Honestly, the thought that I could have ever liked this book is quite baffling to me.

But to be fair, I truly believed I was making a rational decision when I picked it up.

Yes, I read this book mainly because I have this compulsion to read everything that has ever made it onto a "books you should read in a lifetime" list, especially those that are sold for a dollar each at my childhood library's paperback sale. And yes, this instinct often leads me astray.

However, I do have a genuine interest in World War II content. While I may not be a huge fan of historical fiction in general, I do watch "Band of Brothers" with my dad once a year, which I consider to be something.

But this book... it was more of a strange romance than a war novel.

And regarding that, I have three points to make:

1) The way women are portrayed in this book is unbelievably cheesy to me.

2) I can tolerate a lot of things, but I simply cannot handle cheesiness, corniness, or an overabundance of earnestness to the point of being sickly sweet.

3) Reading sex scenes written by men who are trying too hard to sound literary is a form of punishment that should be reserved solely for torture.

In conclusion, I hope that through character development, I can avoid ever reading a book like this again.

1.5

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currently-reading updates

I got the booster shot yesterday and now my whole body aches. So I can kind of relate.

clear ur sh*t book 45
quest 20: a book with a group cast

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tbr review

And the award for "book I've added to and removed from my to-read list most times" goes to...

He lies in the room, surrounded by pale maps. Katharine is not with him. His hunger is so intense that it desires to burn down all social rules and all courtesy.

Her life with others no longer holds any interest for him. He wants only her stalking beauty and her theatre of expressions. He craves the minute and secret reflections between them, with the depth of field minimal and their foreignness as intimate as two pages of a closed book (155).

I've had this book for approximately five years. My mom gave it to me. Sometimes she gives me books because she believes I should read them, and other times she gives me books because she thinks I should try to read them. THE ENGLISH PATIENT falls into the latter category. If I were asked to describe this book in one word, I think I would choose "overwrought." At times, the writing is beautiful (as seen in the quote above), but other times (and there are many such times) it is so purple that it borders on the nonsensical, such as describing a peen as a "seahorse."

The plot is rather strange. It revolves around four people - a nurse, a bomb defuser, a thief, and a burned patient - all living in this abandoned villa after WWII. That might sound interesting, but in the first third of the book, the characters seem to drift without purpose, swimming through the heavy-handed prose like sluggish fish. The story doesn't truly become interesting until the last two thirds, when the eponymous English patient finally reveals his story of espionage and doomed romance.

This book is not really to my taste. There are better WWII stories available.

2 stars.

  


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My second read of this novel, this time in English, twenty-two years later.

I had some trepidations getting into it. It's truly amazing that certain images and little details have remained etched in my mind all this time. Of course, there were aspects that I had forgotten. For instance, the fact that Caravaggio was Hana's family friend, and that Almasy, also known as the English Patient, was fifteen years older than his love interest, Katherine. I must confess that the movie adaptation, which I hold dear, did somewhat muddle my reading experience, although not to the extent that I had anticipated.

If I were to don my super critical hat, I would opine that all the details regarding the different kinds of bombs and the methods to dismantle them could have been trimmed. Additionally, the ending, arguably, was unnecessary.

Nevertheless, I thoroughly loved re-reading this wonderful novel. Now, I find myself with a strong desire to watch the movie adaptation once again. It's as if this re-reading has reignited my passion for both the story and its cinematic interpretation.

I look forward to seeing how the movie will now appear to me, having just delved deep into the pages of the novel once more.

When I first came across this novel, I was a freshman in college. My academic performance had been lackluster as the journalism major I thought I desired turned out to be a collection of courses on writing with empty words and unnecessary rules that confined that writing style. It was evident that Hunter S. Thompson had made no impact on the School of Journalism at the University of Maine. I was too despondent and listless to make a genuine effort to pass those journalism courses. The few English classes I was taking were "core" classes, force-feeding me lots of Shakespeare (even though I now have an infatuation with the Bard, back then I was too restless to appreciate the finer qualities of his plays).

Then, Professor Norris assigned us The English Patient.

