Adapted into a sell-out performance at the National, Coram Boy revolves around the historical Coram Foundling Hospital. Otis is a travelling merchant who makes a fortune from selling illegitimate children from wealthy families into slavery. Among these is Aaron, born out of wedlock to the disinherited heir of the Ashbrook estate, for whom music is everything. Otis's son, a simpleton has previously formed an obsession over Aaron's mother, and steals Aaron from his father, taking him to the Coram Hospital, where the boy grows up. Ten years later, Aaron's pure voice gets the notice of his father Alexander, and the truth is gradually revealed, with lots of intrigue, corruption and sordid crimes thrown into the fray.

The story in itself is a fresh one, with historically accurate descriptions of the late 1700s. It manages to deal with the issue of illegitimacy well, and to drive home the squalid conditions in which people existed in during the time. Yet there are times when it feels too ambitious for its size. Meshak's ability to see 'angels' is clearly out of sorts with the rest of the 'realistic world', and there are times when the plot twists and turns so many times that the original point of the story gets lost in its own cleverness. The ending has a bit of a rushed feel to it, almost as if the author decided that it would be a happy ending with a twist, and so decided to kill Thomas, Alexander's best friend, and make everything end happily ever after.

In spite of its flaws, it is still a good read, for the originality of the story is what makes the book noticeable from the rest of the herd.

Roux -- 13th April 2006

Lynne Truss's book is a timely reminder that all is not right on the language front. Punctuation, that last stalwart between civilisation and trash, seems to be fighting a losing battle in this age of instant and text messaging.

Filled with interesting and historical anecdotes such as the origin of the phrase 'hanged on a comma', one cannot help but wonder where Truss's manual of proper punctuation usage (none of that Hollywood movie title nonsense, thankyouverymuch) was during the days of dry English lessons. It is a delightful and entertaining read, while at the same scarily foreboding in its doomsday-esque forecasts of punctuation's lamentable death, no doubt expedited by the likes of modern-day Marinettis (who advocated the replacement of all punctuation with different ink colours and typefaces). And yes, it does do an excellent job educating one in the use of lovely punctuations such as the ellipse and the question mark.

So, if you are wondering where I am on a lovely Sunday morning such as this, I would be taking up a marker to black out the poor misused apostrophe in 'potatoe's'.

Sticklers Unite indeed!

Roux -- 14th August 2005

Second in the Inheritance trilogy, Eldest starts off with Eragon coming into his own after having slain a dreaded Shade. But it comes at great cost, and he finds himself weak and injured, doubting everything which he does. He is then whisked off to train with the Elves at Ellesméra while back home, his cousin Roran is charged with leading their village in a wild flight away from the dreaded minions of evil King Galbatorix.

Gushing about how young Paolini is seems to me a little patronising, because there isn't a reason why somebody with a clear talent for language and knack for telling a good story should be held back by his age. And indeed Paolini demonstrates great general knowledge and a strong command of vocabulary which is at times held back by awkward grammar. Still, this deviates from what a strong work it is.

The best way to describe the story is a blend between the Fantasy and 'kiddult' genres that are currently all the rage. The plot is fat and complex, filled with twists that aren't at all trite, and generally unputdownable. Paolini is clearly in his element, and one often wonders at how much of himself he has put into Eragon, for the protagonist is both humane and complex, if a little whiney in the true vein of all good heroes.

In fact, I might even venture as far as to draw parallels between Paolini's Alagaësía and Tolkien's Middle-Earth. Both have their own language and histories, but Paolini departs from him in spending pain-staking page after another explaining the various rites and cultures of his different races, although this at times tends to drag the story down, especially during Eragon's training in Ellesméra.

To sum up, it is a fascinating, enchanting read which is both emotive and action-filled. Now for the long, long wait for the 3rd and final book!

