagoria inside his head.
How to make ancient mythology come to pass? As it turns out there is a method but it is fabulously grotesque and ultimately bizarre and ridiculously murderous to boot.
History is full of mysteries but some historical secrets are so hideously preposterous that they can only be revealed by such devil-may-care postmodernists as Lawrence Norfolk.
Lemprière's Dictionary is a gorgeous banquette of wild imagery and bookish language.
And the real history is no less dark than any imagination can picture it to be.
How to make ancient mythology come to pass? As it turns out there is a method but it is fabulously grotesque and ultimately bizarre and ridiculously murderous to boot.
The elements gathered around him. His father rolling over, one arm held up to ward off dangers that had already passed and in his mind the same scene was unwinding like fine silver wire. The woman with her distorted face twisting away from the glistening downpour, the hiss of metal, the smell of it. These matters cohered in him. Buried legends cracked through the generations� interment, flooded back at his unknowing behest.
History is full of mysteries but some historical secrets are so hideously preposterous that they can only be revealed by such devil-may-care postmodernists as Lawrence Norfolk.
Lemprière's Dictionary is a gorgeous banquette of wild imagery and bookish language.
And the real history is no less dark than any imagination can picture it to be.
February 7, 2017
An extraordinary book in every sense - this one is a challenge both to read and to review. To start, how should we categorise it? It mixes so many genres - historical fiction, fantasy, classical allusions, grand conspiracy thriller, parody and even romance - a real postmodern mash-up.
I first heard of Norfolk several years ago when I read A.S. Byatt's book of literary criticism , in which she extolled him as one of the cleverest young writers around. This is probably the book she had most in mind, though is equally complex and ambitious.
Some of the pivotal events are real enough, the story of the East India Company, the siege of La Rochelle and the build-up to the French revolution, but the conceit of Norfolk's story is so outrageous that it can only be seen as a sort of self-parody. The two books it reminded me most of, for very different reasons, were and .
The hero (or at least the pivotal character) is John Lemprière, a young scholar from Jersey whose primary interest is studying Greek and Roman classics. His story is interleaved with a grand conspiracy - in Norfolk's version of history the East India Company is almost ruined when its first expedition in 1600 comes back with a cargo of pepper which is worthless in London because the Dutch have flooded the market, and its investors are rescued by a shadowy "cabbala" of traders from the Huguenot free port of La Rochelle who are unable to trade with the East directly. Most of the action takes place in the 1780s, when their descendants draw Lemprière into their intrigues by staging reenactments of scenes from the classics, the first of which involves the grisly murder of his father by fox-hounds. They also persuade him to start writing a dictionary of classical mythology (this is also something real, as are some of Lemprière's biographical details).
The plot gets more and more complex, and veers further into the realms of fantasy, but Norfolk clearly loves the classics and has a fine command of arcane language. For all that, much of the book is quite readable and the storytelling is compulsive.
I first heard of Norfolk several years ago when I read A.S. Byatt's book of literary criticism , in which she extolled him as one of the cleverest young writers around. This is probably the book she had most in mind, though is equally complex and ambitious.
Some of the pivotal events are real enough, the story of the East India Company, the siege of La Rochelle and the build-up to the French revolution, but the conceit of Norfolk's story is so outrageous that it can only be seen as a sort of self-parody. The two books it reminded me most of, for very different reasons, were and .
The hero (or at least the pivotal character) is John Lemprière, a young scholar from Jersey whose primary interest is studying Greek and Roman classics. His story is interleaved with a grand conspiracy - in Norfolk's version of history the East India Company is almost ruined when its first expedition in 1600 comes back with a cargo of pepper which is worthless in London because the Dutch have flooded the market, and its investors are rescued by a shadowy "cabbala" of traders from the Huguenot free port of La Rochelle who are unable to trade with the East directly. Most of the action takes place in the 1780s, when their descendants draw Lemprière into their intrigues by staging reenactments of scenes from the classics, the first of which involves the grisly murder of his father by fox-hounds. They also persuade him to start writing a dictionary of classical mythology (this is also something real, as are some of Lemprière's biographical details).
The plot gets more and more complex, and veers further into the realms of fantasy, but Norfolk clearly loves the classics and has a fine command of arcane language. For all that, much of the book is quite readable and the storytelling is compulsive.
December 1, 2022
This is a book that makes no concessions to the reader. It is dense to the point of impenetrability; for the first hundred pages, I really had no idea what on earth was going on. Fortunately, those first hundred pages are followed by four hundred more, in which to get your bearings, though many people will not make it that far and I can't really blame them.
Then again, the same could be said of other books that I have really liked, so I wouldn't condemn it on these grounds alone. The question is whether there is a pay-off to this kind of opacity, in the form of richness, immersion or prose style and on these points I'm not entirely sure what I think of it. There is certainly a hell of a lot going on in here, and some of it is really interesting. But getting between such moments does often feel like wading through mud.
Even summarising the plot is an exercise in confusion. The central character is John Lemprière, the author of an eighteenth-century dictionary of mythology, whom we follow from Jersey to London on the trail of a family secret which has something to do with the East India Company, a missing fortune, assassins working for the Nawab of the Carnatic, a crew of geriatric pirates, the French Wars of Religion, and a shadowy cabal which has been pulling the strings of Europe for centuries. The plot advances through a kind of quasi-esoteric investigation, interspersed with elaborate set-pieces in the form of heavily signposted classical allusion; meanwhile the presence of flying men, automata and other mechanical or biological impossibilities gives a flavour of steampunk, or magic realism, to the proceedings, just in case there weren't enough elements already in play.
In its hints at an Illuminati-esque conspiracy, the book gestures towards writers like Umberto Eco � but why link this stuff to an obscure classicist like Lemprière? Why not just tell that story using fictional characters? I couldn't work it out. Obviously, Norfolk wants to get his teeth stuck into some of the classical allusions made possible by Lemprière's dictionary, but the relevance of this material to the rest of the plot is unclear. The themes don't match up. And all of it is told through a labyrinthine, pathologically verbose prose style which perhaps matches the feverish thought process of Lemprière wrestling with his great work.
A monument, a simulacrum, a parasite. The mixed metaphors are sometimes productive, often just confusing. My favourite parts of the book, and the bits that kept me reading, were the lavish descriptions of the book's eighteenth-century setting. Jersey landscapes, London markets, Parisian alleyways and merchant trading vessels all get their paragraphs of detail, though their bearing on the plot is anyone's guess.
There are also strange slips � mentions of things like ‘mascara� and ‘blue whales�, neither of which were concepts until the following century, and at one point even a reference to Chopin, who wouldn't be born until decades after the book finishes. Such is the novel's tonal profusion that it's not clear whether these are mistakes, or just flourishes of deliberate anachronism for some unguessed narrative effect.
