Potter conquers world and more in the final dose of Rowling's magical formula
It would seem criminal to let the Potter era entirely pass without mention in WhatPeterborough’s books section. Potter-mania is now inescapable after ten years of hype over Rowling’s wizarding world, this summer seeing the culmination of the carefully constructed super-plot that has spanned seven books and over 4000 pages, earning Rowling an estimated half a billion pound fortune. The final instalment is mammoth in size (are children of primary school age really expected to manage a book of such epic proportions?) and dark in character, but this should come as no surprise: the Potter series, by Rowling’s own admission, is preoccupied with death, beginning with the death of Harry’s parents, and ultimately revolving around the battle to destroy the evil Voldemort.
'The Deathly Hallows' follows Harry and friends in their final struggle against Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters, who have taken over the muggle and wizarding worlds in their quest for pureblood supremacy. Mudbloods a-plenty find themselves shipped off to concentration camps, families are ripped apart, and resistance can only be in secret until Harry can unravel the complicated mission left to him by Dumbledore and, of course, save the world. Both worlds.
Unsurprisingly considering her astronomical success, Rowling’s ability as a writer has been increasingly questioned in the decade since Potter first arrived on our bookshelves. Anthony Holden of the Observer asserted of The Prisoner of Azkaban: ‘essentially patronising, very conservative, highly derivative, dispiritingly nostalgic for a bygone Britain’. He has a point. However no critic can deny Rowling the credit she deserves for persuading millions of children to put down their Playstations and read a bible-sized series of books in this most fickle digital age. Despite the bland adverbs and repetitive cliches that saturate these novels, the generation that has grown up with Potter are unlikely to feel that same literary fervour for anything new for a long time to come.
Thursday, 20 September 2007
Saturday, 8 September 2007
Book Review - For Tibet, With Love by Isabel Losada
Life-changing comedy that starts in the home
If you’re looking for inspiration during these rather depressingly wet summer months, look no further. The perfect antidote to the bad weather, 'A Beginner’s Guide…' is a cheering piece of non-fiction, exploring the possibility that each of us, as individuals, have the ability to make positive changes on a global scale.
Losada becomes obsessed with the injustice of the Chinese invasion of Tibet since 1950 and this is the focus of her philanthropic crusade. The book documents her discovery of the problem through to sponsored skydives and the unfurling of a huge pro-Tibet photo of the Dalai Lama on Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar square, which raised the profile of her campaign on an international scale and resulted in Losada meeting the Dalai Lama.
Losada’s conversational and down-to-earth style makes the political issue at hand second to her argent passion for making a difference, which makes this an incredibly positive read without ever straying from the seriousness of the Tibetan’s plight for independence. You’ll find yourself transported to Tibet and back through colourful descriptions of people and places as she reaches out to the reader as a conspirator and friend.
Extreme sensitivity when conveying the experiences of innocent Tibetan torture victims at the hands of their Chinese captors makes it difficult not to feel personally affected by the problems of that forgotten territory. Ultimately where Losada succeeds is in making each of us feel just a little bit responsible for, and indeed very capable of, making a difference.
And what better way to pass a rainy afternoon than with a good-humoured book that could result in you changing the world?
If you’re looking for inspiration during these rather depressingly wet summer months, look no further. The perfect antidote to the bad weather, 'A Beginner’s Guide…' is a cheering piece of non-fiction, exploring the possibility that each of us, as individuals, have the ability to make positive changes on a global scale.
Losada becomes obsessed with the injustice of the Chinese invasion of Tibet since 1950 and this is the focus of her philanthropic crusade. The book documents her discovery of the problem through to sponsored skydives and the unfurling of a huge pro-Tibet photo of the Dalai Lama on Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar square, which raised the profile of her campaign on an international scale and resulted in Losada meeting the Dalai Lama.
Losada’s conversational and down-to-earth style makes the political issue at hand second to her argent passion for making a difference, which makes this an incredibly positive read without ever straying from the seriousness of the Tibetan’s plight for independence. You’ll find yourself transported to Tibet and back through colourful descriptions of people and places as she reaches out to the reader as a conspirator and friend.
Extreme sensitivity when conveying the experiences of innocent Tibetan torture victims at the hands of their Chinese captors makes it difficult not to feel personally affected by the problems of that forgotten territory. Ultimately where Losada succeeds is in making each of us feel just a little bit responsible for, and indeed very capable of, making a difference.
And what better way to pass a rainy afternoon than with a good-humoured book that could result in you changing the world?