Roux -- 15th January 2006

Never having read any of Dahl's short stories of adults, I was perhaps not surprised to find that the dark humour which permeates his children's stories is present and in good form too. Also not having been a short-story person, I was nevertheless tickled and thrilled by the stories which seem to dance around with their wit and sparkle, yet at the same time feel a little uneasy at the level of darkness that seems to swivel around each. Once again, Dahl has shown that he is a master at his craft, and it doesn't matter that the stories are only a few pages long.

Some are funny (Mrs Bixby and the Colonel's Coat, The Umbrella Man), others sad (Katina), while the rest you just have difficulty placing into any system of classification known to men (Royal Jelly). And each one of them has a message behind its seemingly light-hearted front, of a piss-take or a Social Commentary which brings a little glimpse into the way Dahl viewed the world. Of course, one knew not what to expect in the end, when some peculiar twist that draws either a smile or a frown would end the thoroughly enjoyable tale.

It is this criminal overlooking of Dahl's adult stories which should be addressed by publishers and marketers, for surely a bunch of children have grown up loving the likes of Mr Willy Wonka but have had the misfortune of missing out the greater delights of his black humour for a more adult audience. I know I have, and will definitely fail to address this wrong rightaway!

Roux -- 3rd March 2006

The conclusion to the High Druid of Shannara is a thrilling read which keeps your nose in it longer than is healthy -- indeed I finished it in 2 days. Grianne Ohmsford, Ard Rhys of the Druid Order is betrayed and sent into the Forbidding, a demonic world where dark creatures roam by members of her own Order. Her only chance of getting out is through her nephew, Pen Ohmsford, who has managed to obtain the Dark Wand, the key to her rescue.

To put a long story short, the last instalment of the trilogy is all about how a little boy rescues the world. Granted it is a formulaic storyline, the only difference is that Brooks has decided (in all 3 books of the series) to venture a little more into emotional writing -- with mixed results. It is true that he handles topics like love and worry with sensitivity, but there are times when one cries for a return to the safer and more action-packed world that readers are used to.

That said, the trademark style of multiple storylines and page-turning plot makes the book, and indeed the entire series eminently readable. The fresh approach of setting the series less than 20 years after the last means that readers who have become familiar with Bek and Rue will appreciate the continuity, while acknowledging that the baton has been passed on at the same time.

A must-read for fans of Shannara, although new readers might be bewildered by the numerous references to events and magic from previous books.

Roux -- 28th September 2005

Combining suicide and humour might seem like a big no-no, but it is exactly what Hornby has done here, to at least some success, at that. On New Year's Eve, a bunch of misfits meet on Toppers House. The only thing in common that they have: a conviction that they would have killed themselves had the others not been there with the same intent that night. Maureen, Jess, Martin and JJ are 4 people with what they believe is an unliveable life, and a liking for bad pizza.

Hornby does a cracking good job at bringing out his characters, to the extent of even using American spelling for the failed pop-star JJ and censoring any swearing for middle-aged Maureen. It is these subtle tweaks that make them just that little more authentic. Critics have complained about not being able to 'identify' with the characters, perhaps missing the point that the quartet has indeed been shunned by a world who does not understand them.

Particularly satisfying too perhaps is how he shies away from the 'feel-good' formula that one might expect of a comic approach to suicide, because let's face it: how many times do things in life end up exactly perfect? None of the 4 characters identify with each other, and end up being as alienated from the world as they see it at the end, yet we feel as if they have somehow gained companionship in each other's weird company for a change. And it is this insight into the heads of 4 people who have absolutely nothing in common which drives the story forward and causes much laughter and incredulous head-shaking. They are all quite mad, but endearingly so. If life doesn't stop for you, might as well just get on with it.

Roux -- 15th January 2006

Spanning 3 generations and 2 continents, the story of the Stephanides family is a truly bizarre and fascinating one. From the burning village of Symra, Lefty and Desdemona move to Detroit, home of the American dream and the Ford motor plant. With them they take along the inevitable from a small village: inbreeding and a mutation within each of their genotypes. It is under the breaking down of society in post-war America that their granddaughter Calliopse is born, a hermaphrodite with a genetic make-up that is male, but raised as a girl.