I recall thinking within the first few pages of reading how strange the novel seemed. After all, the tense shifts frequently and seemingly randomly between present and past. The setting jumps around, from an abandoned Italian monastery towards the end of World War II to a cartographers' camp outside of Cairo, and so forth. Yet, by the time I finished, it was clear to me that despite the apparent randomness of the novel's technical aspects, no other novel had ever left such a distinct and vivid impression on me. I truly understood the characters, their thoughts, actions, and how they interacted with one another. The plot, though initially difficult to follow, was not only understandable by the end but also deeply moving and tragic. I had no idea that novels could be like this, so disjointed and yet so singularly impressive and evocative. Needless to say, my faith in literature was completely rejuvenated after reading The English Patient. While it may not be the best example of the novel (remember, this was years before I first encountered Ulysses), it nonetheless showed me the infinite possibilities of the narrative form.

Let me indulge for a moment to disclose a bit more about the novel itself.

The characters in the novel are among those from literature that I will remember and cherish as long as my memory lasts. There is Hana, the young Canadian nurse clearly suffering from PTSD (due to many things experienced during the War, including the death of her father, a pilot who was shot down) and trying to make amends by caring for someone who will stay alive. There is Almasy - the titular patient - whom we first encounter as a mysterious burn victim, a man pulled from the wreckage of a crashed plane (as Hana's father would have been if he had survived...), but whom we later learn is a much, much more complex character. There is Caravaggio, the Canadian thief (and apparent friend of Hana's father) and sometime secret agent who is now mysteriously missing both of his thumbs. And there is Kip, the Sikh sapper who has joined the British Army to show his loyalty to the British Empire and assimilate himself into it, despite protests from his anti-Imperial brother.

And these are only the characters we meet in the "present" time of the novel, that is, the end of World War II. I have said nothing of Katharine, around whom Almasy's stories and memories constantly revolve, or Geoffrey Clifton, Katharine's husband, who becomes an obvious obstacle for Almasy (though the author, Michael Ondaatje, never allows his narrative to descend to the level of a soap opera). These characters live only in the memory of the novel, and we never see them in the "present".

The reason we never see them in the present is one of the reasons why the novel's plot is so heartrending. I will say nothing of what happens, except to say that if you have seen the equally wonderful - but incredibly different - Academy Award-winning film adaptation, you only know half of the story. There is so much more happening in the novel, things that cannot be fully translated to the screen because they are expressed in such a dreamlike and poetic manner.

Michael Ondaatje is one of the contemporary authors I admire most. He follows the "rules" of novel-writing, but only until they hinder his ideas, at which point he bends them or ignores them entirely. He seamlessly blends poetry and prose and is thus able to touch emotions that most other novelists completely overlook. Undoubtedly, it is for these reasons that I found The English Patient so refreshing back in the spring of 2001, and why I have since returned to it time and time again.

On a rainy Saturday, Michael Ondaatje was on the Podcast introducing his new novel Warlight.

It just felt like the perfect time to finally do the long-overdue catchup on his best-known book, The English Patient. I ended up pretty much finishing it in one sitting, and I was completely and utterly blown away.

Several World War books have already made it onto my all-time favorite list. There's Atonement, All the Light We Cannot See, Songbird, just to name a few. And The English Patient has easily found its own special spot there.

If you haven't read the book, chances are you've watched the amazing Academy-winning film adaptation. So I'll spare you the plot summary. The book delved deeper into the love story between Hana and Kip. It was more subdued and evolving compared to the dramatic revelation between Almasy and Katharine. The book presented the narratives in non-linear spurts, jumping through time and location, experience and impression, apprehension and perception. It all fit together as two of the four main characters survived on morphine. I truly appreciated the breadth and depth that came through the exquisite and poetic prose. However, I failed to reach the back cover with a firm conviction. Several permutations all seemed to make more or less sense. But this was precisely the unique beauty of the book.

It left me with a sense of wonder and a desire to explore its themes and characters further.

The writing in this piece is truly remarkable. What can I say? I love it.

