Dracula by Bram Stoker

This isn't the first time I've read this novel but, well, I was a pre-teen back in the early '90s, and I'm in my late forties now. This, shall we say, was a very different experience.

This is, I suppose, the main text, if not quite the first,
to properly introduce and popularise the legends of the vampire to late Victorian society, both in this country and across the West. And it does this very well indeed; the Count is a superb villain, odd though it is that we see so much of him in the opening chapters, with poor Jonathan Harker trapped in his castle, yet thereafter he is spoken of more often than he is seen, with the character of Van Helsing there throughout to impress upon him his many, many powers. Indeed, Dracula's powers are immense, far beyond those we usually associate with vampires, and his nightly presence feels ever-present. His slow, horrible killing of Lucy is deeply effective, and gives us a real sense of threat for the back half of the novel.

And then there's the scene where he has Mina imbibe his own blood, damning her by ensuring she will become like him, unless he dies soon. And that chilling sentence "This is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!" Brrr...

And yet, despite the novel working well in terms of structure and effective horror- some say the bits with Lucy slowly being drained to death drag, but I certainly don't- the novel has little deeper to offer. Yes, we can comment on how the novel reveals the anxieties of its time, but that is incidental, and largely unintentional. The characters are all very much stock types, with no real depth. The prose may sing at times, but for an epistolary novel this gives us very little in terms of real interiority. These characters have no real depth, they are characters in a grand guignol. And the speech patterns of Van Helsing, in particular, become annoying very quickly.

A mixed bag of a novel, then. But it's a fascinating artifact in the history of the vampire trope, and an entertaining read. 

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

I've now read both this and Persuasion, Jane Austen's first and last works, a rather pleasing statistic for me. And it's an interesting contrast to the more mature work in that, regardless of publication date, Austen wrote this in 1799, when she was a mere 25.

This may be less mature, I suppose, but that's a relative term. The novel certainly feels lighter in tone, and written by someone who's had fewer hard knocks. But the wit, and the social commentary, are absolutely there. Austen's prose is always a delight, much though I may suspect, not having read any Georgian Gothic novels of the kind that this novel is to a large extent riffing off, that there just might be rather a lot of allusions I'm not getting.

The novel is a joy to read, with our naive heroine Catherine slowly learning that real life is both tamer and in some ways more socially perilous than the lurid tropes of the Gothic novel.And the final revelations are devilishly clever, revealing that the plot has been rather cleverer than we may have thought all along.

 It's fascinating to see Austen discuss the modes and manners of the minor landed gentry in the 1790s, a slightly earlier time period. Indeed, this book makes the 18th century, which felt so distant in Tristram Shandy, feel rather close. There's even an extraordinary moment where the splendidly pedantic Henry disparages the modern habit of using the word "nice" to mean "pleasant" rather than "exact". Quite right too.

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind

 I read this way back in the '90s and, although I remembered very little, I do recall enjoying it. I also watched (and blogged) the film adaptation about ten years ago. I remember very little of that either, but apparently my past self didn't think too much of it, deeming the novel "unfilmable".

And... well, it is. It heavily leans into the dimensions of the olfactory, a dimension denied to film, a medium that appeals solely to the eyes and ears. And the charm of the novel lies in its depictions of the human side of pre-revolutionary France, described with a deeply enjoyable wit- and that the wit come across despite this being a novel in translation is a credit to both the author and the translator.

The novel was a great favourite of songwriting genius Kurt Cobain, of course, a big reason for me initially reading it back in the day. He was fascinated by Jean-Baptiste himself, and his disdain and hatred for his fellow humans. I wasn't really; Grenouille is interesting for his olfactory abilities but I wasn't drawn to him as a character. But the character of Grenouille isn't what makes this novel enjoyable- it's the wit, the irony, the well-drawn minor characters.

This is a good novel, not a great one, perhaps just a tiny bit over-praised for its literary qualities. But it's a thoroughly readable book and perfect for reading on the train while commuting.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

No actual spoilers to follow, fear ye not.

 I read a rather large number of Agatha Christie novels in my pre-teens and teens, but stopped well before I came of age. My memory of my teenage self's impressions is a feeling of being very impressed with the ingenuity of the plotting, but much less so with the prose and character- and of a certain irritation with what seemed to me to be a rather arrogant sense of class in a world of servants and cap doffing.

So, after reading this, not only Christie's first by my first read as an adult, have my impressions changed? Well... yes. Rather a lot, actually.