Fascinating premise? It is backed up the skilled handling of the narrative, jumping back and forth between the different ages, detailing all the movements of the cosmos that let to the birth of Callie (or Cal, as he is known as an adult) with an effortless air that entices and intrigues. Especially amazing is the ability of the writer to portray and almost Guy Ritchie-style in his words, as if a videotape had been made to rewind at full speed as we catch tantalising glimpses of various generations and lives. Of particular note is the sequence where the various events (as seen from a first-person, eye-in-the-sky type view) leading up Calliopse's conception, which is both funny and almost-tragic at the same time.

Kudos has to go to Eugenides for proving that science can be literary. He litters his text with contemporary scientific facts and debates, simple enough to be understandable but laced with an aura of enigma to the lay-reader. By also bringing actual historical events such as the race riots of the 60s and the mad scramble for upward mobility, here is a man who has proved that science and sociology can mix, and with delightfully fresh results too.

It is, however, the character of Calliope herself that steals the show from all the various nuggets of information. Her voice is clear, brutal, frank, and parallels with The Catcher in the Rye are deserved. One has to read the book to believe it, but here lies a modern classic which has the complete package to survive the frivolousness of time.

Roux -- 14th October 2005

Written by Ernesto (better known as 'Che') Guevara after a long trip around South America, these entries record his adventures and thoughts as a young medical student who has dreams of battling injustice. Together with his friend Alberto, he skims across the continent, searching for something, riding as stowaways, bunking in with travellers, and eventually ends up forming his own view of his part of the world.

One is struck almost immediately by the quality of his writing. Known nowadays more as an iconic rebel who dared to stand up to America, it is indeed unfortunate that so little is popularly known about his early life. Even more unfortunate perhaps that Guevara was too busy working to save the world that he failed to devote more time to writing, a craft with which he has a raw talent for. Metaphors and descriptions leap out from the page, and there are several smile-inducing moments. Of course, it is probably important for charting the course that eventually led to his pursuance of communism in Cuba.

It is an unpretentious read, both funny and intelligent, while remaining true to his own voice. This is the story of two young men who have ideals, racing about against everything that stands in their way, chasing their dreams.

Roux -- 25th March 2006

One thing about this: it is not a happy story. Following the lives of struggling writers Edward Reardon, Harold Biffen, Jasper Milvain and Alfred Yule, it is a miserable read about the other side of the novel's golden era. Linking them then is a thread of confusion and bitterness about how commercial interests seem to have usurped any artistic integrity they have left. Theirs is a world of garrets and painfully cold winters, of rejections from publishers and scraping by to put food to mouth. Reardon is a writer stuck in a rut, watching his refined wife slip further from his grasp as monetary success fails to materialise; Biffen is trapped within his own world of romanticism and abject poverty; Milvain is almost the Machiavellian upstart who dreams of a better, wealthier life, and is not afraid to do whatever is necessary to secure it; Yule, on the other hand, is a middle-aged writer dependant upon his daughter to churn out pithy pieces that hold less sway in the literary world as time goes by.

Perhaps it is useful that Gissing is writing about a world which is only too real for him, but each page is filled with such utter wretchedness and depression that it takes one with quite a strong disposition not to get sucked into their despair. Take Reardon, for example: a weak man who rues the end of his writing genius, he nevertheless forces a novel out of himself in order to feed and clothe his wife. As it turns out, his compromise is in vain, as she separates from him, unable to take his failure. While we might find his melodramatic reactions to each blow he is dealt, we realise upon careful reflection that Gissing has indeed caught the nuances of human nature most effectively, for who has not felt that the end of the world has come after each setback that we suffer?