A first novel, Lemprière's Dictionary is the kind of book that makes me think that some of Norfolk's later books might be very good indeed. But this one is, in the end, more exhausting than anything else.
Then again, the same could be said of other books that I have really liked, so I wouldn't condemn it on these grounds alone. The question is whether there is a pay-off to this kind of opacity, in the form of richness, immersion or prose style and on these points I'm not entirely sure what I think of it. There is certainly a hell of a lot going on in here, and some of it is really interesting. But getting between such moments does often feel like wading through mud.
Even summarising the plot is an exercise in confusion. The central character is John Lemprière, the author of an eighteenth-century dictionary of mythology, whom we follow from Jersey to London on the trail of a family secret which has something to do with the East India Company, a missing fortune, assassins working for the Nawab of the Carnatic, a crew of geriatric pirates, the French Wars of Religion, and a shadowy cabal which has been pulling the strings of Europe for centuries. The plot advances through a kind of quasi-esoteric investigation, interspersed with elaborate set-pieces in the form of heavily signposted classical allusion; meanwhile the presence of flying men, automata and other mechanical or biological impossibilities gives a flavour of steampunk, or magic realism, to the proceedings, just in case there weren't enough elements already in play.
In its hints at an Illuminati-esque conspiracy, the book gestures towards writers like Umberto Eco � but why link this stuff to an obscure classicist like Lemprière? Why not just tell that story using fictional characters? I couldn't work it out. Obviously, Norfolk wants to get his teeth stuck into some of the classical allusions made possible by Lemprière's dictionary, but the relevance of this material to the rest of the plot is unclear. The themes don't match up. And all of it is told through a labyrinthine, pathologically verbose prose style which perhaps matches the feverish thought process of Lemprière wrestling with his great work.
Somewhere before “A� and in a place after “Z�, chained at its centre and clinging to its outermost border, in the margin and the text, he was halved and quartered as the dictionary neared completion. It was his own monstrous monument, an extension of himself. It was a usurping version, a simulacrum that sapped and displaced him until he was a spent host exhausted by its parasite.
A monument, a simulacrum, a parasite. The mixed metaphors are sometimes productive, often just confusing. My favourite parts of the book, and the bits that kept me reading, were the lavish descriptions of the book's eighteenth-century setting. Jersey landscapes, London markets, Parisian alleyways and merchant trading vessels all get their paragraphs of detail, though their bearing on the plot is anyone's guess.
There are also strange slips � mentions of things like ‘mascara� and ‘blue whales�, neither of which were concepts until the following century, and at one point even a reference to Chopin, who wouldn't be born until decades after the book finishes. Such is the novel's tonal profusion that it's not clear whether these are mistakes, or just flourishes of deliberate anachronism for some unguessed narrative effect.
A first novel, Lemprière's Dictionary is the kind of book that makes me think that some of Norfolk's later books might be very good indeed. But this one is, in the end, more exhausting than anything else.
July 5, 2020
Heavily permeated with the ancient world of classical mythology, and with the narrative drive of a high octane historical thriller, Lemprière's Dictionary is a wonderfully written, and exceptionally well constructed novel. With a phenomenal panorama of people and places, this astonishingly complex political tale encompasses a multinational financial machination, supported by a brilliantly portrayed, and outrageous cast of whores, gin-soaked aristocrats, geriatric pirates, stone eaters, scholars, detectives, and assassins. In the protagonist's quest to execute his now famous Dictionary, the reader is presented with an amalgamation of gruesome murders, ostentatious drinking games, greed, betrayal, and love, all suffused with the tincture of an age old conspiracy.
The narrative spins effortlessly like a hurricane across time, and multiple continents, picking up fragments from each, constantly presenting the reader with scenarios that are either wildly amusing, or horrifying, but always memorable and marvelously improbable. In the pursuit of elucidation, the author seems to urge the reader to scrutinize, as the protagonist does in the story, the allusions and or illusions that feed our own dark visions.
Lemprière's Dictionary is an absolute delight to read, and whether you are a trained classicist, or someone only slightly interested in history, anyone eager to be overwhelmed by an amazing and fanciful story should read this fabulous novel.
The narrative spins effortlessly like a hurricane across time, and multiple continents, picking up fragments from each, constantly presenting the reader with scenarios that are either wildly amusing, or horrifying, but always memorable and marvelously improbable. In the pursuit of elucidation, the author seems to urge the reader to scrutinize, as the protagonist does in the story, the allusions and or illusions that feed our own dark visions.
Lemprière's Dictionary is an absolute delight to read, and whether you are a trained classicist, or someone only slightly interested in history, anyone eager to be overwhelmed by an amazing and fanciful story should read this fabulous novel.
December 6, 2007
Warning: you must have the ability to suspend your disbelief, or better yet turn it off, put it in a box, bury it deep amid the amassed clutter of your long ago forgotten possessions that you had to have but now can't remember why you wanted them in the first place but can't convince yourself to get rid of them in the deep recesses of your attic, to finish reading this novel. Sentences of this misbegotten tale ramble on like so many oddly misdirected thoughts, yet do achieve a certain relevancy to the story. At times anachronistic plot devices mar this jumbled tale of fantasy. And yet there is something endearing about its quaint writing style and mythological meanderings. So if convoluted fantasy prose that goes on for many pages is your cup of tea, then spread your wings and soar away to the land of multitudinous maundering and straggling plot twists.
October 7, 2009
Horribly pretentious, badly written and utterly confusing book that I actually had a hard time reading all the long and tedious way to the end.
The story is interesting enough, but it's stuffed too much with pseudo-intellectual sounding passages that have no relevance to anything whatsoever. Norfolk doesn't write too complicated as such, maybe if he didn't find it so necessary to riddle his text with countless important-sounding and long words this would be a better read.
Nice try, but that's just trying too hard!
The story is interesting enough, but it's stuffed too much with pseudo-intellectual sounding passages that have no relevance to anything whatsoever. Norfolk doesn't write too complicated as such, maybe if he didn't find it so necessary to riddle his text with countless important-sounding and long words this would be a better read.
Nice try, but that's just trying too hard!
September 24, 2008
One of the most difficult-to-read novels I've ever picked up, I think it's because of a fault in myself and not that of the author. His prose is engaging, mysterious, anthropomorphic, obscure, beautiful, and thorough.
It's a mystery, of course, but what a mystery. Taken simply for its plot alone, this would be a fantastic novel. It spans generations, bodies of water, languages. From Paris brothels to Emperor's castles. It's just neat.