The plot is impressive. Not, perhaps, one of Christie's best, but early days. I don't usually correctly predict the villain in a whodunit but I did so here, basically by thinking metatextually. Still, the plot architecture was clever. 

More surprising was that I was rather impressed, if anything, by the prose and character. Christie is no Jane Austen, but she is superb at subtle insinuations and characterisation via lean and economical prose. She's great using the first person perspective of Hastings, both narratively and in those nicely humorous moments between him and Poirot which make it clear that the esteemed sleuth is patronising his somewhat thick colleague.

Finally... this is the young Christie, a young lady in her twenties, so she may have changed with age but I detected no class-based arrogance here- or at least not in terms of the authorial voice. Characters, of course, would naturally exhibit attitudes common to people like them in 1916, but we can't blame Christie for that. Indeed, I was rather impressed by the restraint of her authorial voice, allowing characters to define themselves. It's a subtlety of style that my teenage self perhaps failed to appreciate.

Plus, of course, the period of the novel has now receded thirty years further into the past, which may perhaps influence me to be less quick to judge the attitudes of the time but simply accept that this is an increasingly distant past.

Overall, then, a highly impressive novel. I'm left wanting more... 

 

A Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick

I don't, personally, know a lot about drugs. Yes, and without commenting on whether I ever indulged or not, like every forty-something I've been in circles where hash and weed were a thing, but beyond that I've never knowingly interacted with actual drug culture beyond, well, popular culture. I've read some William S. Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson, I've read and seen Trainspotting, that sort of thing.

But, well, I drink, so at least I have that experience of altered states of conscience as recreation. I consume caffeine too. Beyond that I cannot go, because that way potentially lies madness, death or worse, and I want to live a long and happy life. But such experiences are fascinating to read about, this extraordinary novel especially.

This novel really shows the lived reality of a junkie, the hopelessness, the squalor, yet also the philosophical musings. It shows the fickle and double-crossing nature of human relations in a world always defined by one's next fix. It's a truly compelling glimpse into a fascinating nightmare. 

Yet this is also a novel of ideas... and of irony. The irony of the novel's final twist, and the irony of protagonist Bob Arctor's situation: a narc who is forced by the circumstances of his job to himself become an addict. The result is tragedy, yet perhaps with an ambiguous note of hope. But this novel will linger in the mind for a good while. Philip K. Dick, whose own life was blighted and no doubt shortened by addiction, poured his soul into it. More so even than Infinite Jest, this is one of the truly great novels about addiction.

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

 

This is one of those novels which have been translated to the screen again and again, not least in The Last Man on Earth, starring Vincent Price, which I may well have blogged. And yet, in novel form, the premise is truly allowed to blossom. We have possibly the last person on Earth who has not become a vampire, and we really explore the minute detail of how he adapts, survives and reacts to the strange and nightmarish new world in which he finds himself,

And interiority is crucial here. We are privy to Neville's thoughts, feelings, despairing binges, bleak memories, and why he acts as he does, far more so than any film version could ever make us feel, by virtue of the medium itself.

And so (SPOILERS) the twist at the end comes, if anything, as even more of a shock, as it has real moral force. Ruth makes not only Neville confront the moral horror of the fact that Neville has been gleefully staking living vampires as well as dead ones... and it turns out that a treatment is possible which will give them reasonably normal lives. Neville, with whose deeds the reader has been complicit, is in fact a murderer, and must die.

This is a surprisingly brief novella, and it focuses narrowly on the worldbuilding, the twist, and one everyman character. But what it does it does very well indeed.

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

Yes, I know: I've seen the television series based upon this novel and its sequels, and I usually arrange to read the novel first. But it matters little here- this is well-trodden history and spoilers hardly apply. Moreover, the two are not particularly alike. Plot is one thing; interiority is another. Yes, this novel may be a truly magnificent feat of making us truly feel the England of the 1520s and '30s, but it is more than that.

The novel is told entirely through the thoughts and impressions of Thomas Cromwell. The various familiar figures from the reign of Henry VIII very much appear, but we see all of them as Cromwell does. And we come to understand him- his kindness to children, his hard-headed bruiser side, his workaholism, his deeply cultured nature.

The novel truly communicates the nuances and paradoxes of its age, an age in which the line between Catholic and Protestant is blurred in ways which would soon not be true, and an age in which judicial murder coexists with the primacy of legal propriety, in which a famously tyrannical king nonetheless respects that he is constrained by Parliament.

