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emmalthompson85's review
3.0
Hunters is the snow is written in the style of a non-fiction book. The conceit is that this is a book published by a young historian drawing together her memories of her grandfather with his late works on historical figures.
For me, the book was balanced too heavily in favour of the historical narratives. Maybe if I had a better grasp of the wider historical context I'd be able to see how the author drew on the stories they have to highlight parts of the grandfather's psychology but I'm not big on books that require extra knowledge to get them. The entire thing came across as a little dry. The heavy weight placed on the historical narratives basically leaves the reader in a position to try and build their own story about the Grandfather's life through these works but I felt like there wasn't enough to build on and, I'm sorry, but when reading a book I like to be told a story, not invivted to construct my own. There are themes running through the book, the idea of journeys is omnipresent and also disguise and lies. But I can't help but feel that the book repeatedly draws attention to these things but doesn't seem to reach any conclusion on them. Other symbols and repeated motifs seemed almost thrown in at random. It give the impression that the author wants you to think this is a more intelligent book than I actually found it to be. And, even at the end, I still wasn't entirely sure what the author felt about her grandfather. Hero worship, certainly, but there had to be something beyond that.
Technically, this was a well written book, but I didn't feel at the end like I'd been told a comelling story, met a compelling character or had a point made to me in some way that made me think. It wasn't a bad book, it just failed in almost every measuer to be a good book.
For me, the book was balanced too heavily in favour of the historical narratives. Maybe if I had a better grasp of the wider historical context I'd be able to see how the author drew on the stories they have to highlight parts of the grandfather's psychology but I'm not big on books that require extra knowledge to get them. The entire thing came across as a little dry. The heavy weight placed on the historical narratives basically leaves the reader in a position to try and build their own story about the Grandfather's life through these works but I felt like there wasn't enough to build on and, I'm sorry, but when reading a book I like to be told a story, not invivted to construct my own. There are themes running through the book, the idea of journeys is omnipresent and also disguise and lies. But I can't help but feel that the book repeatedly draws attention to these things but doesn't seem to reach any conclusion on them. Other symbols and repeated motifs seemed almost thrown in at random. It give the impression that the author wants you to think this is a more intelligent book than I actually found it to be. And, even at the end, I still wasn't entirely sure what the author felt about her grandfather. Hero worship, certainly, but there had to be something beyond that.
Technically, this was a well written book, but I didn't feel at the end like I'd been told a comelling story, met a compelling character or had a point made to me in some way that made me think. It wasn't a bad book, it just failed in almost every measuer to be a good book.
ronanmcd's review
emotional
informative
relaxing
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
A young woman reflects on her relationship with her grandparents after their deaths. Her grandfather was a historian, and she reflects on the past as she goes through his belongings and a lifetime of notes. What emerges is a shady in-between of truth and untruth. Her grandfather, the historian, did not believe truth was as important as the story that was laid down by those who got to tell it. So, it appears, his life was led in a similar vein where exact feelings and motivations were unclear. This is why he had no interest in family history, it could not be conclusively said what happened behind closed doors. The narrator is aware of this, even as she remembers what went on behind closed doors and sunsets if the truth she saw was the only one.
fictionfan's review
2.0
A strange mix of history and fiction…
The unnamed narrator of this novel has returned to her late grandfather’s farmhouse to sort through his papers before the house is sold. Jimmy, the grandfather, was a historian and as she goes through his final unfinished writings she reminisces about the stories he told her when she was a child. These stories relate to four historical figures – Edward IV, Peter the Great, Olaudah Equiano and General Kitchener. She intermingles these snippets of history with reminiscences about her grandparents.
Sadly I can’t find much positive to say about this book. It reads as if the author has jotted down lots of snippets of history that she has learned over the years and then tried to find some way to link them. The pieces of history are simply retellings, or often slightly reworded quotations, of fragments of the work of real historians and, although they are occasionally mildly interesting, there is no depth to them, nor any particular link between them. Hildyard also quotes copiously from the original chroniclers and, from time to time, from the essays of Virginia Woolf. In fact, I began to wonder what percentage of the book could really be said to be original. In her notes at the end, Hildyard says ‘the reading for this book was done haphazardly and for pleasure over several years’ and that, I’m afraid, is exactly what it reads like – unconnected notes made by a recreational reader.
On the whole the writing is technically fine, although the misuse of appendices for appendages when talking about soldiers’ wounds did cause me to giggle. I wouldn’t have been so mean as to mention it, except that Hildyard frequently patronises the reader by explaining the meanings of words or phrases that anyone with a passing interest in history or, indeed, reading would require no help to understand. The sections where she talks about her grandfather read like a rather dull travelogue as they visit real museums and galleries, where she lists and describes the various exhibits. And she frequently throws in irrelevant little factlets as if, because she knows a thing, she’s going to get it in somehow.
"Much of the Society literature boasts about the cattle’s ‘pure white coat’, even though white is a convergence of rays from a whole spectrum of colours, and therefore, in one sense, the most impure."
The book has no emotional heart to it and no real narrative drive. I suspect the author was trying to make the point that the telling of history is always affected by the filter of the historian but, if that is the book’s purpose, then it’s hardly a new thought nor is the point particularly well made. While it’s well enough written in a technical sense and even moderately interesting in parts, overall I’m afraid I can’t recommend this one.
NB This book was provided for review by the publisher.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
The unnamed narrator of this novel has returned to her late grandfather’s farmhouse to sort through his papers before the house is sold. Jimmy, the grandfather, was a historian and as she goes through his final unfinished writings she reminisces about the stories he told her when she was a child. These stories relate to four historical figures – Edward IV, Peter the Great, Olaudah Equiano and General Kitchener. She intermingles these snippets of history with reminiscences about her grandparents.
Sadly I can’t find much positive to say about this book. It reads as if the author has jotted down lots of snippets of history that she has learned over the years and then tried to find some way to link them. The pieces of history are simply retellings, or often slightly reworded quotations, of fragments of the work of real historians and, although they are occasionally mildly interesting, there is no depth to them, nor any particular link between them. Hildyard also quotes copiously from the original chroniclers and, from time to time, from the essays of Virginia Woolf. In fact, I began to wonder what percentage of the book could really be said to be original. In her notes at the end, Hildyard says ‘the reading for this book was done haphazardly and for pleasure over several years’ and that, I’m afraid, is exactly what it reads like – unconnected notes made by a recreational reader.
On the whole the writing is technically fine, although the misuse of appendices for appendages when talking about soldiers’ wounds did cause me to giggle. I wouldn’t have been so mean as to mention it, except that Hildyard frequently patronises the reader by explaining the meanings of words or phrases that anyone with a passing interest in history or, indeed, reading would require no help to understand. The sections where she talks about her grandfather read like a rather dull travelogue as they visit real museums and galleries, where she lists and describes the various exhibits. And she frequently throws in irrelevant little factlets as if, because she knows a thing, she’s going to get it in somehow.
"Much of the Society literature boasts about the cattle’s ‘pure white coat’, even though white is a convergence of rays from a whole spectrum of colours, and therefore, in one sense, the most impure."
The book has no emotional heart to it and no real narrative drive. I suspect the author was trying to make the point that the telling of history is always affected by the filter of the historian but, if that is the book’s purpose, then it’s hardly a new thought nor is the point particularly well made. While it’s well enough written in a technical sense and even moderately interesting in parts, overall I’m afraid I can’t recommend this one.
NB This book was provided for review by the publisher.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
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