That said, I keep coming back to the language. Lest you think my first paragraph was unclear, I will put it as simply as I can: this is one of the single-best written novels it has ever been my pleasure to read.
It's a mystery, of course, but what a mystery. Taken simply for its plot alone, this would be a fantastic novel. It spans generations, bodies of water, languages. From Paris brothels to Emperor's castles. It's just neat.
That said, I keep coming back to the language. Lest you think my first paragraph was unclear, I will put it as simply as I can: this is one of the single-best written novels it has ever been my pleasure to read.
January 8, 2009
I rarely post reviews, but my reaction to this book was so negative that I feel compelled to warn others before they waste their time as I wasted mine. In fairness, I can't comment on the book as a whole, because I lost patience before I had read the first 100 pages. But what pages they were! I felt as though I were mired in quicksand. Norfolk's writing is bloated and dense to the point of nonsense, florid and contrived to the point of pretentiousness. Damn the friend who recommended this book!!!
November 11, 2009
I always enjoy a book that makes me go to the dictionary a lot, and in addition to that, I wikipedia-ed many details from this historical fiction. To be engaged by a book outside the confines of the cover is what I always crave, but rarely get. I'm surprised to see so many negative reviews of it online and here on goodreads, reviews that mostly dwell on "difficult" and "long" and "pretentious". True on all accounts, but I don't see why a book can't be those and yet still be fun to read. I'm nowhere close to the level of scholarship on Greek mythology displayed by the author, but I'm interested in it, as well as history in general and I was enthralled right away, then sad to finish. I never thought 18th century politics and economics could be this cool. The setting of 1780s London was a cool counterpoint to the book I read just previously, "The Anubis Gates", which takes place in London at about that time, except it focuses more on adventure, whereas this book is all about drawing a very very complete picture of the time. There's even a bit of supernatural stuff and steampunk thrown in, but at heart it's a mystery/conspiracy type plot, but not to be mistaken for a beach read about who-dun-it. Difficult reading for sure, but I was amazed by the language, the attention to detail, the world-sweeping view and the powerful imagery.
May 29, 2011
One of the back cover quotes uses the word "extravaganza" to describe this novel, and that's apt, to describe its ambitious conception, its set-piece scenes, and the tour-de-force paragraphs that go off like fireworks in its exuberant prose. It's a novel that belongs to the genre of... what? Historical, fantasy, supernatural? I'd call it a story of the occult. As if its gradual revelation of a centuries-long conspiracy wasn't enough, the author almost hits us over the head with metaphors of underground passages, currents under the surface of the water, atmospheric stirrings that add up to some grand design that few can see... It preceded the recent wide popularity of books that posit that grand historical events are guided by the hands of a few, and is certainly an unusually intelligent contribution to that literature. Most of its supernatural elements are muted, even ambiguous, posed in quasi-technological rather than outright magical terms, yet not "natural" for all that (a good example of the in-between status of the concept "occult" in fantasy terms). It's also self-aware and anachronistic, with seventeenth- and eighteenth- century characters who think in a decidedly twentieth-century way. I'm not sure why Norfolk chose to pre-date his existential unease and history-haunted, hollow-foundationed city life by several centuries before their time. At any rate, it makes for a compelling and entertaining reading experience.
February 25, 2018
I successfully made it to the end, but I can say that I only understood about 70% of it, if I am being generous. Norfolk's tome has multiple storylines blurred together interspersed with pages of seemingly unrelated description and more historical/mythological name-dropping than I thought even possible. It reminds me of Umberto Eco's style, but is possibly even more difficult to follow. Still, it is a masterpiece of historical mystery and is one of those books that you can read multiple times and still not get 100% of it.
February 10, 2009
Well I made it through nearly 100 pages (89, to be exact), and I just couldn't do it. Theoretically, judging by the book jacket, this should be an interesting book. Realistically it is nothing more than a self-satisfied upchuck of turgid prose. Perhaps this is a function of the main character, who I neither like nor have any interest in getting to know.
March 6, 2014
This looks more my style and it's a doorstop, which is the way I like them if they are engrossing.
My cover is not available here on GR:
The young man dropped the book.
Okay, that first bit, skip it. I'll give you a precis:
mumble mumble HATE mumble mumble BOTTOM DROPPED OUT OF MARKET mumbled CONFUSION mumble mumble CONSPIRACY. Got it? Maybe it will be worth re-reading in retrospect.
TIP - Start at page 17, I Caesarea if you want a good run at the thing. By the time we have the priest stripping himself nekkid to smear mashed potatoes over himself, I was hooked.
The ridiculous leaps into absurdist fantasy are just too much and cite The Pork Club pages as chief witness to this statement.
Tempted to say it was Nor-folking good.
My cover is not available here on GR:
The young man dropped the book.
Okay, that first bit, skip it. I'll give you a precis:
mumble mumble HATE mumble mumble BOTTOM DROPPED OUT OF MARKET mumbled CONFUSION mumble mumble CONSPIRACY. Got it? Maybe it will be worth re-reading in retrospect.
TIP - Start at page 17, I Caesarea if you want a good run at the thing. By the time we have the priest stripping himself nekkid to smear mashed potatoes over himself, I was hooked.
The ridiculous leaps into absurdist fantasy are just too much and cite The Pork Club pages as chief witness to this statement.
Tempted to say it was Nor-folking good.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 5, 2019
Very clever overall, but ultimately an exasperating read; in his debut Norfolk serves up his typical historical picaresque freighted with mythology/folklore/arcana à la Umberto Eco, but goes way over the top. The plot is overstuffed, and he stretches plausibility to the point of outright farce, though the tone is inconsistent. One wonders what he was aiming for as this novel is neither fish nor fowl. It is too many things at once, and alternately drags and grips the reader in the process, with more than a few eye-rolling episodes which tempted me to hurl the book across the room. Unlike some reviewers on ŷ I stuck with it, and I’m glad I did. Some of the history, mythological references, and imagery will stick with me: it has its edifying value. But based on “John Saturnall’s Feast� Norfolk has since learned to tame his excesses and has became a better novelist.
August 26, 2013
I tried to read this book twice. And both times, I was throughly confused and a little upset that this book didn't really seem to have a plot. The person who wrote the back cover blurb deserves a medal, because he made it seem like this book would be awesome. Mythology, intrigue, and murder is always great. But when the guy goes to a pub in London and is involved in some weird pig worshipping drunkie club for NO APPARENT REASON, I gave up. Even when I was attempting to follow what Norfolk was writing, I had no idea.