The novel takes a notably sympathetic approach to Cromwell himself, as well as to the future Queen Mary I and the seemingly kindly Cardinal Wolsey. Others, notably Thomas More, the king himself, and Anne Boleyn, get damning portraits, particularly More, a torturing zealot and abusive husband. Others, such as the Duke of Norfolk and the young Christophe, are simply fun.

This is a novel that's all about the nuance, the texture, the reimagined history. It's a truly dizzying experience.

The Difference Engine by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling

 

I found this novel to be... fine. Admittedly the ending is very well done indeed, but I'm nit inclined to use any superlatives. It was good, that's all. Which is... not how I was expecting to feel after reading a novel which is not only one of the most famous works of alternate history ever written but also an absolute pioneer of the Steampunk here.

Might this, though, be an example of the "Citizen Kane problem"? Said film pioneered so much in the way of cinematic technique yet, in a world where such technique has long been commonplace, the film looks unremarkable? Could this be the case here?

There is a plot, yes, or rather a few broadly linked narratives. Yet the plot is merely a pretext for the real point- the worldbuilding. I cannot comment on its riffing of Benjamin Disraeli's "Sibyl", but I can certainly be impressed and, indeed, dazzled by the cleverness and complexity of the alternate history that is built here. We have Babbage, Byron, Keats, Ada Lovelace as sort of Victorian versions of Steve Jobs and Woj.

Victorian mores, too, social and sexual, are well sketched, alongside a convincingly Victorian kind of radicalism.

In 2025, though, a world beginning to fear the possible consequences of AI, the ending of the novel is enough to make one shudder. We can, perhaps, be grateful that Charles Babbage did not in reality build his Difference Engine.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

 

I read Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell many moons ago, before this blog was ever conceived of. I won't say too much, as I'm quite likely to reread it at some point, and inevitably blog it, but suffice to say that it made a huge impression on me. Sadly, Susanna Clarke hasn't written much- I understand for health reasons- but a few years ago she graced us with Piranesi, and I understand a third novel is underway. Let there be much rejoicing.

This novel is shorter, less epic in length than its predecessor. Yet it is nevertheless a triumph, quite as good as everybody says it is. We begin with our eponymous narrator, living in a seemingly endless and seemingly impossible labyrinthine structure which is, for him, the world entire.

The novel is a wonderful puzzle, unwinding at the perfect pace to enthral us. It is complex, beguiling, yet in no way a difficult read. The puzzle, and the resolution, are not only deeply satisfying but deeply so.

And yet, there's an emotional heart to this. The narrator is innocent, good, intelligent yet naïve and as we slowly come to discover, much sinned against, a painful realisation for him. While this book is, yes, a puzzle, it has a heart. And it also has, I think, a subtext. That there are dangerous, manipulative individuals out there, most of them men, and that we succumb to their dubious charms at our peril...

The City & the City by China Mieville

Cliché though it is to say, this novel blew my mind. It is, in the best possible Borgesian way, an absolute mindfuck.  At first it seems to be a standard, if vaguely weird, little murder mystery, but with the odd word like "crosshatched" or "grosstopical" thrown in. But then the good Inspector Borlu receives a certain phone call, and we suddenly get something of an idea of what's going on.

I won't spoil anything here. I often do in this blog, but the slow reveal of the weird reality is this novel's big genius thing, and spoiling things really, really would be a crime. Spoilers are things that, shall we say, one cannot unsee.

Let's just say that the opening words of the novel, "I could not see..." take on a very different meaning once the fundamental principles are revealed.

There's so much to praise here. This is generally seen as weird fantasy, but the presence of fantasy elements is, very carefully, never overt. Breach are sort of implied to have supernatural powers, but a certain line is never crossed.

Most admirable, though, is how the concept of the novel is carried through, played with, explored and treated with consistency. Importantly, the backstory as to how Beszel and Ul Qoma are how they are is hinted at but not dwelt on. The lack of a full explanation is a feature, not a bug.

Perhaps the ending could have packed more of a punch, but that's outweighed by the sheer genius of the worldbuilding here. I'm certainly going to explore more works by China Mieville after this.

Fledgling by Octavia E. Butler

It's always a joy to discover an author new to me, if obviously one I most certainly had heard of, appearing with increasing frequency on all sorts of lists of "best of" literary science fiction. Eccentrically, my first experience of her writing is this, the final novel she wrote before her unacceptably early passing.

And the novel is extraordinary, at once brimming with intoxicating ideas (and I love a good novel of ideas) and supremely addictive. "One more chapter" syndrome is very much in effect here.