Wednesday, 8 August 2007
Restaurant Review - Avellinos, Peterborough
Local restaurant brings you mouth-watering italian cuisine just like mama intended
Just a hair’s breadth from the very centre of town, this gem of a local restaurant has developed an outstanding reputation in the few years since its establishment. Avellinos began near Spalding in 2001 but relocated here, to Peterborough, in 2004 when chefs and owners Mick and Pep Guarnaccia decided to bring their unique Italian family recipes to the city. And we’re lucky that they did: Avellinos offers all the pleasures of decadent and stylish dining but with the added bonus of home grown Italian recipes, without the conveyor-belt pushiness or exclusive generic pizza/pasta combo of your average Italian restaurant.
Mick and his brother learned to cook from childhood, with Italian parents that gave them their taste and talent for good food early on. They used this knowledge and years of experience in the pizza industry to create a menu of impeccable variety that will suit all tastes. Starters range from Antipasti, a delectable platter of fine Italian meats and cheeses, to the beautifully presented and impossibly delicious Funghi Ripieni, a trio of flat mushrooms filled with melted goats cheese and parmesan. If you don’t manage it for starters, don’t miss the Polpette for the main course, large mouth-watering meatballs made to mama Guarnaccia’s own recipe.
You’ll find all the Italian favourites at Avellinos, from bolognese and carbonara to a whole range of traditional and more inventive pizzas, wood fired for that exquisite smoky aroma. But beyond this you’ll also find a choice selection of meat and fish dishes that the Guarnaccia brothers are particularly proud of. There’s succulent steak with chips and salad and delicate tender chicken strips in a creamy white wine sauce, not to mention a mouth-watering array of fish dishes. I couldn’t resist Involtini di Prosciutto con Gambretti, the tiger prawns wrapped in parma ham served with Neapolitan sauce. The prawns were presented on a bed of delicious risotto that perfectly complimented the tomato accompaniment. The food looks incredibly professional and yet manages to retain that home-made aroma that makes Avellinos quite so special.
Locally sourced food and a comprehensive wine list, not to mention a homely and yet endlessly stylish interior, make this the perfect place for both special occasions with all your friends and quiet dinners with a loved one. Now serving a lunch-time menu for just £4.95, Avellinos is open to offer their unique blend of Italian cuisine for midday business and pleasure, too. With food this good, you might want to book in advance!
Just a hair’s breadth from the very centre of town, this gem of a local restaurant has developed an outstanding reputation in the few years since its establishment. Avellinos began near Spalding in 2001 but relocated here, to Peterborough, in 2004 when chefs and owners Mick and Pep Guarnaccia decided to bring their unique Italian family recipes to the city. And we’re lucky that they did: Avellinos offers all the pleasures of decadent and stylish dining but with the added bonus of home grown Italian recipes, without the conveyor-belt pushiness or exclusive generic pizza/pasta combo of your average Italian restaurant.
Mick and his brother learned to cook from childhood, with Italian parents that gave them their taste and talent for good food early on. They used this knowledge and years of experience in the pizza industry to create a menu of impeccable variety that will suit all tastes. Starters range from Antipasti, a delectable platter of fine Italian meats and cheeses, to the beautifully presented and impossibly delicious Funghi Ripieni, a trio of flat mushrooms filled with melted goats cheese and parmesan. If you don’t manage it for starters, don’t miss the Polpette for the main course, large mouth-watering meatballs made to mama Guarnaccia’s own recipe.
You’ll find all the Italian favourites at Avellinos, from bolognese and carbonara to a whole range of traditional and more inventive pizzas, wood fired for that exquisite smoky aroma. But beyond this you’ll also find a choice selection of meat and fish dishes that the Guarnaccia brothers are particularly proud of. There’s succulent steak with chips and salad and delicate tender chicken strips in a creamy white wine sauce, not to mention a mouth-watering array of fish dishes. I couldn’t resist Involtini di Prosciutto con Gambretti, the tiger prawns wrapped in parma ham served with Neapolitan sauce. The prawns were presented on a bed of delicious risotto that perfectly complimented the tomato accompaniment. The food looks incredibly professional and yet manages to retain that home-made aroma that makes Avellinos quite so special.
Locally sourced food and a comprehensive wine list, not to mention a homely and yet endlessly stylish interior, make this the perfect place for both special occasions with all your friends and quiet dinners with a loved one. Now serving a lunch-time menu for just £4.95, Avellinos is open to offer their unique blend of Italian cuisine for midday business and pleasure, too. With food this good, you might want to book in advance!