November 12, 2018
Original, divertido, escrito magníficamente, culto... un descubrimiento
April 3, 2022
Abgebrochen bei 20%. Ich mag ja auch weitschweifende Erzählungen, aber es sollte doch eine Geschichte erkennbar sein...
January 29, 2011
In 18th century London, John Lempiere, is furiously researching and writing his dictionary of classical mythology. He is sure that the publication of his definitive study will challenge scholars and make his fortune. His father's brutal murder has made obtaining financial security overwhelmingly important. Papa's death has also brought to light an intriguing and terrifying connection between his family and the all powerful Dutch East India Company. Might John actually be entitled to half of that monopoly's money? Decades old murders, greed, the Dutch East India and the recent deaths of acquaintances in ways that mirror the mythology John is studying are interfering with John's publishing plans. Should he abandon his work and investigate his claim despite the dangers or should he retreat to the safety of silence?
Author Lawrence Norfolk has applied his research on the period (everything from preparing a pen to dog training) to good use. The sights, smells and mindsets of the time engulf you. The light he shines on the 1700's illuminates an irresistible story. The Byzantine plot and rapid introduction of ideas and varied characters demand your complete attention. This is a novel that you commit to, it's not the book to leave in the car and read catch as catch can but if you have the time to dedicate to Lempiere's Dictionary your efforts will be rewarded with well written historical speculation, fact, mythology and conspiracies galore.
Author Lawrence Norfolk has applied his research on the period (everything from preparing a pen to dog training) to good use. The sights, smells and mindsets of the time engulf you. The light he shines on the 1700's illuminates an irresistible story. The Byzantine plot and rapid introduction of ideas and varied characters demand your complete attention. This is a novel that you commit to, it's not the book to leave in the car and read catch as catch can but if you have the time to dedicate to Lempiere's Dictionary your efforts will be rewarded with well written historical speculation, fact, mythology and conspiracies galore.
May 7, 2014
I really wanted to love this book, it has so many of the elements I usually find irresistible. A book figures prominently and maybe even meta fictionally. A sweeping period of historical time. Secret societies yielding an almost secret history. Intriguing characters. Fabulous voyages. And I can go on...
So why did I only like it? To my taste the writing was more obfuscatory than esthetically necessary and, equally perturbing to one who thinks he's well read, a plethora of references (both directly & obliquely) to obscure events, people and mythological stories. This would be candy for someone educated classically in the arts; I however have mere science cred.
So why did I only like it? To my taste the writing was more obfuscatory than esthetically necessary and, equally perturbing to one who thinks he's well read, a plethora of references (both directly & obliquely) to obscure events, people and mythological stories. This would be candy for someone educated classically in the arts; I however have mere science cred.
March 26, 2009
The plotline is serpentine, confusing and I loved it. The characters are colorful, the story held my interest and the writing is entertaining and outrageous.Plenty of historical detail. I enjoyed it
April 7, 2016
I did it!)
September 20, 2018
I closed the book after 200 pages. It was more than enough.
February 2, 2021
В этом романе столько всего, что можно потонуть от удовольствия и счастья.
January 14, 2025
not finished. put it away after 50 pages. very reassuring to be reconfirmed in my conviction that historical fiction is not for me. i just do not like it. at all.
May 3, 2022
Постмодернистская ловушка
П - постмодернизм.
Что такое постмодернизм, господа? Я вроде как загуглила, яндекснула и даже бингнула, чтобы почекать инфу, почитала всякие текстули, но единственное внятноедля даунов как я, а главное стилистически подходящее объяснение нашла на пресловутом . Надо признать, звучит это очень круто и вдохновляюще. Увы и ах, один из ярчайших образчиков постмодернистской литературы "Словарь Ламприера", который намедни мне довелось впихнуть в себя, совсем не произвел такого впечатления. Это было очень серо и скучно, представляете? Парадокс. Г-н Норфолк умудрился запихнуть во внушительные 800 страниц, казалось бы, практически все: древнегреческий эпос, ост-индийскую компанию, заокеанских ассасинов, генеалогическую интригу, театр, революцию, фэнтези, киберпанк и еще 100500 менее очевидных аллюзий, исторических фактов, отсылок, фантазий. И при этом, да ребят, единственное, что я могу сказать: С-К-У-Ч-Н-О. Страницы этого романа просто не оказали на меня никакого влияния. Не знаю, может в них просто вложено недостаточно энергетики? Никаких эмоций, только постоянные взгляды на количество оставшихся страниц. Особенно ярко это проявилось в моменте внезапного появления в романе о 17 веке ученого, работающего с нейронными связями, внушением, киборгами и андроидами. Мне казалось, что такой поворот должен просто взорвать мозг и вызвать всплеск эмоций, но... Зевок. Безразличие. Не знаю, почему, но не работает этот ваш постмодернизм. Может, потому что не мое. Может, потому что зашкалом шизы выбивает всякую способность удивляться. А может, когда вся твоя жизнь - постмодернизм, к нему просто вырабатывается иммунитет.
П - переосмысление
Давайте, расскажите мне, как интеллектуально и свежо выкатывать "переосмысления" исторических эпох и событий, личностей и персонажей. Я даже не буду с вами спорить. Свойственный современным течениям искусства иной взгляд на привычные вещи и устоявшиеся стереотипы - это очень круто. Я вот люблю этот прием за отражение двойственности, относительности любого, абсолютно любого объекта, субъекта или категории. Такой постмодернизм - это бро. А вот переосмысление от Норфолка - не бро. Автор предлагает нам иной взгляд на Ост-Индийскую компанию, разумеется ироничный. Но, господи, как тошнит уже от вашей иронии! Как осточертели эти бесконечные отсылочки! Да на каких серьезных щщах! Альтернативность строится на внедрении в историческую канву подвида рептилоидов под кодовым именем "Кабалла". Тайное общество, огромная власть в руках таинственных, могущественных кукловодов. Я не увидела абсолютно никакого смысла в таком предположении, никакой моральной дилеммы или, не знаю, изменения парадигмы. Предположение ради предположения, ради сюжета и интриги, ради приближения к рядовому читателю. Просто твист, почему бы и нет, но для меня он субъективно очень слабый, ведь на жидомассонов очень легко спихнуть все что угодно, при этом упуская из виду возможность возникновения, например, противоборствующего отряда жидомассонов, равных по силе влияния. Мотивы же предлагаемой могучей кучки тоже не блещут остротой ума, оригинальностью или хотя бы задором. О-Б-Ы-Д-Е-Н-О-С-Т-Ь. Мне кажется, что подобных сюжетов (да, возможно, хуже написанных) я найду совсем немало на полке с какими-нибудь второсортными историческими романо-триллерами. Их плюс в одном: они, в отличие от "Словаря", не выдают себя за что-то большее, чем на самом деле являются.
