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floorflawless's review against another edition
Roughly a third of the way in and still not getting hooked, ending up scanning pages and thinking of other books I would rather read. So this is not the book for me unfortunately š
bunnieslikediamonds's review against another edition
4.0
A very enjoyable, low-key thriller, set in Rome, about the discovery of a set of mysterious photographs which seem to bring bad luck to anyone who has the misfortune of getting near them. Well, not bad luck so much as bad guys, who want the photographs destroyed and don't hesitate to kill for them. The portrayal of both protagonists as well as the minor characters is nuanced and believable. Rome, one of my favorite cities, comes alive beautifully.
This is not your run-of-the-mill-thriller with a neatly wrapped up ending. There are no explanations, just hints as to what might have happened, which works very well here. It's grim and dark, and I was glad there was a happy ending at least in the romance department, which shows just how much I was rooting for these characters.
This is not your run-of-the-mill-thriller with a neatly wrapped up ending. There are no explanations, just hints as to what might have happened, which works very well here. It's grim and dark, and I was glad there was a happy ending at least in the romance department, which shows just how much I was rooting for these characters.
shanice93's review against another edition
4.0
Really enjoyed this book.
I just enjoyed it, the story, the way it is written.
just generally loved it
nothing else to say
I just enjoyed it, the story, the way it is written.
just generally loved it
nothing else to say
daviddavidkatzman's review against another edition
4.0
[I'm bringing back this review in support of author Charles Lambert's new novel A View from the Tower]
Christopher Moore should write a gay James Bond. Or maybe I should. Film rights would be snapped up in a jiffy. Stick around, kids, Iām tossing out million-dollar ideas like condoms at a Pride Parade. Charles Lambertās new novel Any Human Face is being called in the U.K. press a thriller āset on the seamier fringe of Romeās gay scene.ā However, if you come to Any Human Face expecting The Bourne Gay-Identity, youāll be disappointed. If you come looking for weighty, believable human drama set within multi-layered political intrigue, then youāve turned the right page.
I think that the Guardianās description of the setting as āthe seamier fringe of Romeās gay sceneā is a bit oā backhanded homophobia. Yes, there is a character who shoots some āpornographicā photography and probably video, too, but heās rather a Mother Hen type who takes care of any stray (gay or bird) off the street. Heās more on the noble side than the seamy side, and the main relationships in the story are quite sensitive, not sleazy. All the sleaze (murders) are political and unrelated to sexual identity. Yes, there are some graphic sexual moments but only to reflect what occurs in real relationships. I mean, likeā¦youāve done it, right, squire?
I would describe this novel rather as a thoughtful character study of a quirky gay bookstore owner and sometime art/antiquity dealer named Andrew in Rome who stumbles into a political vipers nest involving high-level politicians and Vatican officials doing very bad things. At its core, the story is about Andrewās struggle to overcome heartbreak from his past and learn to love again. This book being a literary work and not a hack best-seller, Lambert manages to integrate some thoughtful commentary on writing, art, and photography as well by having the main character try to set up an art show in his bookstore. Lambert creates an interesting juxtaposition between theory/critique and reality through this art show. The co-curator of the show expresses a complex gibberish of analysis to explain how the photographs in the exhibit are āArt.ā When the reality is that one of the photographs reveals an actual crime being committed; itās a performative photograph, if you will, that is FUCKING EVIDENCE OF A (crime i will not identify so as not to spoil it but you can probably guess). Soā¦ehem..fuck your critique. Of course, Lambert isnāt anti-intellectual, but he certainly shows how literary and art theory can tie itself up in a knot of incestuous bullcrap.
Just as in his short stories, Lambert doesnāt grandstand as a writer, rather he creates a compelling reality and allows the characters to express themselves naturally. I found Andrew to be absolutely convincing as a real human being. Although the book is not as fast paced as you might expect a thriller to be, when Andrew was in actual physical danger in the story, my heart was racing, and I couldnāt put the book down.
Any Human Face has quite a few interesting characters, including the Mother Hen character I mentioned before who dresses like a ātribal queen or brothel keeperā in swathes of flowery curtain-pajamas. And the bitchiest rich hag of an art-gallery maven youāll ever come across. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel as a taste of Rome and the inner life and struggles of Andrew to make a life for himself despite his fears of aging, of failing, and more than anything else, of being lonely.
Christopher Moore should write a gay James Bond. Or maybe I should. Film rights would be snapped up in a jiffy. Stick around, kids, Iām tossing out million-dollar ideas like condoms at a Pride Parade. Charles Lambertās new novel Any Human Face is being called in the U.K. press a thriller āset on the seamier fringe of Romeās gay scene.ā However, if you come to Any Human Face expecting The Bourne Gay-Identity, youāll be disappointed. If you come looking for weighty, believable human drama set within multi-layered political intrigue, then youāve turned the right page.
I think that the Guardianās description of the setting as āthe seamier fringe of Romeās gay sceneā is a bit oā backhanded homophobia. Yes, there is a character who shoots some āpornographicā photography and probably video, too, but heās rather a Mother Hen type who takes care of any stray (gay or bird) off the street. Heās more on the noble side than the seamy side, and the main relationships in the story are quite sensitive, not sleazy. All the sleaze (murders) are political and unrelated to sexual identity. Yes, there are some graphic sexual moments but only to reflect what occurs in real relationships. I mean, likeā¦youāve done it, right, squire?