Book Review - The Third Brother by Nick McDonell
Boy-genius fails to live up to hype with second novel
Nick McDonell is only twenty-three. It is perhaps because he is so young that his first novel, 'Twelve', received such acclaim after it was published in 2002, when McDonell was only seventeen. In fact 'Twelve' became something of a cult bestseller, seeming to embody life amongst the over-privileged, drugs-ridden classes: a life we might presume the author to be familiar with, himself coming from an affluent background and studying at Harvard. 'Twelve' was a punchy, disparate novel, split into snappy vignettes that gave it vitality, readability and universal appeal, with a subject matter that encompassed and epitomised the indulgent, well-educated youth culture of a generation.
McDonell may have hoped to capitalise on that early success by reproducing his youthful stylistic snappiness in this, his second novel published in 2005, titled 'The Third Brother'. In it Mike, our white Harvard protagonist, finds himself in Hong Kong working as an intern for a successful magazine belonging to a friend of his father called Analect. He is then sent to Bangkok under the guise of writing a drug-related story about backpacking culture, but with the unwritten mission of finding Christopher Dorr, a man who, alongside Analect and Mike’s own father, formed somewhat of a Harvard triumvirate in his own youth. This trio was blown apart by adultery and lies, from which the friends never recovered, and it is this same conspiratorial tragedy that seems to hang like an indistinct shadow over the prevailing gloom of Mike’s unfolding destiny.
The plot skips like a scratched record between past and present in chapters sometimes no longer than a few paragraphs, giving a fragmented picture of Mike’s development through childhood and his present existence in Bangkok. However, much in the same way that a scratched record fails to impress with formulated, uninterrupted ideas, the detached elements of the book never really seem to pull together to give a clear sense of direction or completion, leaving plot elements hanging, almost unfinished.
This is incredibly frustrating considering that McDonell shows himself to be capable of evocative, if underdeveloped, genius on several occasions in 'The Third Brother', not least in his beautifully filmic description of 9/11 and the unfolding events of that fateful day in New York. This is a strange, self-conscious novel, that fails to convince. But read 'Twelve', and don’t disregard the author on the weaknesses of the eternally difficult second novel - instead look forward to the iconic work that McDonell is undoubtedly yet to produce.
Nick McDonell is only twenty-three. It is perhaps because he is so young that his first novel, 'Twelve', received such acclaim after it was published in 2002, when McDonell was only seventeen. In fact 'Twelve' became something of a cult bestseller, seeming to embody life amongst the over-privileged, drugs-ridden classes: a life we might presume the author to be familiar with, himself coming from an affluent background and studying at Harvard. 'Twelve' was a punchy, disparate novel, split into snappy vignettes that gave it vitality, readability and universal appeal, with a subject matter that encompassed and epitomised the indulgent, well-educated youth culture of a generation.
McDonell may have hoped to capitalise on that early success by reproducing his youthful stylistic snappiness in this, his second novel published in 2005, titled 'The Third Brother'. In it Mike, our white Harvard protagonist, finds himself in Hong Kong working as an intern for a successful magazine belonging to a friend of his father called Analect. He is then sent to Bangkok under the guise of writing a drug-related story about backpacking culture, but with the unwritten mission of finding Christopher Dorr, a man who, alongside Analect and Mike’s own father, formed somewhat of a Harvard triumvirate in his own youth. This trio was blown apart by adultery and lies, from which the friends never recovered, and it is this same conspiratorial tragedy that seems to hang like an indistinct shadow over the prevailing gloom of Mike’s unfolding destiny.
The plot skips like a scratched record between past and present in chapters sometimes no longer than a few paragraphs, giving a fragmented picture of Mike’s development through childhood and his present existence in Bangkok. However, much in the same way that a scratched record fails to impress with formulated, uninterrupted ideas, the detached elements of the book never really seem to pull together to give a clear sense of direction or completion, leaving plot elements hanging, almost unfinished.
This is incredibly frustrating considering that McDonell shows himself to be capable of evocative, if underdeveloped, genius on several occasions in 'The Third Brother', not least in his beautifully filmic description of 9/11 and the unfolding events of that fateful day in New York. This is a strange, self-conscious novel, that fails to convince. But read 'Twelve', and don’t disregard the author on the weaknesses of the eternally difficult second novel - instead look forward to the iconic work that McDonell is undoubtedly yet to produce.