П - пародия
Пародия и сарказм - это фишка современности. Хочешь прослыть интеллектуалом - выстебай что-нибудь. Можешь запариться и сделать это тонко - вполне возможно, получишь заслуженное признание. А можешь забить болт и сделать самую гротескную и очевидную пародию на что угодно. И вот сюрприз, она вполне может получить еще большее признание за "очаровательную преувеличенность" или "настолько плохо, что хорошо". Таков этот дивный новый мир 21 века: не важно, какие смыслы ты вкладываешь, важно лишь то, что в этом увидит общество. В "Словаре Ламприера" некоторые умудряются разглядеть пародию буквально на все. И вот уже не переосмысление, а пародия на переосмысление, не смешение несовместимых жанров, а пародия на такое смешение. Когда-то в старые добрые деньки шутка про табличку *сарказм" была смешной. Теперь это грусная реальность: наш стеб настолько тонок и эфемерен, что уловить его отсутствие/присутствие можно разве что третьим глазом или какой-нибудь Муладхарой. В романе Норфолка столько этих непонятных то-ли-пародий-то-ли-нет, что уже к первой трети просто забиваешь на потытки понять, а это серьезно или по приколу. У-С-Т-А-Л-О-С-Т-Ь. Лично мной и конкретно в этот отрезок времени практически вся возможно-пародийная часть воспринималась в лоб, а контексты не считывались. А вот смешно было как раз таки на классических ха-ха-моментах. Про священника и картофелину, например. Как тебе такое, Декамерон? Мне также было смешно наблюдать за похождениями Мармадьюка со своим театром и убежденностью Назима в "лжеламприемности" Ламприера. Ровно до тех пор, пока в голове не возникал вопрос: а вдруг тут не закладывалось никакого стеба, вдруг все по-серьезному? И настроение резко портилось.
П - перфоманс
Я очень хотела проникнуться романом Норфолка. Вначале я даже считала, что понимаю главного героя Джона Ламприера. Он не сумасшедший, а скорее чудик. Его мысли витают где-то далеко, в реалиях древнегреческих мифов, а почти все события реального мира лишь цепляют линию ассоциаций с предметом погружения. В каком-то смысле Древняя Греция для него более реальна, чем Лондон. "Привет, бро-витатель в облаках" - хотела сказать ему я. Жаль, что безумие Джона слили, бросили, свели к очередной манипуляции кукловодов. Аморфный главный герой = отрицательные рейтинги, простите.
Впрочем, я могу признать, что шоу Норфолку все-таки удалось. Сюжет вертелся с такой скоростью, что порой приходилось перечитывать те или иные кусочки. Перфомансы Поросячьего клуба разворачивались перед глазами красочными полотнами, хоть и спотыкались о недостаток знаний их мифологической подоплеки. Поворотные повороты, пусть и безобоснованные, но яркие, заставляли делать "ах!" впечатлительную меня (личность Фарины, линия Духа Рошели). Пусть, пусть это было шоу ради шоу, но именно оно заставило меня дочитать эту книгу. Лоуренс Норфолк явно знает и умеет писать, да и огромную подготовку к написанию "Словаря" видно даже такой скептически настроенной мне. Вот мой любимый момент, к сожалению, никак не относящийся к основному сюжету, но все-таки самый вкусный в романе:
Мастерство не пропьешь. Но заваленное мишурой событий, имен, сюжетных линий оно не заставляло кайфовать, а принуждало выискивать за него и цепляться, как за островки стабильности. П-Е-Р-Е-Н-А-С-Ы-Щ-Е-Н-Н-О-С-Т-Ь
П - приспособленчество
Постмодернизм возвел искусство в мейнстрим, а мейнстрим в искусство. Границы стерлись, оставив лишь хаос и полную свободу, что считать искусством. Мы все голосуем за шедевры современности своими кошельками, просмотрами, лайками. Что в какой-то мере лишает смысла само понятие искусства. "Словарь Ламприера" для меня ни рыба ни мясо. Произведение, старающееся угодить всем. Критикам подкинем реальную историческую подоплеку и заигрывание с эпосом. Человеку простому любовь и детектив, да присыпем все изощренными убийствами, оросим экзотическими сексуальными фантазиями. Чтобы критики восхищались близостью к развлекательной литературе, а обыватель радовался своей причастности к "интеллектуальной прозе". Ш-И-Р-П-О-Т-Р-Е-Б. Я не могла отделаться от ощущения, что сделано это именно так. Не по велению идеи, не в творческом порыве, а с прагматическим, коммерческим мотивом. И это убивало всю ценность романа.
Эта прекрасная фраза взята со страницы Норфолка на фантлабе. Какая ирония, какой стеб в формулировке, вот это я понимаю.
"Словарь Ламприера" для меня просто "толстый постмодернистский роман", и ничего более. Слишком толстый. Во всех смыслах этого слова.
Audio: монеточка - ушла к реалистам
П - постмодернизм.
Что такое постмодернизм, господа? Я вроде как загуглила, яндекснула и даже бингнула, чтобы почекать инфу, почитала всякие текстули, но единственное внятное
П - переосмысление
Давайте, расскажите мне, как интеллектуально и свежо выкатывать "переосмысления" исторических эпох и событий, личностей и персонажей. Я даже не буду с вами спорить. Свойственный современным течениям искусства иной взгляд на привычные вещи и устоявшиеся стереотипы - это очень круто. Я вот люблю этот прием за отражение двойственности, относительности любого, абсолютно любого объекта, субъекта или категории. Такой постмодернизм - это бро. А вот переосмысление от Норфолка - не бро. Автор предлагает нам иной взгляд на Ост-Индийскую компанию, разумеется ироничный. Но, господи, как тошнит уже от вашей иронии! Как осточертели эти бесконечные отсылочки! Да на каких серьезных щщах! Альтернативность строится на внедрении в историческую канву подвида рептилоидов под кодовым именем "Кабалла". Тайное общество, огромная власть в руках таинственных, могущественных кукловодов. Я не увидела абсолютно никакого смысла в таком предположении, никакой моральной дилеммы или, не знаю, изменения парадигмы. Предположение ради предположения, ради сюжета и интриги, ради приближения к рядовому читателю. Просто твист, почему бы и нет, но для меня он субъективно очень слабый, ведь на жидомассонов очень легко спихнуть все что угодно, при этом упуская из виду возможность возникновения, например, противоборствующего отряда жидомассонов, равных по силе влияния. Мотивы же предлагаемой могучей кучки тоже не блещут остротой ума, оригинальностью или хотя бы задором. О-Б-Ы-Д-Е-Н-О-С-Т-Ь. Мне кажется, что подобных сюжетов (да, возможно, хуже написанных) я найду совсем немало на полке с какими-нибудь второсортными историческими романо-триллерами. Их плюс в одном: они, в отличие от "Словаря", не выдают себя за что-то большее, чем на самом деле являются.