One of the strongest themes that runs through the book is pride. It is what tears the characters apart from one another, and it is what leads to their ultimate downfall. It is using this that Gissing is able to bring out the flawed nature of every one of his protagonists, and an excellent source of both inner and outer conflict. More often than not, we feel inclined to hit the characters over their heads at their sheer pig-headedness, for could not everything be solved were they to bend over and give in to their pride? Yet it is this uncompromising stance that each one takes which is key to the novel, and credit goes to Gissing for capturing that.

All in, it is not an easy read, for there are many times when you feel like throwing it down in disgust at the weak, dramatism of its characters, but it is this which draws you into the world of the failed novelist. It is what Dickens and Hardy would never understand.

Roux -- 8th January 2006

You know it's a Ishiguro book when you come away from it with an aching head. And I meant that in an entirely complimentary way. This debut effort focuses on a middle-aged Japanese woman, Etsuko, in England being forced back into her past life in post-war Nagasaki and a strange friendship that she strikes up with Sachiko, a woman who has fallen from the upper echelons of society.

The entire narrative is haunting and wispy, filled with regret and a pathetic sense of nostalgia that is elusive. Any attempts to put a finger on the exact atmosphere or indeed any issue is greeted with infuriating failure, and you are left with the creepy feeling that the author is laughing at your denseness. The past is never far behind in Etsuko's life both in Japan and England, and constant half-references to events only serve to whet the appetite. But of course, memories are never whole or accurate, and so we are only left with little drips and drabs to piece together. Sachiko herself is the personification of post-war Japan: filled with false hopes and self-delusions about life getting better. Does dwelling on the past make it any more real?

Of note is the language, which is spot-on, and the mannerisms and speech of the Japanese are brought out in English to a refined level of accuracy that is unachievable by mere mortals seeking to capture an entire culture and language using a different medium. It is obvious from the excessive niceties that their speakers mean nothing that they say.

While not his best work, it is nonetheless a lovely introduction to Ishiguro, highly recommended for anybody who isn't feeling brave enough to tackle more confusing, mind-boggling works like The Unconsoled.

Roux -- 29th October 2005

With so much written about the senses of sight, hearing and even touch to a certain degree, it's more than a breath of fresh air to have an entire novel based around this very neglected sense of ours. Born to a time where Paris is at her height of power, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is an ugly man with no scent. Yet he has an amazing sense of smell, which alone is enough to get him where he wants to be. Slowly the man starts to achieve his quest to make the perfect perfume, even if he has to kill for it.

Nice premise, even better idea, although the story does feel a little forced and melodramatic at times. Creating a story with not a single likeable character is also a gamble, and while reading, one sometimes feels almost short-changed that there is nobody to cheer on. Which takes a little getting used to, and once the idea is planted, it really isn't too bad. The sinister, surreal feel to Grenouille makes the novel, but may just be its weakest point too.

Descriptions are vivid and fresh, and one can almost smell the stink of 18th Century Paris, rising far above the muggy summer heat straight into the brain. Never has a protagonist been more detestable, and you are yanked in a million directions at once as you alternate between cheering for his victims while at the same time feel as scornful as he does towards the peasantry. And how can one not fall for the intimate detail introduced into even the merest details of dreary French countryside?

A very original narrative in itself, but what a pity about the end, which makes you feel almost short-changed as you retreat from as wonderful a world as it.

Roux -- 1st May 2006

While better known for her novel, Rebecca, Du Maurier's brilliantly contemporary piece sends chills down the spine.

Set in the 1970s, the only way Britain is able to survive after pulling out of Europe is a merger with US. Thus enter the super-state of USUK. Yet, to Mad, a feisty retired world-famous actress, the American troops appear to be more invaders than friendly peace-keepers. Much to the horror of Emma, Mad starts egging on the six boys in her household to sabotage and wreck havoc upon their new masters. Then the Marines decide to retaliate, and things take a deadly turn.