Sunday, 8 July 2007
Book Review - High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Laugh-out-loud midlife crisis hilarity for boys and girls alike
First published in 1996, 'High Fidelity' is now a million-copy bestseller, a Hollywood film starring John Cusack, and perhaps lesser known as one of those frank, honest novels that will occupy a place amongst the much-loved-easy-reads of the 90s, perhaps forever. It follows the story of pop-musically obsessed Rob Fleming, the owner of a record store in his thirties, who has just broken up with his long term girlfriend Laura and is in the midst of a sort of mid-life reassessment of his attitude towards women, and his inability to ‘settle-down’.
Unsurprisingly for a man who measures everything in his life by writing ‘top-five lists’, this reassessment takes the form of his ‘Top Five Most Memorable Break-ups’, on which Laura does not appear (a mark, perhaps, of Rob’s inability to come to terms with another failed relationship). By describing these break-ups one by one, Rob tells us of his past misery with women, whilst reminding us of his present struggle through colourful and heart-wrenchingly familiar descriptive renditions of his life at the record store and his interactions with his two desperately sad best friends and employees, Dick and Barry.
In the hands of lesser writers, such a plot could easily have dissolved into unreadable psycho-babbling trash about the condition of the nineties’ ‘new-man’, and yet Hornby has managed to avoid this fate entirely. What emerges from the ashes of Rob Fleming’s past relationships is a witty, insightful comment on a man stuck in a post-adolescent obsession with his favourite records, entirely confused as to the nature of the opposite sex.
Hornby’s ability to create archetypes dominates: you will undoubtedly know someone just like Rob Fleming. Sometimes laugh-out-loud funny, at other times touching, and always starkly insightful, Hornby’s first novel cannot fail to entertain even the most reluctant of readers.
First published in 1996, 'High Fidelity' is now a million-copy bestseller, a Hollywood film starring John Cusack, and perhaps lesser known as one of those frank, honest novels that will occupy a place amongst the much-loved-easy-reads of the 90s, perhaps forever. It follows the story of pop-musically obsessed Rob Fleming, the owner of a record store in his thirties, who has just broken up with his long term girlfriend Laura and is in the midst of a sort of mid-life reassessment of his attitude towards women, and his inability to ‘settle-down’.
Unsurprisingly for a man who measures everything in his life by writing ‘top-five lists’, this reassessment takes the form of his ‘Top Five Most Memorable Break-ups’, on which Laura does not appear (a mark, perhaps, of Rob’s inability to come to terms with another failed relationship). By describing these break-ups one by one, Rob tells us of his past misery with women, whilst reminding us of his present struggle through colourful and heart-wrenchingly familiar descriptive renditions of his life at the record store and his interactions with his two desperately sad best friends and employees, Dick and Barry.
In the hands of lesser writers, such a plot could easily have dissolved into unreadable psycho-babbling trash about the condition of the nineties’ ‘new-man’, and yet Hornby has managed to avoid this fate entirely. What emerges from the ashes of Rob Fleming’s past relationships is a witty, insightful comment on a man stuck in a post-adolescent obsession with his favourite records, entirely confused as to the nature of the opposite sex.
Hornby’s ability to create archetypes dominates: you will undoubtedly know someone just like Rob Fleming. Sometimes laugh-out-loud funny, at other times touching, and always starkly insightful, Hornby’s first novel cannot fail to entertain even the most reluctant of readers.
Book Review - The Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall
High-quality conceptual thriller to hit the box-office bigtime
I can already see the celluloid blockbuster that will come of this novel reflected on the specs of so many moviegoers, as they sit anesthetised by the dark warm cultural voids of their local commercial cinema. Hall has woven a plot so bogged down by his precious concepts that it begs the sticky-sweet simplification of a Hollywood director with a garish fake tan and a silver-grey beard: just the kind of pop-culturally tuned-in kind-of-guy, in fact, who would jump at the chance to change the protagonist from Eric to ‘Erica’ and cast Nicole Kidman with all her middle-aged pouting appeal in the main role. And this is no whimsical metaphor, in fact, the actress herself is rumoured to have personally contacted Hall to suggest such a move upon finishing reading his book. While Hall purports to be ‘firefighting my own excitement’ in the growing furore surrounding his debut release, literature lovers might find 'The Raw Shark Texts' a little too written-for-screen, as though the author saw his novel as just another rung on the pop culture ladder to a moneymaking nirvana where film is king.