П - пародия
Пародия и сарказм - это фишка современности. Хочешь прослыть интеллектуалом - выстебай что-нибудь. Можешь запариться и сделать это тонко - вполне возможно, получишь заслуженное признание. А можешь забить болт и сделать самую гротескную и очевидную пародию на что угодно. И вот сюрприз, она вполне может получить еще большее признание за "очаровательную преувеличенность" или "настолько плохо, что хорошо". Таков этот дивный новый мир 21 века: не важно, какие смыслы ты вкладываешь, важно лишь то, что в этом увидит общество. В "Словаре Ламприера" некоторые умудряются разглядеть пародию буквально на все. И вот уже не переосмысление, а пародия на переосмысление, не смешение несовместимых жанров, а пародия на такое смешение. Когда-то в старые добрые деньки шутка про табличку *сарказм" была смешной. Теперь это грусная реальность: наш стеб настолько тонок и эфемерен, что уловить его отсутствие/присутствие можно разве что третьим глазом или какой-нибудь Муладхарой. В романе Норфолка столько этих непонятных то-ли-пародий-то-ли-нет, что уже к первой трети просто забиваешь на потытки понять, а это серьезно или по приколу. У-С-Т-А-Л-О-С-Т-Ь. Лично мной и конкретно в этот отрезок времени практически вся возможно-пародийная часть воспринималась в лоб, а контексты не считывались. А вот смешно было как раз таки на классических ха-ха-моментах. Про священника и картофелину, например. Как тебе такое, Декамерон? Мне также было смешно наблюдать за похождениями Мармадьюка со своим театром и убежденностью Назима в "лжеламприемности" Ламприера. Ровно до тех пор, пока в голове не возникал вопрос: а вдруг тут не закладывалось никакого стеба, вдруг все по-серьезному? И настроение резко портилось.
П - перфоманс
Я очень хотела проникнуться романом Норфолка. Вначале я даже считала, что понимаю главного героя Джона Ламприера. Он не сумасшедший, а скорее чудик. Его мысли витают где-то далеко, в реалиях древнегреческих мифов, а почти все события реального мира лишь цепляют линию ассоциаций с предметом погружения. В каком-то смысле Древняя Греция для него более реальна, чем Лондон. "Привет, бро-витатель в облаках" - хотела сказать ему я. Жаль, что безумие Джона слили, бросили, свели к очередной манипуляции кукловодов. Аморфный главный герой = отрицательные рейтинги, простите.
Впрочем, я могу признать, что шоу Норфолку все-таки удалось. Сюжет вертелся с такой скоростью, что порой приходилось перечитывать те или иные кусочки. Перфомансы Поросячьего клуба разворачивались перед глазами красочными полотнами, хоть и спотыкались о недостаток знаний их мифологической подоплеки. Поворотные повороты, пусть и безобоснованные, но яркие, заставляли делать "ах!" впечатлительную меня (личность Фарины, линия Духа Рошели). Пусть, пусть это было шоу ради шоу, но именно оно заставило меня дочитать эту книгу. Лоуренс Норфолк явно знает и умеет писать, да и огромную подготовку к написанию "Словаря" видно даже такой скептически настроенной мне. Вот мой любимый момент, к сожалению, никак не относящийся к основному сюжету, но все-таки самый вкусный в романе:
Когда гример, которого Марчези отпустил (никто, никто не должен видеть его таким!), постучится в дверь, он подпрыгнет на месте от неожиданности. Он всегда подпрыгивал. И в Неаполе, и в Мюнхене, и в Вене, и еще раньше, в Риме. И с каждым разом ему все хуже. Марчези уже почти не мог контролировать страх ожидания. В Лондоне все будет так же, как и везде: ряды бессмысленных лиц, неотрывно глядящих на него из темноты зрительного зала. Он будет одинок. Музыка затягивается петлей вокруг горла.
Рот его откроется, и звук, странный и прекрасный, поплывет со сцены в зал. Этот неземной голос снова окажется здесь, снова будет принадлежать ему. Но откуда он берется? Откуда он приходит? Когда-то давно Марчези наградили талантом, но это была ошибка, недосмотр судьбы. И теперь этот дар приходится возвращать. А потом, однажды, когда Марчези снова откроет рот, первые ноты застрянут у него в горле и с губ его сорвется ужасный хриплый визг. Тяжелая рука постучится в дверь, на пороге встанет черная фигура в плаще с капюшоном и потребует от Марчези то, в чем он не сможет отказать. Он в ужасе ждет этого момента и даже торопит его, не в силах вынести ожидания: иди же, иди скорей�
Тук-тук-тук�
Мастерство не пропьешь. Но заваленное мишурой событий, имен, сюжетных линий оно не заставляло кайфовать, а принуждало выискивать за него и цепляться, как за островки стабильности. П-Е-Р-Е-Н-А-С-Ы-Щ-Е-Н-Н-О-С-Т-Ь
П - приспособленчество
Постмодернизм возвел искусство в мейнстрим, а мейнстрим в искусство. Границы стерлись, оставив лишь хаос и полную свободу, что считать искусством. Мы все голосуем за шедевры современности своими кошельками, просмотрами, лайками. Что в какой-то мере лишает смысла само понятие искусства. "Словарь Ламприера" для меня ни рыба ни мясо. Произведение, старающееся угодить всем. Критикам подкинем реальную историческую подоплеку и заигрывание с эпосом. Человеку простому любовь и детектив, да присыпем все изощренными убийствами, оросим экзотическими сексуальными фантазиями. Чтобы критики восхищались близостью к развлекательной литературе, а обыватель радовался своей причастности к "интеллектуальной прозе". Ш-И-Р-П-О-Т-Р-Е-Б. Я не могла отделаться от ощущения, что сделано это именно так. Не по велению идеи, не в творческом порыве, а с прагматическим, коммерческим мотивом. И это убивало всю ценность романа.
Лоуренс Норфолк � автор трех толстых постмодернистских романов...
Эта прекрасная фраза взята со страницы Норфолка на фантлабе. Какая ирония, какой стеб в формулировке, вот это я понимаю.
"Словарь Ламприера" для меня просто "толстый постмодернистский роман", и ничего более. Слишком толстый. Во всех смыслах этого слова.
Audio: монеточка - ушла к реалистам
January 17, 2008
I'm really trying but finding this a bit of a slog. I'm not sure if it's a matter of mood/"still getting over flu so brain not functioning" thing, or if it's just not my cup of tea.