I would describe this novel rather as a thoughtful character study of a quirky gay bookstore owner and sometime art/antiquity dealer named Andrew in Rome who stumbles into a political vipers nest involving high-level politicians and Vatican officials doing very bad things. At its core, the story is about Andrewās struggle to overcome heartbreak from his past and learn to love again. This book being a literary work and not a hack best-seller, Lambert manages to integrate some thoughtful commentary on writing, art, and photography as well by having the main character try to set up an art show in his bookstore. Lambert creates an interesting juxtaposition between theory/critique and reality through this art show. The co-curator of the show expresses a complex gibberish of analysis to explain how the photographs in the exhibit are āArt.ā When the reality is that one of the photographs reveals an actual crime being committed; itās a performative photograph, if you will, that is FUCKING EVIDENCE OF A (crime i will not identify so as not to spoil it but you can probably guess). Soā¦ehem..fuck your critique. Of course, Lambert isnāt anti-intellectual, but he certainly shows how literary and art theory can tie itself up in a knot of incestuous bullcrap.
Just as in his short stories, Lambert doesnāt grandstand as a writer, rather he creates a compelling reality and allows the characters to express themselves naturally. I found Andrew to be absolutely convincing as a real human being. Although the book is not as fast paced as you might expect a thriller to be, when Andrew was in actual physical danger in the story, my heart was racing, and I couldnāt put the book down.
Any Human Face has quite a few interesting characters, including the Mother Hen character I mentioned before who dresses like a ātribal queen or brothel keeperā in swathes of flowery curtain-pajamas. And the bitchiest rich hag of an art-gallery maven youāll ever come across. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel as a taste of Rome and the inner life and struggles of Andrew to make a life for himself despite his fears of aging, of failing, and more than anything else, of being lonely.
roberto's review
5.0
Set in Rome, this novel is a fast-paced and dark tale of murky deeds in high and low places, recounted from multiple perspectives over a span of nearly three decades. What Hitchcock would call the McGuffin (and there is something Hitchcockian about this) in the tale, is a set of photos, entrusted by an investigative journalist to his gay lover on the night of his (the journalist's) brutal and apparently homophobic murder. The photos come into the possession of Andrew Caruso, half Scottish, half Italian, whose shambolic existence centres around the secondhand bookshop he runs. Soon, he is involved in a frightening chain of events that may have something to do with the journalist's murder, a quarter of a century earlier.
Lambert handles a complex narrative with great authority, moving in cinematic style from the near present day (2008) to 1982, to 1985 and back, each time focalising his narrative through the perspective of one of his characters. One of the many things I like about Lambert's work is that he doesn't give the reader an easy ride. There is not here, or in Little Monsters, a character with whom we can readily empathise - all of them have their frailties and vulnerabilities. They are all too human in their failings, and Lambert's unflinching and unsentimental portrayal of their interlocking lives is a fascinating exercise in close observation. Paradoxically, because Lambert is so good at unfolding the delicate nuances of individual behaviour, the reader soon becomes involved in this seedy world of clandestine affairs and shabby deals, and does indeed care about the fate of the protagonists. Indeed, I found that this was one of those books that demanded to be read through as quickly as possible, so immersed did I become in this world.
There are dark hints throughout at institutionalised corruption, whether of the church or the state, but the focus throughout remains on the human story, and how we are all connected, in ways we can't begin to comprehend. I was struck by one passage on this theme, where Alex, the journalist's lover, reflects on the transient world he is part of:
"All these nameless friendships that entangled the city in a taut invisible web. A secretive web, because no one knew anything about it, or everyone pretended to know nothing about it. A web that stretched across hotels and galleries and studio flats in the richest parts of the city, from the Vatican to the senate to the station, of favours and small, sweet acts of generosity and asked-for, insisted-on violence. And then it went wrong and someone died, and the web closed to hide the rift so quickly no one would know it had ever been torn. Webs heal themselves."
This novel is, in concept, an excellent, disturbing, stylish thriller, but one with aspirations beyond the working out of a criminal act. It uses most of the thriller conventions, but goes well beyond them, to offer a story which deals with universal themes, particularly of man's inhumanity to man, and the dark heart of loneliness at the centre of many lives.
Lambert handles a complex narrative with great authority, moving in cinematic style from the near present day (2008) to 1982, to 1985 and back, each time focalising his narrative through the perspective of one of his characters. One of the many things I like about Lambert's work is that he doesn't give the reader an easy ride. There is not here, or in Little Monsters, a character with whom we can readily empathise - all of them have their frailties and vulnerabilities. They are all too human in their failings, and Lambert's unflinching and unsentimental portrayal of their interlocking lives is a fascinating exercise in close observation. Paradoxically, because Lambert is so good at unfolding the delicate nuances of individual behaviour, the reader soon becomes involved in this seedy world of clandestine affairs and shabby deals, and does indeed care about the fate of the protagonists. Indeed, I found that this was one of those books that demanded to be read through as quickly as possible, so immersed did I become in this world.
There are dark hints throughout at institutionalised corruption, whether of the church or the state, but the focus throughout remains on the human story, and how we are all connected, in ways we can't begin to comprehend. I was struck by one passage on this theme, where Alex, the journalist's lover, reflects on the transient world he is part of:
"All these nameless friendships that entangled the city in a taut invisible web. A secretive web, because no one knew anything about it, or everyone pretended to know nothing about it. A web that stretched across hotels and galleries and studio flats in the richest parts of the city, from the Vatican to the senate to the station, of favours and small, sweet acts of generosity and asked-for, insisted-on violence. And then it went wrong and someone died, and the web closed to hide the rift so quickly no one would know it had ever been torn. Webs heal themselves."
This novel is, in concept, an excellent, disturbing, stylish thriller, but one with aspirations beyond the working out of a criminal act. It uses most of the thriller conventions, but goes well beyond them, to offer a story which deals with universal themes, particularly of man's inhumanity to man, and the dark heart of loneliness at the centre of many lives.
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