Told from the point of view of Emma, Du Maurier manages to bring a woman's view of a home being invaded. The book is an easy read, offering the chance to enjoy it at the surface, but also the opportunity to dig a little deeper. Scenes of the Marines' rough treatment of barely-grown boys strike a deeper chord, and seem just that little bit more human, and we find ourselves siding with the fierce Cornish fighting-spirit. Yet, perhaps a point worth considering would be if we would feel this strongly for the Cornishmen blowing American naval bases up had the entire story been set in the Middle-East? Surely they are no different from 'evil terrorists killing Americans'? Why do we feel sad for poor the Loo-tenent, but think that they deserved it in the end?

While it could be argued that this is a fluffy, feel-good book about a woman whom most feminists would cringe to read about, the take-home message is where do we draw the line at helping -- and invading?

Roux -- 5th August 2005

Once again a semi-autobiographical read, Thompson puts himself into the shoes of Paul Kemp, a young journalist posted to a struggling English daily in Puerto Rico. Faced with the endless heat and boredom, he is confronted with lazy days spent drinking himself into oblivion, and a slew of off-skewer characters such as the physically dangerous Yeamon and his unstable girlfriend Chenault.

Written at the tail end of the 50s, the flower power generation has yet to kick off, and as such, it is less angry and despondent compared with Thompson's later works, but it is still a good read. The language is crisp and compelling, and very easy to read, contrary to expectations. Violence and destruction is always one step around the corner, and one can sense the confusion of a young man unsure about the live he has led so far and the changing world around him. The last, stubborn strands of old order is about to be destroyed, and he feels himself being swept along to god knows where. The descriptions of a idyllic island paradise in the days before globalisation are particularly strong, and one can feel the shirt start to stick to one's back as Kemp floats from near-disaster to near-disaster.

While it is not as edgy nor as powerful as his earlier works, this is still a clear demonstration of his ability and talent, and even the very book itself seems to be symbolic of Thompson (alongside the many who marched for the people in the 60s) himself: the uneasy, slightly eerie calm before the storm which is about to break.

Roux -- 17th April 2006

McEwan's latest book is a stunning study of neurosurgeon Henry Perowne's world, a upper-middle class existence which struggles with the very idea of what it means to care passionately about a war being fought miles away when all he wants is to get to his squash game on time. Forced into a violent encounter with Baxter, a dangerous but intelligent man on the streets, Perowne feels as if his entire world has just collapsed around him as his anomalous day continues to roll on.

Faced with the task of presenting a world which few know well, McEwan gets well into the head of a greying neurosurgeon who is contented but restless at the same time as he feels his diminishing control on his family and the fight against ageing take him in a terrifying new direction. Written entirely in the present tense, it is a fascinating character study of every aspect of Perowne's life, from his relationship with family, his satisfaction with his career and skill as a neurosurgeon, and also the churning cogs of time as represented in the increasing difficult of movement on the squash court. Throughout this one day, an entire history unfurls, each rich and believable, yet at the same time fitting nicely into the present narrative.

Yet it is the audacity of the book that is striking. The painstaking detail which is used to illustrate Perowne's skill with the knife serves well to show the meticulous, perfectionist character that he is meant to be, and the sheer breadth of knowledge displayed -- from neurosurgery to classics and literature -- is impressive. However, this might be the one weakness of the book, where it feels as if the author was trying his best to cram all his knowledge and wave it in front of the reader, and there are times when it slows the pace down. Its contemporaneous nature, with the massive anti-war protests as a backdrop, is very relevant, and important questions are asked about what we are doing without being too much of a brash political statement.

One of the best books of this century, it will remain a gem in the literary world for ages to come.

Roux -- 12th April 2006

Having escaped from an Australian prison in the 1980s, a man wanted for armed robbery takes on the name on his fake passport, Lindsay, and embarks on a quest to find what he is searching for in Bombay. There, he sets up home in the slum, living together with the heart of India, setting up a free health clinic, joins the mafia, acts in Bollywood, and fights with the Mujahiddin in Afghanistan.