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Update: I gave up. And I feel all the better for it.
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Update: I gave up. And I feel all the better for it.
September 1, 2024
Finally, a DNF!!
Life is too short for bad books. Old habits, however, die hard. I tend to be a starter-finisher in my reading, which means I have ploughed through some decidedly average (and worse) books, willing them to end.
Reaching for a trusty food metaphor, 'Lempriere' s Journey' is like an upturned dessert trolly. There are blancmange, éclairs, trifles, truffles and toffee-banoffee treats tipped all over the floor and trodden in to make a luridly coloured mess of fine but indigestible ingredients. There might be some cherries in the mix, but any goodness is just too much work to pick out, and ultimately it's too all over the place to salvage.
If this had been 400 pages I may have finished it. I got to page 306, before deciding that there is another book I would far rather be reading: the last of Barry Unsworth's. A comparison between the two reveals two authors of historical fiction with diametrically opposed approaches. Whereas Unsworth strives for an economy of words to richly compress his meticulously-researched works, Norfolk emulates Lawrence Sterne in turgid verbosity that reads more like a fever dream than anything linked to this world.
I persevered with 'Tristram Shandy' and was found it a slog, but was rewarded with a book of odd originality that was at least memorable. That was strawberries with vinagar. Norfolk's sour sweet slurry is overlarded, disjointed, confusing, and mired in one of my least favourite genres: conspiracy theory fiction. I made it as far as Paris when the fore-echoes of the 'Da Vinci Code' convinced me it was time to give up.
Might the second half have redeemed it? There were certainly moments at the dockside, in Jersey, and in London where I maintained an interest, but Norfolk's playful disregard for narrative continuity kept kicking over the traces. Ultimately, for any book to keep me from finishing, it has to be pretty bad. The silver lining is that now the seal is broken, perhaps I can more often move on from books that just aren't doing it for me.
Life is too short for bad books. Old habits, however, die hard. I tend to be a starter-finisher in my reading, which means I have ploughed through some decidedly average (and worse) books, willing them to end.
Reaching for a trusty food metaphor, 'Lempriere' s Journey' is like an upturned dessert trolly. There are blancmange, éclairs, trifles, truffles and toffee-banoffee treats tipped all over the floor and trodden in to make a luridly coloured mess of fine but indigestible ingredients. There might be some cherries in the mix, but any goodness is just too much work to pick out, and ultimately it's too all over the place to salvage.
If this had been 400 pages I may have finished it. I got to page 306, before deciding that there is another book I would far rather be reading: the last of Barry Unsworth's. A comparison between the two reveals two authors of historical fiction with diametrically opposed approaches. Whereas Unsworth strives for an economy of words to richly compress his meticulously-researched works, Norfolk emulates Lawrence Sterne in turgid verbosity that reads more like a fever dream than anything linked to this world.
I persevered with 'Tristram Shandy' and was found it a slog, but was rewarded with a book of odd originality that was at least memorable. That was strawberries with vinagar. Norfolk's sour sweet slurry is overlarded, disjointed, confusing, and mired in one of my least favourite genres: conspiracy theory fiction. I made it as far as Paris when the fore-echoes of the 'Da Vinci Code' convinced me it was time to give up.
Might the second half have redeemed it? There were certainly moments at the dockside, in Jersey, and in London where I maintained an interest, but Norfolk's playful disregard for narrative continuity kept kicking over the traces. Ultimately, for any book to keep me from finishing, it has to be pretty bad. The silver lining is that now the seal is broken, perhaps I can more often move on from books that just aren't doing it for me.
July 4, 2018
Lemprière’s Dictionary is a salmagundi mixing historical fiction, wandering internal dialogue, literary curiosity, conspiracy novel, steampunk, and fantasy. It tells the story of John Lemprière, the naïve and bookish son of a Jersey businessman, who finds himself drawn into a murky conspiracy relating to profit-taking in the East India Company. As he bumbles about late 1700s Jersey and London, he meets several curious characters, absorbs himself in composing a dictionary and fantasizing about a mysterious woman, and witnesses inexplicable recreations of the classical mythology he knows so well.
The style of the novel is its most remarkable feature. It’s composed largely of shifting internal monologues. We follow the story in one character’s head for several pages, then, without warning, are suddenly in the head of another character sitting across the table from the first. Because of the main character’s predilections, the text wields a sometimes arcane lexicon and is laden with references to famous and obscure Greek and Roman myths. Sometimes this works beautifully, and the sentences soar and coil.
The book is built around six set-pieces, each of which is more bizarre and grotesque than the last. And each is wild, engaging fun to read � intense and hallucinatory.
The book has several weaknesses, however. Between the set-pieces, the characters mill about aimlessly and the novel feels bloated with roaring language and references to historical affairs minimally related to the central events. The conspiracy at the heart of the book is somewhat cartoonish, and doesn’t hang together to explain the set-pieces sufficiently. The abundance of ambiguous referents make many paragraphs confusing to read, even when carefully parsed. And the two fantastical elements of the plot protrude at odd angles from an otherwise solidly formed work of historical fiction.
The style of the novel is its most remarkable feature. It’s composed largely of shifting internal monologues. We follow the story in one character’s head for several pages, then, without warning, are suddenly in the head of another character sitting across the table from the first. Because of the main character’s predilections, the text wields a sometimes arcane lexicon and is laden with references to famous and obscure Greek and Roman myths. Sometimes this works beautifully, and the sentences soar and coil.
The book is built around six set-pieces, each of which is more bizarre and grotesque than the last. And each is wild, engaging fun to read � intense and hallucinatory.
The book has several weaknesses, however. Between the set-pieces, the characters mill about aimlessly and the novel feels bloated with roaring language and references to historical affairs minimally related to the central events. The conspiracy at the heart of the book is somewhat cartoonish, and doesn’t hang together to explain the set-pieces sufficiently. The abundance of ambiguous referents make many paragraphs confusing to read, even when carefully parsed. And the two fantastical elements of the plot protrude at odd angles from an otherwise solidly formed work of historical fiction.
July 30, 2021
Vânturile suflau deasupra insulei Jersey, înseninând cerul de unde stelele îşi scânteiau lumina peste pământ. Plaja domoală străjuită de faleză se contopea cu apa întunecată. Luna dispăruse de pe firmament de câteva ceasuri. În unele seri strălucise îndeajuns să poţi citi la lumina ei, dar nu şi în noaptea aceasta.