The plot, I suppose, is fairly simple, and perhaps even takes a back seat to the deeply enjoyable world building. We follow everything from the perspective of an amnesiac vampire, attacked and left for dead, as she tries to discover who she is, her place in the world, and who would want her and her family dead.

Yet this is a novel profoundly about bigotry, about race, about justice, about sexual ethics, about how to deal ethically with power imbalance. Yet the novel never feels preachy or didactic, and makes no claim to solutions. Its feminism is firmly sex-positive. And its characters feel utterly, utterly human, although many of them, of course, are not human at all.

This certainly won't be my last experience of an author I'm very happy to have discovered for myself.

The Last English King by Julian Rathbone

I last read this rather enjoyable and playful novel many, many years ago. It's the tale of Walt, one of King Harold's housecarls who is afflicted by both physical and mental wounds after surviving the Battle of Hastings and, evoking The Wanderer, filled with guilt at not having died alongside the ring-giver. It's a novel which balances its humour with real humanity. Walt, like most north European aristocrats, was hardly a cultured man, a kind of proto-John Bull, but he's made likeable by his suffering.

Wandering the Byzantine Empire, as many English refugees were wont to do in the late 1060s, he is accompanied by travelling companions who slowly hear his story, vividly evoking a culture and a lifestyle now suddenly vanished. Yet it's more than this, with the many playful jokes and allusions making this novel a joy to read despite its being about deep loss, subjugation and suffering. We are certainly left in no doubt as to the fate of the common people under Norman rule, but life goes on, and there will always be wine, beauty and laughter.

There is an icky moment involving Walt and a fourteen year old girl, which may be minor in nature but, well, the only acceptable level of ickiness of this sort is zero. That aside, I strongly recommend this wonderful novel from an author who arguably seems, worryingly, to be slowly falling out of fashion.

Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson

 I know: it's been a while since I blogged my last novel. And there's a reason for that, albeit slightly embarrassing... I neft the part finished novel in a guest house two hundred miles away, but the landlady kept it for me and even saved my page. Phew.

Anyway, I love a good novel of ideas, and this one throews ideas at you like few other novels. It's my first experience of Neil Stephenson, who I found to be devilishly clever in how he constructs his mindblowing conceits which include, among your usual post-William Gibson riffing on a Cyberpunk future, the concept of language itsewlf as a vrus, the same thing as both biological and computer viruses, with ideas themselves working as a kind of computer program.

You have to pay attention: the concepts are deliciously complex and ingenious, and we aren't spoon fed. The narrative is economical to the point that the novel seems to end rather abruptly, with part of me wishing for an epilogue but the greater of me appreciating the curt narrative structure.

While there's a certain line of absurdity that isn't crossed, the novel is dryly humorous and has a delightfully heretical view of religion as existing in relatiion to its viruses. It's a novel of ideas, not characters, but the book is chock full of entertaining grotesques and our heroes, YT and Hiro Protagonist(!) are nicely drawn.

It's worth awarning: there one icky scene where YT, aged fifteen, has sex with an older man. But, this aside, I enjoyed this very weird and very clever novel very much.

A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin

I watched an episode or two of the television series many years ago... but hesitated. Should I not read the novels first? And so, during the Coronavirus plague, I started on the first novel, began to enjoy it... and alas, could not continue, as life was simply too overwhelming and would not stop.

Now, finally, I've read the first novel and oooooh... I see exactly why these novels are so revered. George R.R. Martin has produced a fictionalised mediaeval world that feels real, characters whom one feels one knows, and prose in which to get drunk. Reading this novel is a rich and fulfilling experience, and I have many more to go... possibly with a final novel to go unritten, but for now, I care not. 

Martin is, I suppose, an epic fantasy equivalent of Patrick O'Brian, of yetbeyond his genre. His setting, the continent of Westeros, has the sense of deep history that Middle Earth does, as the book takes us from a loose kingdom united under a week king to a state of utter chaos and civil war, and does so via chapers that each focus on the viewpoint of a single character, all with their own view, desires and quirks.

The situation is, I suppose, similar to the Wars of the Roses, yet there is no exact parallel: one cannot say that the very unpleasant "King" Joffrey is wholly based on Edward IV, for example. The fantasy elements are kept light, yet- at the ending especially- they are there. One cannot help but feel that, as Caetlyn fears, the men of Westeros will cause so much death and destruction fighting each other.... and we know, as she does not, that Danaerys is waiting.

