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The sense of timing in architecture is quite wonderful; when something happens is as important as what happens. All things have their just temporal proportion: nothing is too early, and nothing is too late. This sense of timing may be the most elusive of all artistic parameters. The writing flows realistically, with variety and comic relief. The writing is in a sense selfconscious, as it should be, but the author is not. The writing is also conscious of the real world, in which we live: not simply that of the pabulumatic Nightly Nonnews. The particular level of realism is one that could possibly only be achieved now. We live in very scary times, and I don't mean to imply alleged Islamic terrorists. I mean the US government, which has become a danger to all life on this planet; that, and the corporate structures to which it is completely beholden. Any intelligent reader should be able to see that within this outrageous story there is as much truth as poetry. That said, the novel wears its cerebral mantle lightly. In fact, it wears all its mantles lightly, and that is exactly one of its greatest charms. Structure that calls attention to itself is deficient in art, and BR does none of that. I certainly did not skim through this, but read rather deliberately and slowly, simply because I liked the language and details. Some uses of language invite racing through, because the words don't really matter, other uses invite lapping up the words and savoring them. BR invites the latter. There is a reduction of material to the essential so that at no point where some development is needed is there a feeling of inessentialness, i.e., all words count. The mixing in to the basic English prose of German, Italian and French is fun in itself. Griffon doesn't talk down to readers, nor does she talk up. It's that kind of intricate balance that pervades the novel, multiply. Along with the balances are always the tensions: simply put, you always want to know what happens next - and speaking of that, somehow, the author speaks, in a not quite omniscient narrator's mask, sympathetically of all characters - even the archvillain. The character of Moriarty in A. C. Doyle comes to mind. There is a decided respect for the power of evil, as in reality there should be. There may be a message here, but first, BR is a novel; the rest is for you to figure out. I simply can't get over the "first novel" bit, since BR deftly avoids all the pitfalls of going to large structures before you are ready. In one way or another, the author was clearly ready, down to no overworked words, and a nice variation in sentence lengths. She hasn't fallen victim to a given style, but rather creates a lean one, devoid of selfindulgence, in her own voice. Overall, the structural things that I like most are the senses of timing, balance and balance of tensions. On the entertainment level, it's a wonderful romp and great fun; under that is an expose' of several of the great sicknesses of what for some reason is often referred to as post modern civilization. What's next? "Post post modern"? Personally, as a kind of icing on the cake, I happen to like the detailed attention to food. I was waiting for *the* great recipe for Fettucini Alfredo - fortunately, I already know it. :-) Anybody who uses a Chiffonade d'herbes with lamb, and actually knows what it means! - gets *my* vote. :-)
BR is a well constructed novel, with all sorts of interests, poetry and
truth. It's entertaining, thoughtful and informative; Griffon clearly
did her homework on pharmaceuticals. Brava! Encore! |
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