Opaiţul de pe masa la care stătea lumina palid, gălbui. În faţa lui se afla deschisă o carte pe care o cerceta îndeaproape, mult aplecat deasupra literelor. În timp ce citea, capul urmărea şirurile mişcându-se încet de la stânga la dreapta şi înapoi, coborând în josul paginii. De afară, murmurul valurilor care măturau plaja şi se izbeau de stâncile din golful Bouley de abia îi ajungea la ureche.
După un răstimp, mogâldeaţa gheboşată îşi înălţă capul de pe pagina unde ostenea şi se frecă la ochi cu încheieturile degetelor. Trupul deşirat şi uscăţiv se încovoiase, cu picioarele răsucite pe după picioarele scaunului şi cu coatele căutându-şi un loc printre hârtiile risipite pe masă. Se chinui să-şi schimbe locul. Când luă mâinile de la ochi, încăperea se topi. Peticul stacojiu pe care abia îl întrezărea trebuia să fie patul, iar pata mai luminoasă din spatele acestuia, uşa. Izbuti să atingă podeaua cu picioarele şi îşi dădu seama încotro era fereastra după adierile şi uşoarele pale de vânt care îi suflau rece peste faţă. De aici încolo, totul dispărea între maree de umbre; nimic altceva decât „aerul lipsit de lumină�; îşi amintea formularea: Lucreţiu, atât de lipsit de fantezie şi arid. Pe măsură ce lucrurile din jurul lui se mişcau şi dispăreau, topindu-se unul într-altul, John Lemprière simţi o uşoară greaţă în stomac; se deprinsese cu ea, dar acum era şi mai neplăcută. Se aplecă asupra foilor încordându-şi din nou privirea.
Opaiţul de pe masa la care stătea lumina palid, gălbui. În faţa lui se afla deschisă o carte pe care o cerceta îndeaproape, mult aplecat deasupra literelor. În timp ce citea, capul urmărea şirurile mişcându-se încet de la stânga la dreapta şi înapoi, coborând în josul paginii. De afară, murmurul valurilor care măturau plaja şi se izbeau de stâncile din golful Bouley de abia îi ajungea la ureche.
După un răstimp, mogâldeaţa gheboşată îşi înălţă capul de pe pagina unde ostenea şi se frecă la ochi cu încheieturile degetelor. Trupul deşirat şi uscăţiv se încovoiase, cu picioarele răsucite pe după picioarele scaunului şi cu coatele căutându-şi un loc printre hârtiile risipite pe masă. Se chinui să-şi schimbe locul. Când luă mâinile de la ochi, încăperea se topi. Peticul stacojiu pe care abia îl întrezărea trebuia să fie patul, iar pata mai luminoasă din spatele acestuia, uşa. Izbuti să atingă podeaua cu picioarele şi îşi dădu seama încotro era fereastra după adierile şi uşoarele pale de vânt care îi suflau rece peste faţă. De aici încolo, totul dispărea între maree de umbre; nimic altceva decât „aerul lipsit de lumină�; îşi amintea formularea: Lucreţiu, atât de lipsit de fantezie şi arid. Pe măsură ce lucrurile din jurul lui se mişcau şi dispăreau, topindu-se unul într-altul, John Lemprière simţi o uşoară greaţă în stomac; se deprinsese cu ea, dar acum era şi mai neplăcută. Se aplecă asupra foilor încordându-şi din nou privirea.
September 2, 2021
Si bien es un libro que a todo aquel que le guste la buena prosa va a disfrutar, me parece que al final resulta bastante pretencioso.
El diccionario de Lemprière es un libro que se vende con un misterio, mitología y crímenes asociados a la misma. Al leer que se iban a producir casos inspirados en mitos greco-latinos, mi lado friki de la mitología decidió ceder y aventurarme a la lectura de este pedazo tocho histórico de casi 700 hojas. Y la verdad es que en ocasiones se puede hacer algo cuesta arriba su lectura, dado lo complicado de las tramas que se van sumando, los personajes con nombres muy parecidos, los saltos en las perspectivas de los personajes, pero aún así, me estaba gustando.
Sin duda , no le puedo poner menor nota porque ha sido un libro que he disfrutado, aún con lo complejo del mismo. El personaje de John Lemprière ha sido todo un descubrimiento, brillando para mi en toda novela. Todo lo bueno y lo que vive ese muchacho quedan más que compensados con el gran final.
Pero, algo que no me ha gustado ha sido justamente eso: sus altas pretensiones. Ya solo con la trama mitológica hubiera logrado ganarse al lector, pero según se van sumando tramas, me parece que se va desdibujando más y más la historia, hasta el punto de que alguna de ellas me han parecido bastante irreales, teniendo en cuenta que se ambienta en 1788-1789.
En definitiva, no es lo que esperaba. Me imaginaba un libro lleno de crímenes mitológicos y un misterio de trasfondo, y me he encontrado con eso, una prosa increíble, una gran cantidad de personajes y trama histórica muy bien llevada pero... que se pierde así misma hacia el final de la novela.
Me gustaría seguir leyendo cosas del autor, porque su estilo me ha gustado, pero ahora necesito descansar la mente del mismo.
El diccionario de Lemprière es un libro que se vende con un misterio, mitología y crímenes asociados a la misma. Al leer que se iban a producir casos inspirados en mitos greco-latinos, mi lado friki de la mitología decidió ceder y aventurarme a la lectura de este pedazo tocho histórico de casi 700 hojas. Y la verdad es que en ocasiones se puede hacer algo cuesta arriba su lectura, dado lo complicado de las tramas que se van sumando, los personajes con nombres muy parecidos, los saltos en las perspectivas de los personajes, pero aún así, me estaba gustando.
Sin duda , no le puedo poner menor nota porque ha sido un libro que he disfrutado, aún con lo complejo del mismo. El personaje de John Lemprière ha sido todo un descubrimiento, brillando para mi en toda novela. Todo lo bueno y lo que vive ese muchacho quedan más que compensados con el gran final.
Pero, algo que no me ha gustado ha sido justamente eso: sus altas pretensiones. Ya solo con la trama mitológica hubiera logrado ganarse al lector, pero según se van sumando tramas, me parece que se va desdibujando más y más la historia, hasta el punto de que alguna de ellas me han parecido bastante irreales, teniendo en cuenta que se ambienta en 1788-1789.
En definitiva, no es lo que esperaba. Me imaginaba un libro lleno de crímenes mitológicos y un misterio de trasfondo, y me he encontrado con eso, una prosa increíble, una gran cantidad de personajes y trama histórica muy bien llevada pero... que se pierde así misma hacia el final de la novela.
Me gustaría seguir leyendo cosas del autor, porque su estilo me ha gustado, pero ahora necesito descansar la mente del mismo.
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