She had always been drawn to words. She adored them, had grown up with them as her constant companions. Words provided her with clarity, bringing reason and shape to her thoughts and emotions. In contrast, I had always believed that words could distort emotions, bending them like sticks in water. She returned to her husband and whispered, “From this point on, we will either find or lose our souls. Seas move away. Why not lovers?”

When we parted for the last time, Maddox used the old farewell: “May God make safety your companion”. And then I strode away from him, defiantly stating, “There is no God.”

Both of these excerpts are from ”Part Nine: The Cave of Swimmers”.

With some friends, one can have differences of opinion about almost everything and yet still remain friends. The writing in this work keeps the reader in a state of wonder and thought, flowing beautifully. It creates a unique ambiance, a sensual feeling that is both inviting and captivating. Instead of crudely depicting sex, the lines evoke an atmosphere of sensuality that is both alluring and engaging. That is exactly what I felt when I listened to “Part Eight: The Holy Forest”. I may not understand the meaning of every single line, but my mind is constantly churning, and for me, the sentences seem to sing. Physical attraction cannot be easily defined by words and thoughts; it simply exists. You either feel comfortable or enticed by the presence of another person. You can sense the tension or the ease in the author’s lines.

I suppose I should have copied other sections as well. There are so many that are simply lovely. Ondaatje creates scenes that you never want to forget. In Chapter ten, they are celebrating Hana’s birthday. They are outside on the terrace of the wrecked Italian villa at night. The “English Patient”, who is actually burned and not English at all, is upstairs in his room. By the way, Kip has prepared a dinner for them, although he himself only eats “raw onions” and fresh vegetables and will never drink the wine. He is a sapper, an explosive expert who dismantles the many unexploded mines in Italy after the war. He is also a Sikh. It is he who has collected snail shells and filled them with oil to create a flicker of light. Caravaggio, the maimed Italian thief/spy and a long-time friend from Hana’s childhood, will tell her a story. And Hana, she takes off her sneakers and climbs barefoot onto the table to sing the Marseilles. These are the four main characters of the story. Are you curious about these individuals? How do they connect? What do they feel for each other? How have they changed each other? If you enjoy beautiful, suggestive, and delicious writing, then you should definitely read this book or listen to it, as I have done.

Christopher Cazenove is the narrator of the audiobook, and he does an excellent job of distinguishing between the different characters’ voices. I particularly love the voice he gives to the “English patient”. There are a few songs included, and I wish he had had the courage to sing them. I always love it when narrators do that.

I deducted one star because at times it can be quite difficult to understand what is happening. You really have to pay very close attention. The jumps in time and the different characters speaking can be rather confusing.

This book is truly like reading water. Ondaatje's writing style is so incredibly fluid and lyrical that it has an utterly captivating effect on the reader.

The story of identity lost and found that he skillfully weaves within the pages of The English Patient is the kind that will remain etched in your memory forever.

It is a narrative that takes you on a journey through the complex emotions and experiences of the characters, making you feel as if you are right there with them.

However, it is a pity that the movie adaptation did not do justice to this wonderful book.

The movie failed to capture the essence and beauty of Ondaatje's writing, leaving out many important details and nuances that made the book so special.

Despite this, the book still stands on its own as a masterpiece of literature, and is well worth reading for anyone who appreciates beautiful writing and a compelling story.

Well, I managed to finish it this time. But it ain't going on my favourites shelf, I'm afraid.

Yes, yes, it's lush and lyrical and majestic in its rhythms, multi-layered and melancholic, sensual and brutal, full of searingly beautiful images that burn themselves into the mind's eye. Yes, all of that. Obviously, it is a masterpiece, I'm told that at every turn, and I cannot deny it.

Now for the 'but' - or indeed 'buts'. I was most troubled by Hana and Caravaggio. The first time I tried to read this, I couldn't get them at all. This time, I had recently read In The Skin of a Lion, so I thought I knew who they were. Or did I? The names are the same, but do they really have any true connection with the characters in the previous book? Is there any significance to their having been somewhere else and now here, or could Hana have just been any nurse? Just a nurse? What is Caravaggio doing there? In fact, I wondered if he was only there as a device to get the English patient's story out of him and fill in the other side of the story. A bit of a clumsy device. But what is Caravaggio's role otherwise?