Exquisite.

I plan to alternate A Song of Ice and Fire with another novel until I've finished. So, a shorter novel next. Then A Clash of Kings...

Foundation and Earth by Isaac Asimov

 Like Robots and Empire, this novel can very much be seen as continuity-driven, tying up loose ends in what Asimov has decided to make a single universe of Foundation, Robot and Empire novels and stories. In a sense, it's a kind of self-fanwank. It just so happens to simultaneously be a bloody superb novel. You'll noticed I read it rather quickly after my last Asimov despite working full time and having rather a lot going on. This novel is a Class A substance. It's dangerously addictive. You have been warned.

Part of the reason it's so damn satisfying, of course, is the fanwank. Everything is resooved- where the Solarians went; what happened to Earth; why Galaxia is necessary; why women seem to find the rather annoying Golan Trevise so damn irresistible. You can tell that Asimov, in his sixties, is rather enjoying being able to reflect in his writing some rather more relaxed sexual mores than he would have known in his youth.

The ideas are not so central as earlier novels, perhaps, but they are there. The society of Solaria reaches its logical extreme.And there are thrilling moments- Comporellon is Baleyworld! Aurora has literally gone to the dogs! And on the Moon is... ah yes.

This ties everything up rather neatly. I'll get round to the other Asimov novels eventually but for now, I think, I'll diversify my diet. But this novel, while obviously not self-contained and with a lot of required pre-reading, is a real joy.

Robots and Empire by Isaac Asimov

I've said before that I used to see Isaac Asimov's 1980s novels as being, while highly enjoyable, essentially as a kind of self-fanfiction in relation to his novels of decades before, with Asimov focusing more on continuity than concepts. That was my original impression, back when I first read these novels thirty (ouch!) years ago. With Second Foundation and The Robots of Dawn, however, in this rereading at least, I haven't found this to be the case at all.

Well... perhaps third time is the charm. Spoler alert: you have been warned... but I find this novel seems to exist in order to fill a continuity gap. It serves to explain how the Settlers would ultimately come to eclipse the Spacers without being destroyed by them. It explains how Earth becomes radioactive, in order to fit the continuity of (if I recall correctly) The Currents of Space. So, for once, Isaac Asimov would appear to be guilty as charged, convicted of self-fanfiction.

And yet... does this make any difference to the actual quality of the book? Well... no. It's full of engaging and original ideas. The philosophical conversations between Daneel and Giskard, in which they come up with the concept of the "Zeroth Law" are fascinating. And the ending, while I predicted it slightly in advance, is clever: the Aurorans' plot to make Earth radioactive, and thus uninhabitable over time, serves not to undermine the Settlers but to spur them on, removing the umbilical cord that was holding them back.

It must also be said that, despite the fact that no one reads the novels of Asimov, all of which are novels of ideas, for his characters, the development of Gladia as a character is highly satisfying here. Beginning the novel as a decadent, long-lived Spacer who is just waiting for death, she finds renewed purpose, meaning and, indeed, love amongst the Settlers.

I'm running out of Asimov novels. That's a truly scary thought.

The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey

This is a compelling, addictive, novel, one which I've found it very difficuklt to put aside every now and again for, you know, eating, seeping, that sort of thing. But it's odd. It's one of six detective novels by Josephine Tey featuring a Detective Inspector Alan Grant, the last of them before Tey sadly died. However, the other fice in the series are not widely read today. This particular novel is very unusual for an award winning whodunit.

Simply put, our inspector is laid up in hospital with a broken leg, he's bored out of his skull, and he ends up looking into the deaths of the Princes in the Tower and pondering whether the murderer was Richard III, as popularly supposed, or someone else.

It sounds simple. But what makes this novel compelling is the how. This is an investigation where we're really shown the working. All of the primary evidence, all the facts, are lain before us an analysed, and a modern (well, 1951) police approach is taken. The reasoning, and the conclusions, feel pretty damn rigorous, although other views of the case are available. 

I suppose, like the Jack the Ripper TV series from the '70s I recently blogged where the conceit was two fictional detectives investigating the murders in a documentary in the form of a drama, this may be seen as factual history dressed up as fiction. Yet the prose, the plotting, the characterisation, all are superb. 

This novel is a veritable Class A substance.

The Robots of Dawn by Isaac Asimov

 

Yes, I know, I'm chain reading Isaac Asimov. I'll blog another novel first before I go on to Robots and Empire, honest. To be fair, though, these novels are a Class A substance.

