“I’ll give you twenty to one that I’ll be dead by morning. Doesn’t get fairer than that.”
I really do try my best to dislike Man Booker prize winning books. There’s something so arrogant about the lack of apostrophes used for dialogue that irritates me. In spite of my best efforts, I adored this book.
It felt like a non-absurd Catch-22: effortless hopping between timelines and characters painted a rich, multi-faceted insight into a small, horrific window of World War II, with all the black humour you’d expect from Australians enduring such a situation.
“Despite what she said, she preferred strong lies to weak truths.”
The characters were flawed and deep. Flanagan’s effort to communicate the mentality of the Japanese was valiant, the alien perspective not needing empathy, just a vague sympathy; a pale understanding.
My only criticism is that it had a weak ending. A series of events happened in close conjunction. They didn’t feel like they were written with the same patience as the rest of the book, or with as much thoughtfulness either. Fortunately (as was also their flaw), this section of the book was the minority, so my overall rating remains.