Then I listened to the BBC World Book Club discussion with Ondaatje (http://www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/spe...) and found that my impression was perhaps not entirely off the mark. He admits that when he finished In The Skin of a Lion, he felt great regret at leaving the characters he had grown fond of. When he came to start the book that became The English Patient, he wondered if the nurse might be Hana, a Hana who had grown older and changed, so not exactly the same person as before. And he admits there is a risk in recycling characters like that, in that the author may not always participate fully in their creation. And I think there's the rub. The English patient's back story is wondrous and fascinating, and Kip, for me, becomes the central figure in the whole story, but Hana remains a cipher, and Caravaggio fades to nothing. Which is a bit disconcerting. It makes it a bit diffuse, there's a troubling imbalance at the centre. Because the sheer majesty of the language makes you feel that everything must be significant, surely?

The narrator adds to the feeling of slippage and dislocation too. On one hand, this narrator is all-seeing and all-knowing, follows all his figures wherever they are, slips into and out of different points of view with ease and grace. But then he suddenly pulls back: "How much she is in love with him or he with her we don't know." (p.127) Who is this 'we' all of a sudden?

As I say, Kip, for me, was the real fascination. The questions of empire and nationhood, loyalty, family, identity, race, war, betrayal, the power of poetry and the written word to bring worlds into being. The big themes. They just took rather a while to really take off.

Overall, while the book has its undeniable strengths, these issues with character development and narrative perspective left me with a somewhat unsatisfied feeling. It's a book that I will continue to think about, but perhaps not one that I will wholeheartedly embrace.

This is a truly splendid novel.

It actually consists of four stories that are anchored to a fifth one. The latter story takes place in the final stages of World War II in a ruined Italian villa. This villa was briefly used as a military hospital before being evacuated. However, a severely burned patient remains there, too frail to be moved. He is accompanied by a young Canadian nurse, Hana, who refuses to leave him to die alone.

They are later joined by Caravaggio, a friend of Hana's late father. He is a professional thief and spy who was captured and tortured by the Germans. And finally, there is a young Sikh sapper, Kirpal, who works for the British bomb disposal unit. He risks his life each day defusing the many booby-traps left by the retreating German army.

Each character has their own story told, revealing how they came to this half-demolished villa. But the identity of the burned man with amnesia and a pukkah English accent, as well as the tragic cause of his injuries, is at the heart of the book.

The themes of the book are diverse, including love triangles, betrayal, abandonment, emotional distance as a form of self-defence, and the exquisite aliveness that is experienced when one is stalked by death. The elegant, crumbling villa stands as a powerful metaphor for a beautiful life that is forever lost to the trauma and ruin of war.

Betrayal comes in many forms, including events on the other side of the world and their effect on a young bomb-disposal sapper from India working for the Allies. This leads to an ending that is quite different from that of the film.

I would not describe this book as lyrical. I find excessive lyricism tedious in a book, and this one is most definitely not a tedious read. Ondaatje is an observant writer and a fine wordsmith. There is much to be gained by reading his prose attentively, and this may be one of the few books that I will read a second time.

In 2022, I re-read this remarkable piece of literature.

The description of a book, a map of knots, a fuze board, and a room with four people in an abandoned villa, illuminated only by candlelight and the intermittent flashes of a storm or a possible explosion, is truly captivating. The mountains, hills, and Florence are plunged into darkness without electricity. The feeble candlelight can only reach a short distance, making it seem as if this place is cut off from the outside world.

This novel delves deep into the microcosmos of a world inhabited by four broken characters. It is a brilliant work by Ondaatje.

The Englishman, brought from the desert by the Bedouins and with no identity or memories before the fire that consumed him, lies in the abandoned Italian villa that once served as an Allied field hospital. A nurse reads to him from “The Histories” by Herodotus, and as he listens, he begins to piece together his fragmented memories and tells his own mysterious tale.

