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lilynx's review
adventurous
informative
relaxing
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
girvanryan's review against another edition
4.0
M John Harrison is better at writing about how shit Britain is than anyone
feastofblaze's review
adventurous
challenging
funny
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
amgalvin's review against another edition
2.75
I enjoyed the first 1/3 of the book but soon became bored with the lack of story. Folyes had this in the horror section…nothing like a horror book.
karinreadsbooks's review against another edition
I was supposed to read this book for a class, but I did not enjoy the writing and was actively bothered by the description of various groups of people and life's too short for books you don't even really need to read to pass the class.
zakisreadingbooks's review
lighthearted
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.25
jake_'s review against another edition
challenging
slow-paced
4.25
I went into this novel without much interest in climbing (though the Northern landscapes are quite close to home) and I got what I expected: an outstanding novel by one of the best English prose stylists, but not one I could enjoy intimately without an interest in the surface-level subject matter.
I'd recommend it to fans of MJH (perhaps also to fans of meandering/modernist travel literature) who will find some unnerving parallels with his other work: the introverted or kafkaesque interactions; the interest in downtrodden but upbeat characters - and landscapes, landscapes which evoke Machen (for example when, memorably, South American dreams impose themselves on the reality of Morecambe) or the surreal sci-fi of Ballard. There's perhaps some Bruno Schulz in there too: animals seem oddly sentient and pathetic fallacy abounds, while dilapidated urban spaces appear fecund.
Oh and get the edition with the Macfarlane introduction, which brilliantly dissects (but wisely opting not to attempt to decode) the writing of Harrison, both in this, his 'realist' novel, and his other 'genre fiction'.
I'd recommend it to fans of MJH (perhaps also to fans of meandering/modernist travel literature) who will find some unnerving parallels with his other work: the introverted or kafkaesque interactions; the interest in downtrodden but upbeat characters - and landscapes, landscapes which evoke Machen (for example when, memorably, South American dreams impose themselves on the reality of Morecambe) or the surreal sci-fi of Ballard. There's perhaps some Bruno Schulz in there too: animals seem oddly sentient and pathetic fallacy abounds, while dilapidated urban spaces appear fecund.
Oh and get the edition with the Macfarlane introduction, which brilliantly dissects (but wisely opting not to attempt to decode) the writing of Harrison, both in this, his 'realist' novel, and his other 'genre fiction'.
thecommonswings's review
5.0
What an astonishing book this is: less a novel, and more a mosaic of fragmented vignettes that slowly and assuredly pull out to be a novel haunted by loss, sadness and disappointment. It’s a book happy to focus on the minutiae of climbing without ever feeling alienating to a non climber, partly because it’s obvious that such minutiae is deliberately there to give the novel a distancing effect, so that elements such as Nina’s fate sort of glide by quietly and sadly in the way in which our narrator can’t really begin to face the actual events as they happened
It’s a book of tangles, of strained relationships and interior worlds of unhappiness and regret, of liminal spaces and unspoken things. Harrison has this devastating ability to keep one foot firmly in the real world - the fragments of strange conversations that always feel incredibly real; the geographic locations (mostly around this part of the world, rather than the Yorkshire moors the back cover alludes to); the drudgery of late eighties British life - so that the darker, more nebulous moments feel literally anchored to something. It’s an intoxicating effect, all the more so as you try and thwack away at the narrator’s relationship to the author himself
I heartily recommend finding the edition with the Robert MacFarlane introduction, a piece that is not only beautifully written but is also incredibly astute and thought provoking. Read it after the book though as it feels like a final grace note to savour after the novel is complete
It’s a book of tangles, of strained relationships and interior worlds of unhappiness and regret, of liminal spaces and unspoken things. Harrison has this devastating ability to keep one foot firmly in the real world - the fragments of strange conversations that always feel incredibly real; the geographic locations (mostly around this part of the world, rather than the Yorkshire moors the back cover alludes to); the drudgery of late eighties British life - so that the darker, more nebulous moments feel literally anchored to something. It’s an intoxicating effect, all the more so as you try and thwack away at the narrator’s relationship to the author himself
I heartily recommend finding the edition with the Robert MacFarlane introduction, a piece that is not only beautifully written but is also incredibly astute and thought provoking. Read it after the book though as it feels like a final grace note to savour after the novel is complete
captainfez's review
5.0
If you were a climber and were expecting this to be some kind of literary version of The Eiger Sanction, then you'd probably be disappointed. But then, I don't think M. John Harrison would care too much, given that many of the readers of this book were probably expecting it to be a sci-fi masterpiece, rather than some kind of Mike Leigh nightmare.
Out of print until recently (it was reissued in 2004) this 1989 novel is less about climbing and its community and more about growth - or the lack of it. There's a couple of technical terms, but they're used more as a kind of polari - a code for the band of climbers, where they're able to hide from real life. Non-climbing readers won't find anything to frighten them in the argot - but the behaviour of the characters is another matter.
Apparently semi-autobiographical, the novel is a catalogue of weaknesses and fears, laid beside the fleeting joy of a successful climb. Death is ever-present, and life is almost worthless. It flicks back and forth, memory worrying prior events, which would be irritating if the world within wasn't so grimily evocative.
I can't exactly say why I liked the novel. It's oblique, and not easily pinned down. Its characters are transitory, and seem to take delight in their unlikeable natures. The weather's shit, and humans have ruined the landscape - in actuality, as opposed to the far-flung future normally Harrison's stock-in-trade. But there's something of the Smiths, of the "it's grim up north" mentality at work here that's irresistible. It's a portrait of the North as forceful as any you'll find.
This book places me more firmly in England than pretty much anything else I've read. There's a level of frustration, of decay, of endless waiting around which seems so much a part of my memory of the place.
Out of print until recently (it was reissued in 2004) this 1989 novel is less about climbing and its community and more about growth - or the lack of it. There's a couple of technical terms, but they're used more as a kind of polari - a code for the band of climbers, where they're able to hide from real life. Non-climbing readers won't find anything to frighten them in the argot - but the behaviour of the characters is another matter.
Apparently semi-autobiographical, the novel is a catalogue of weaknesses and fears, laid beside the fleeting joy of a successful climb. Death is ever-present, and life is almost worthless. It flicks back and forth, memory worrying prior events, which would be irritating if the world within wasn't so grimily evocative.
I can't exactly say why I liked the novel. It's oblique, and not easily pinned down. Its characters are transitory, and seem to take delight in their unlikeable natures. The weather's shit, and humans have ruined the landscape - in actuality, as opposed to the far-flung future normally Harrison's stock-in-trade. But there's something of the Smiths, of the "it's grim up north" mentality at work here that's irresistible. It's a portrait of the North as forceful as any you'll find.
This book places me more firmly in England than pretty much anything else I've read. There's a level of frustration, of decay, of endless waiting around which seems so much a part of my memory of the place.