The Tattooist of Auschwitz, Felicia's Journey and The Other Side of You

Despite all the hype and 27 weeks (and counting) in the top ten paperback chart, I was not impressed by The Tattooist of Auschwitz. Although the book is strangely spellbinding despite the horrors of life (and death) in a concentration camp, I found it too much like a biography rather than a novel. It just could not make up it's mind whether it was fact or fiction. The horrors are dealt with in a subtle and sensitive manner when the cruelty should have been harder to take. So at least it was not as harrowing as I had guessed it might be. 

If the book had been written as a biography, I could have forgiven the writer for the very ordinary writing. Her dialogue is really poor, it pales in comparison with someone like Ann Patchett, the last book I read. The central romance, whilst obviously based on fact, seems wildly out of place There is some back story, but this just seems to be there for the sake of it. The ending is then over in a rush, our "hero" enjoying his adventures on the way home. But this man is not a hero, just a survivor. 

I had only previously read one novel by William Trevor, "The Story of Lucy Gault" which I thought pretty good. "Felicia's Journey" is even better. The book follows two characters whose paths cross early in the story. Felicia is a young Irish girl, pregnant by the youth she tries to find in the English Midlands, the boy's mother refusing to divulge his whereabouts. Mr Hilditch is one of literatures gruesome villains, a gluttonous bachelor living alone in his dead mother's large house. His job as a catering manager brings him into accidental contact with Felicia.

His relationship with her is described in a subtle yet disturbing way. Felicia is so vulnerable and Hilditch so creepy yet plausible and charming, that we know danger isn't very far away. Whilst the author cleverly portrays the innocence of Felicia, it is Hilditch that he provides us with a superb characterisation, getting right inside the head of a monster. His memories about the women with whom he has previously had such a relationship are quite disturbing.

Halfway through the book, there are a couple of pages that describe homelessness that are quite exceptional. It starts:"As maggots make their way into cracks in the masonry, so the people of the streets have crept into one-night homes in graveyards and on building sites, in alleyways and courtyards, making walls of dustbins pulled close together, and roofs of whatever lies nearby. Some have crawled up scaffolding to find a corner beneath the tarpaulin that protects an untiled expanse. Others have settled down in cardboard cartons that once contained dishwashers or refrigerators." The next page is even better, as are the following few pages as Felicia meets some of the inhabitants.

Felicia is so naïve that you wait for the inevitable disaster. She is the complete opposite of Hilditch, a predatory loner. At times harrowing, but always moving and brilliantly written, this book very much deserved it's Whitbread (now Costa) prize. I have added more of Trevor's novels (and his vast number of short stories) to my to-read list. 

Having only moderately enjoyed my first Sally Vickers novel ("The Cleaner of Chartres" was a Book Club choice), I was surprised how much better was "The Other Side of You". I thought it was written with precision, intelligence, great sympathy for the characters and technical brilliance. As early as page 14 where our narrator (the psychiatrist Dr David McBride) is contemplating how to tell his story : "It is commonplace that it is part of life's tragedy that while it must be lived forwards it can only be understood backwards".

The erratic strides of his great friend across the city is described as: "A walk with Gus was a definition of a mixed blessing - his company was to die for, and there was always the possibility that one might". I love the way a writer can pull you in: "I'm not speaking about my personal experience, you understand". I had been tempted to take off one star as there was so much about Caravaggio paintings that I found distracting, but hey, that might be just me.