Despite this, 'The Raw Shark Texts' is a remarkable achievement. It manages to be at once wide-eyed Alice-in-wonderland simple and sci-fi Matrix complicated, intertwining layers of inventive storytelling with poignant realism that make it both incredibly marketable (as Hall’s publishing house are doubtless aware) and also an excellent read. The story centres around Eric Sanderson, who finds himself gasping for air on the floor of his bedroom one morning, with no recollection of who he is. He finds a note from ‘The First Eric Sanderson’ instructing him to contact his psychotherapist, Dr Randle, from whom he learns that he is suffering from recurrent amnesia known as ‘dissociative fugue’ after the trauma of losing his girlfriend, Clio, in a tragic scuba diving accident in Greece. However Eric is soon confronted with another reason for his memory loss as a incessant series of letters from the First Eric Sanderson persuades him that he is, in fact, the victim of a conceptual shark called the ‘Ludovician’, which feeds off memory. The Ludovician has detected Eric’s scent through his communication flow and will follow him, consuming his entire identity, if Eric is not prepared to fight it.
And so we are plunged into the depths of a watery conceptual world where Eric and his sickeningly kookily-named cat, Ian, will join the beautiful Scout on the run from the shark, as they attempt its destruction by pitting it against a multiplying communication machine by the name of Mycroft Ward (Microsoft Word, perhaps?). Hall pushes his conceptual world to the absolute limit, using startlingly original hieroglyphical devices and an imagination surprisingly childlike in its readiness to succumb to Walt Disney magic to fill out a story that, in its essence, is about the horrors of losing the person you love most. 'The Raw Shark Texts' is, like the central character, sometimes inches from losing the plot. But the clattering thud with which the novel returns to reality at the end makes this arrogant surrealism forgivable in a way that will bring tears to your eyes. If you love big, confident books, this is a must-read. Or if, like the author, you are plagued with cinematic preoccupations, you could always choose to wait for the inevitable film.
I can already see the celluloid blockbuster that will come of this novel reflected on the specs of so many moviegoers, as they sit anesthetised by the dark warm cultural voids of their local commercial cinema. Hall has woven a plot so bogged down by his precious concepts that it begs the sticky-sweet simplification of a Hollywood director with a garish fake tan and a silver-grey beard: just the kind of pop-culturally tuned-in kind-of-guy, in fact, who would jump at the chance to change the protagonist from Eric to ‘Erica’ and cast Nicole Kidman with all her middle-aged pouting appeal in the main role. And this is no whimsical metaphor, in fact, the actress herself is rumoured to have personally contacted Hall to suggest such a move upon finishing reading his book. While Hall purports to be ‘firefighting my own excitement’ in the growing furore surrounding his debut release, literature lovers might find 'The Raw Shark Texts' a little too written-for-screen, as though the author saw his novel as just another rung on the pop culture ladder to a moneymaking nirvana where film is king.
Despite this, 'The Raw Shark Texts' is a remarkable achievement. It manages to be at once wide-eyed Alice-in-wonderland simple and sci-fi Matrix complicated, intertwining layers of inventive storytelling with poignant realism that make it both incredibly marketable (as Hall’s publishing house are doubtless aware) and also an excellent read. The story centres around Eric Sanderson, who finds himself gasping for air on the floor of his bedroom one morning, with no recollection of who he is. He finds a note from ‘The First Eric Sanderson’ instructing him to contact his psychotherapist, Dr Randle, from whom he learns that he is suffering from recurrent amnesia known as ‘dissociative fugue’ after the trauma of losing his girlfriend, Clio, in a tragic scuba diving accident in Greece. However Eric is soon confronted with another reason for his memory loss as a incessant series of letters from the First Eric Sanderson persuades him that he is, in fact, the victim of a conceptual shark called the ‘Ludovician’, which feeds off memory. The Ludovician has detected Eric’s scent through his communication flow and will follow him, consuming his entire identity, if Eric is not prepared to fight it.
And so we are plunged into the depths of a watery conceptual world where Eric and his sickeningly kookily-named cat, Ian, will join the beautiful Scout on the run from the shark, as they attempt its destruction by pitting it against a multiplying communication machine by the name of Mycroft Ward (Microsoft Word, perhaps?). Hall pushes his conceptual world to the absolute limit, using startlingly original hieroglyphical devices and an imagination surprisingly childlike in its readiness to succumb to Walt Disney magic to fill out a story that, in its essence, is about the horrors of losing the person you love most. 'The Raw Shark Texts' is, like the central character, sometimes inches from losing the plot. But the clattering thud with which the novel returns to reality at the end makes this arrogant surrealism forgivable in a way that will bring tears to your eyes. If you love big, confident books, this is a must-read. Or if, like the author, you are plagued with cinematic preoccupations, you could always choose to wait for the inevitable film.