... Which rather spoils from the outset that I very much enjoyed this much-delayed conclusion to the Elijah Baley trilogy. Ah well. And, incidentally, it still doesn't seem to me that Asimov's '80s novels are in any way inferior to his early work. Like Foundation's Edge, this compares very well to its predecessors.

Once again we have a rather agreeableb mix of genuinely clever whodunit, philosophical variations on the Three Laws of Robotics, and pondering on the spacefaring future of mankind. There's also, in the ultimately moribund decadence of the Spacers with their robots, a warning to us all: technology making our lives easier is a double edged sword. We may not, in 2024, have many anthropoid, two-legged robots. But we have Alexa, we have Siri, we have smart speakers: we have robots, just not on two legs. 

Auroran society, while less extreme than that of Solaria, is no less fascinating, although one can't help seeing its casual, easy attitude to sex without thinking of the post-#MeToo reputstion of its author. The troubling consequences of extreme longevity are handled well, as well as a reluctance to engage in political conflict. Baley himself, perhaps, was never the most engaging character, and the love triangle between him, his fawaway wife and Gladia has its awkward side. But no one reads Asimov for characterisation. This is an extraordinary novel of ideas which I thoroughly enjoyed to the point it's genuinely difficult not to just read Asimov after Asimov. But yes, something else first, and something rather different...

Foundation’s Edge by Isaac Asimov

I’ve consistently said, ever since I first read most of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, Robot and Empire novels some twenty-odd years ago, that Asimov is a writer of two halves. The Asimov of the ‘40s and ‘50s is a powerhouse of brilliant ideas, while the older Asimov of the ‘80s writes Asimov fan fiction full of continuity. High quality fan fiction, for sure- fan fiction is often superb and should not be disparaged- but more focused on continuity than in the big ideas of Asimov’s youth.

Having just reached the ‘80s with this rereading in the shape of this novel, however… I don’t get that impression at all. Oh, there’s continuity, all right. The Foundation universe is linked to the Robot universe for the first time. But… the book positively fizzes with ideas. The plot is a devilishly clever game of ten dimensional diplomatic chess, and for Asimov, it’s not really about characters: plot is all. Getting to see the political skulduggery of not only Terminus but the Second Foundation is a real joy.

Then there’s the ending. Yes, obviously the Gaia stuff owes a lot to James Lovelock, obviously. But the context is ingenious. The Gaia hypothesis as political ideology… is there a very, very left-wing subtext here, anti-individualism? It’s unclear. I don’t necessarily approve but, if said subtext is there, it’s nicely done.

The ending is devilishly clever: I particularly love the studies ambiguity as to whether or not Bliss is a robot.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

This novel had an unfortunate disadvantage for me on this reading: I read it once before, twenty-odd years ago, and formed the firm impression that it was the greatest novel ever, even as my memories of id gradually and inexorably faded. This gave it something of the "Citizen Kane problem". How could it possibly live up to such an impossible reputation, superb though it might be? Against the odds, though, this rereading has altered my opinion not a whit. It is truly the greatest novel I, at any rate, have ever read.

Not, of course, that it is, as some say, "the greatest love story ever told". It is not a love story, not remotely, and it is absurd to say that it is. It is a tale, set in a landscape of bleak, harsh, unforgiving beauty that seems the master of vulnerable humanity, very much not the other way around. Against this, the lives and the values of the landed gentry make desperate and futile attempts to cling to existence. Life is short. To live to forty is accounted lucky... although, admittedly, perhaps the Lintons and the Earnshaws would breed children with much more robust constitutions if they weren't so bleeding incestuous. Marrying your cousins is bad, mmkay? 

These families are not happy ones. Indeed, the main theme of the book is the damage done by childhood abuse. Not, of course, that Emily Bronte would have used the term "personality disorder", but Cathy certainly has Borderline Personality Disorder, to my mind, and Heathcliff has something, too. Both of them are hopelessly damaged by their childhoods, and live and die defined by that abuse. Worse, Heathcliff seems to exist only to perpetuate that cycle of abuse.

There is, fortunately, a note of hope at the end, as young Cathy and Hareton seem to be falling in love and to show hope of breaking out of that awful cycle. It'a bleak but very human novel, yet somehow not without hope. It seems to question notions of class and (more tentatively) gender. In structure and in feeling it is by no means of its time, early Victorian, but simultaneously both harking back to Gothic tropes and looking forwards, with its non-linear narrative and not entirely reliable narrators. It is perfection.