The villa is also home to Hana, a nurse in love with ghosts and burdened by the loss of those she has cared for. She tries to save the Englishman, even though his daily existence is one of agony. There is also Caravaggio, an old thief and spy for British Intelligence, who lost his thumbs after being caught by the Nazis and is now a morphine addict. The fourth character, Kip, is a British sapper who, despite his skills and merits, is shunned by his comrades because he is a Sikh.

As these four damaged characters battle their inner demons, the villa becomes a place where a psychological study unfolds. Through the Englishman’s story of his passionate affair with Katharine, a friend’s wife, they start a séance to gather the pieces of their beings and find peace. This is not just the story of the Englishman and his lover, but also of Hana and Kip, who share a similar tragic fate.

Ondaatje’s masterfully crafted sentences are filled with symbols and metaphors. He gives us fragments of the characters’ pasts, the places they have visited, and the events that have occurred. Their inner conflicts are not explicitly stated but are hidden within their actions and words. He plays with words like a child building a magnificent creation in the sand, sometimes getting carried away but always forgiven because he is a maestro.

“The English Patient” is not a typical novel that follows the established patterns and rules. It reinvents literature with its fragmented story, shifting narrative perspectives, sensibility, word games, and lyricism. These elements may not attract a large number of readers, but they are what give the novel its charm and make it unique. Ondaatje is truly unequalled as he transports us to a world far away, to the Libyan desert and the ruined Italian villa, to the nights filled with passion and the search for salvation of the soul.

This may be one of those rare cases where the film outshines the book. The book is indeed wonderful, yet it has its drawbacks. The author, in the third person, maintains a significant distance from his characters, and the reader is kept at a remove. For instance, Kip is clearly a very positive character, but we (I) don't feel the affection for him that one might anticipate. Caravaggio is a thief and remains so, leaving little love to hold onto. The women are also beyond our inclination to feel, Katherine due to her willfulness and Hana because of her obsession. Ondaatje writes beautifully. He seems to be a poet masquerading as a novelist, reminding me of Thomas Hardy in that regard. He has produced thirteen collections of poetry and only seven novels. Take that as you will. The book also contains more background than the film can incorporate, which is a welcome aspect. Highly recommended, but while you should be prepared to love the poetry of the writing, also be ready to maintain a distance from the characters.

Michael Ondaatje in 1999 - image from NY Times

  

  

  

  

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EXTRA STUFF

Michael Ondaatje on FB

July 8, 2018 - crème de la crème of 50 years of Man Booker prizes - ‘The English Patient’ Wins Best of Man Booker Prize

The Guardian - MO reading an essay he wrote while staying in Conrad’s boat in London Guardian Artangel books podcast: Michael Ondaatje

June 4, 2007 – The New Yorker - The Aesthete: The novel and Michael Ondaatje by Louis Menand – a fascinating analysis of MO’s work -

He is not telling stories; he is using the elements of storytelling to gesture in the direction of a constellation of moods, themes, and images. He is creating the literary equivalent of a Cornell box or a rock garden or a floral arrangement.

Other Michael Ondaatje books I have read


-----2018 - Warlight, long-listed for the Man Booker Prize


-----2007 - Divisidero - read but not reviewed


-----2001 - Anil’s Ghost


-----1997 - In the Skin of a Lion - a very brief look

This book is truly a slow-moving dream. It is like a magnificent, all-encompassing poem that sweeps you away.

The language within its pages is unbelievably sensual, caressing your senses with every word. The story it tells is completely unique, unlike anything you've ever encountered before.

It is thick with intense emotion and vivid description, painting a picture that is both beautiful and heart-wrenching. Although there are parts that may seem somewhat laborious, as the author herself quotes, it is altogether disassembling.

This book takes you deep into the raw, bleeding heart of Almasy and holds you there, never letting go. It made me feel such a range of emotions that I almost wanted to die... and then be reborn just to read it again.

I could never fully express in words how much I love, love, love this book. It is a masterpiece that will stay with you long after you've turned the final page.