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
Book Review - The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
Friendly philosophy fall-out from Eastern European revolution
Not so much a novel as the Kundera’s seamlessly spliced together philosophical musings, The Unbearable Lightness of Being makes affected people gush that this book can change your life. It can’t. But it will make you think, and think hard. If you liked last month’s Alain de Botton then read this next: Kundera is one of de Botton’s forebears in style and substance, a man influenced by the likes of Rousseau and Nietzsche, and imbued with the electric realities of the revolutionary times in which he wrote. The Unbearable Lightness is both passionate and reserved, alive and yet removed. Published in 1984 in the aftermath of the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia where Kundera was born (though the book is more French than Czech in style), it is a diametric work that contrasts bright and dark, lightness and heaviness, the head and the heart. It will leave you floating somewhere between these poles, all the richer for having read it.
The plot is functional for this philosophical purpose and Kundera’s characters never fully develop enough psychological depth to give them personal warmth, but despite this one of the most common responses to The Unbearable Lightness is that readers identify with the four main protagonists. Tomas is perhaps the most outstanding of the quartet. A successful Czech surgeon and rampant womaniser, Tomas falls foul of the communist regime through his misunderstood political articles, and is reduced to washing windows. He boasts hundreds of mistresses, but clinically separates these sexual misadventures from his honest love of his wife, the downtrodden Tereza. Tereza only fully comprehends the extent of Tomas’s adultery when she identifies the strange odour emanating from his hair as the smell of other women’s genitalia. The plot attaches itself to one mistress, Sabina, and follows her to Paris, and through her relationship with another married man, Franz. These, then, are the most substantial storylines of Kundera’s work.
But the characters are merely marionettes to play out sequences that Kundera can apply his ideas to, each carefully prepared with philosophical paintwork that is more significant than the puppet itself. The significance of this modern classic, then, rests on Kundera’s understanding of the human condition as fragile and ephemeral; a lightness of being that weighs each of us down with the passing profanity of our existence. If this seems a little convoluted, don’t worry. Kundera’s brilliance is in his ability to make the most intricate of philosophies not only relevant, but also manageable. Read this book. You might not understand it all, but you’ll certainly be better off for having tried.
Not so much a novel as the Kundera’s seamlessly spliced together philosophical musings, The Unbearable Lightness of Being makes affected people gush that this book can change your life. It can’t. But it will make you think, and think hard. If you liked last month’s Alain de Botton then read this next: Kundera is one of de Botton’s forebears in style and substance, a man influenced by the likes of Rousseau and Nietzsche, and imbued with the electric realities of the revolutionary times in which he wrote. The Unbearable Lightness is both passionate and reserved, alive and yet removed. Published in 1984 in the aftermath of the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia where Kundera was born (though the book is more French than Czech in style), it is a diametric work that contrasts bright and dark, lightness and heaviness, the head and the heart. It will leave you floating somewhere between these poles, all the richer for having read it.
The plot is functional for this philosophical purpose and Kundera’s characters never fully develop enough psychological depth to give them personal warmth, but despite this one of the most common responses to The Unbearable Lightness is that readers identify with the four main protagonists. Tomas is perhaps the most outstanding of the quartet. A successful Czech surgeon and rampant womaniser, Tomas falls foul of the communist regime through his misunderstood political articles, and is reduced to washing windows. He boasts hundreds of mistresses, but clinically separates these sexual misadventures from his honest love of his wife, the downtrodden Tereza. Tereza only fully comprehends the extent of Tomas’s adultery when she identifies the strange odour emanating from his hair as the smell of other women’s genitalia. The plot attaches itself to one mistress, Sabina, and follows her to Paris, and through her relationship with another married man, Franz. These, then, are the most substantial storylines of Kundera’s work.
But the characters are merely marionettes to play out sequences that Kundera can apply his ideas to, each carefully prepared with philosophical paintwork that is more significant than the puppet itself. The significance of this modern classic, then, rests on Kundera’s understanding of the human condition as fragile and ephemeral; a lightness of being that weighs each of us down with the passing profanity of our existence. If this seems a little convoluted, don’t worry. Kundera’s brilliance is in his ability to make the most intricate of philosophies not only relevant, but also manageable. Read this book. You might not understand it all, but you’ll certainly be better off for having tried.
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