The first thing that hits one about the book is the vivid language that flows off the page with a flair and style that is seldom seen in all but the best of writers. Here is a man who has lived an extraordinary life, and wants to share what he has seen and done, be it something that he is proud or ashamed of. His words are poetic and filled with lush imagery, bringing you deep into the underworld of Bombay that is so alien and hostile to most 'goras' (foreigners). A rich feeling and understanding for the chaotic, bright, and colourful world of India's large cities is evident right from the beginning, and his love for the people, buildings, life, and messes leaps out at the reader.

This book also goes a long way in dispelling the myth in modern societies that one has to hail from a certain background to be intelligent. There are times where I find myself fighting unreasonable prejudice to remind myself that it matters not that he is Australia's most wanted criminal in the 80s, and am glad to say that by the end of the book, it was no longer an issue, because there is nothing to say that a robber can't be a writer too.

Perhaps one of the minor quibbles I do have with the book is the endless philosophising. The book is more than 900 pages long. Admittedly this is because Davids has seen much in his India years, but there are times when the feeling does surface that he takes himself too seriously, and has whinged enough about what a low-life he is. Perhaps it gives the story life and depth in the beginning, but when you are 600 pages down, it starts to drag the otherwise beautiful narrative along with its pains and groans. It also appears to lose steam towards the end, but this is entirely in line with Davids's own disillusionment with his new world.

Shantaram is a long but beautiful read, essential for anybody who wants to get to know Bombay in all its stink and wonder, and offers a magnificent journey into the inner world of both a city and the mindset of a wounded man, running away from nothing in particular, eventually finding some form of peace in the monsoon rains that rage outside.

Roux -- 16th September 2005

A diary of Stevenson's travels, one is drawn into rural France as Stevenson crawls along with the stubborn donkey Modestine. Little does he realise that French peasants are reluctant to give instructions.

Not being at all familiar with Stevenson's works, I was nevertheless amused and attracted by his writings. Easy to read and witty at the same time, there is a slyness to the way he describes each person he encounters, and a definite tongue-in-cheek attitude towards the Irish monks who have taken a vow of silence. Also interesting is the obvious influences of society so far in the mountains, when it becomes clear that Stevenson has brought some of his elitism into the country, albeit in an almost-endearing way in which he thwacks Modestine and gets frustrated by peasants.

In spite of the 'lack of objective', it is a short and enjoyable read, forerunner of the travel literature seen lining the shelves these days.

Roux -- 5th May 2006

Fischer's novel is undoubtedly a triumph of both spirit and literature, following the adventures of two young men, Pataki and Gyuri, Basketball players in post-war Soviet Hungary, as they attempt to make sense of all the changes that has hit their country since the Russians swept into power. Young, callow, sex-crazed, their lives spin around aimlessly, eventually heading towards a violent head as the Pataki in particular gets swept up into the thick of the glorious revolution.

It is perhaps not the most obvious of choices to make a book about so serious a subject a farcical one, but Fischer manages to combine both sensitivity and humour with all the energy of youth into a cracking good read. Laughs are never far around the corner, and even if tragedy and pain he manages to convey a lively optimism, which is definitely a welcome change from the heavy, wrist-slitting chest-banging stuff that most writers will attempt given this topic.

And he manages to pepper his work with words which require a serious afternoon with a dictionary too while he's at it. Yet never once do they feel forced or unreal, and one gets the feeling that he is genuinely at home with such big words which seem to flow from his pen in an almost wry fashion.

A jolly good read of a period I had previously known little about, it is perhaps made more enjoyable by having now been to Budapest. Still, it remains a relevant story to any and everybody about the will to just get on with it under an oppressive government, of wanting to ensure that life carries on as per usual.

Roux -- 23rd March 2006