The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly

David is well-written, but the figures he meets tend to be one dimensional at best. Instead, his descriptions are functional at best, and it seems to me that his simplistic phrases fail to conjure up the dark, alternative reality he was trying to create.Īnother problem with the novel is the characters – or rather, the lack of them. It has little in common with Lud-in-the-Mist, where Hope Mirrlees is deft and whimsical and is quite unlike Angela Carter’s folk-inspired writing, which highlights the violence and twisted poetry present in the old tales. These images could be described in words, of course, but it is here that John Connolly stumbles: his writing seems far too prosaic for a story rooted in folklore. Indeed, I found myself thinking that this novel would make an excellent movie – perhaps resulting in something like Pan’s Labyrinth, horrific and mythical. There, he crawls into a dreamworld stitched together from his books, narrowly avoiding a German bomber in a scene that I imagine would be beautifully rendered on film.

Following his (dead) mother’s plaintive calls, he heads outside, down to an eerie sunken garden. It is from this reality that David escapes one evening. But now the many tomes shelved his attic bedroom – of history, communism, and old, unsanctified fairy tales - whisper at night, muttering, chattering, disturbing his rest and David thinks he sees a strange, crooked man lurking in his bedroom. His misses his mother, a woman as obsessed with books as he was. His father, caught up in the war effort, is rarely at home, leaving David alone with his hated stepmother and new half-brother is a sprawling house. A bookish, pedantic child, his concerns are far more domestic. World War II has just begun but the war barely affects David, a 12 year-old boy living on the outskirts of London.

2010, books, genre: fairy tales, genre: fantasy, genre: general/literary, reviews: booksĬast yourself back to 1939.

The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly