I firmly believe that A.S. Byatt must have had a set of rules scribbled on a post-it note right beside her whenever she penned this book. Here they are:

Firstly, all the characters should have names that blatantly reveal their personalities. For instance, Beatrice Nest is clearly a librarian, Lawrence Wolf is a predatory academic, and Christabel is a tedious floppy poet, and so on.

Secondly, it is of utmost importance that the two main characters, Maud (the haughty blonde ice-queen) and Ronald/Roland/Ranald (the mole-like academic as per the first rule), find each other sexually attractive for no apparent reason. This should happen regardless of whether they seem compatible, like each other much, or have any chemistry at all. You can make this lack of frisson even more exciting by giving the woman some unlikely quirk, such as covering her hair at all times for reasons that nobody will remember, and endowing the man with spectacularly unrealistic sexual prowess.

Thirdly, when in doubt, introduce an unlikely plot twist. For example, finding previously undiscovered poetry of great significance folded into four and hidden in a cupboard just ten minutes after entering a house that the characters are only in due to a strikingly unlikely combination of circumstances.

Fourthly, include countless reams of dreary poetry. There is nothing that delights the reader more than turning the page to see an indent-less column that appears to be blank verse but, upon closer inspection, turns out to be drivel.

Finally, whenever you get bored, switch to another character's point of view for a chapter or two. This will not confuse or bore the reader in the slightest. And if that doesn't work, create another pointless cliched female character. How about a lesbian? Yes, lesbians.

Possession: A Romance by A.S. Byatt was an engaging and enjoyable read. It tells the story of an over-the-top literary quest that often stretched credibility. However, the sense of a non-mocking parody or po-mo irony made the reading experience more amusing than annoying. The book interweaves two timelines, with the Victorian characters being more believable and relatable to me. But as the point of the story is the interplay between all the characters, it seems like it could only have been written as it was. For entertainment value alone, I'm rounding up to four stars.

He knew her, he believed. He would teach her that she was not his possession, he would show her she was free, he would see her flash her wings.

Possession: A Romance

The book begins with a modern-day scholar, Roland Michell, who discovers drafts of a letter written by the fictional Victorian poet Randolph Henry Ash. The letter hints at a relationship unknown to Ash scholars. Roland, completely out of character, pockets the drafts and decides to investigate on his own. He later visits a LaMotte scholar, Maud Bailey, and together they discover connections between the two poets that had never been recognized before. As they travel to follow the clues, they unearth evidence that forces the academic world to reevaluate the meanings and inspirations behind each poet's major works.

\\n  All scholars are a bit mad. All obsessions are dangerous.\\n

Byatt describes Ash's reputation for erudite and muscular poetry and dismisses LaMotte as the spinster "fairy poetess". But as the narrative progresses, she reveals their work through intermittent excerpts, allowing the reader to discover the true value of their work at the same pace as Roland and Maud. The whole book reads like a great detective story, with Roland and Maud pursuing clues and trying to stay ahead of other scholars who also seek to possess the secret evidence and knowledge.

\\n  Roland thought, partly with precise postmodernist pleasure, and partly with a real element of superstitious dread, that he and Maud were being driven by a plot or fate that seemed, at least possibly, to be not their plot or fate but that of those others.\\n

This self-awareness in the modern storyline adds to the realism and engagement of the historical one. It also allows for commentary on the necessity of studying authors' lives alongside their work. The discovery of the relationship between Ash and LaMotte raises questions about the legacy of her work and the importance of knowing more than what appears on the page. Overall, Possession: A Romance is an interesting and thought-provoking read that showcases Byatt's writing skills.

O.K., I finally finished Possession! Here goes.

Possession is a highly celebrated novel by A.S. Byatt that weaves together two captivating story threads. The first thread is a historical fiction that delves into the relationship of fictional poets Christabel LaMotte and R.H. Ashe. Through old journal entries, letters, and their "poetry" (crafted by Byatt herself as the two poets never truly existed), we learn about their connection. Ashe was married, and LaMotte was in a relationship with a woman, yet we discover that they had a romantic affair.

The second part of the story is a contemporary romance and literary detective novel, a unique blend of high-brow chic lit and The Da Vinci Code. Maud and Roland are literary scholars. Maud has dedicated her life's work to the study of her ancestor, LaMotte, while Roland is an Ashe expert. Roland accidentally stumbles upon a letter from Ashe to LaMotte, which sets off their journey to uncover the romance between the two historical poets. And, of course, a romance of their own blossoms.

This book is a masterpiece, with 555 densely worded pages. The title and the theme of Possession run throughout. It makes us question what we can truly know about the past. Just because we read letters and journals and piece together people's daily lives, do we really possess their souls, read their minds, and know their secrets? What do historical biographies truly tell us about people? How well can we really know someone? There will always be a disconnect between reality and our perception of the past, especially when it's influenced by our personal assumptions, emotions, and biases.

Maud was unclear about her emotions regarding being in a relationship. How much does our partner aim to possess us? Can we be part of a relationship and still remain free? In marriage, are there parts of our partner's souls that we'll never possess unless they choose to reveal them? Does being in a relationship mean we own the other person? Is that person still an independent individual?

The two poets also dabbled in the spirit world, attending a mutual seance at one time. Are the spirits of those who've passed on capable of possessing the living? What about demons? Can they own us and change our destinies when our worst nightmares come true?

Also, from a literal and legal perspective, these letters and journals raise questions. Who has the right to read private thoughts? What if the owners took great pains to keep things hidden? Do we have the right to know? Just because we stumble upon things or they are left to us through a legacy, do we own them because we possess them? Is it our legal right to know things that were meant to be hidden or buried? Does celebrity nullify the right to privacy?

All of these themes and so much more make up "Possession". This book is a must-read for literary junkies, soulful and passionate people, and those who appreciate brilliant poetry and prose.

Re-reading 2018 - I focused more on Beatrice Nest in this re-read. I truly love this book. Byatt treats every character so well.

For me, "Possession" is like a fine bottle of wine or a box of exquisitely good chocolate (the really expensive and indulgently delicious kind). There is an absolute beauty within this book, and it appears to reside in the details. How all the characters remain in character, the resolution of both romances at the end, all the aspects regarding criticism - all these ring true.

Over the years that I have read this book, my favorite character has evolved from Maud to Leonora and then to both. Leonora, in my view, is so larger than life. I can't help but wonder if the character escaped Byatt's control, if perhaps she was initially intended to be more of a "bad" critic than she actually is.

"Possession" is undoubtedly one of the best and greatest books ever written. It is a canonical work without a doubt. Something that I re-read every year or year and a half.

A few weeks ago, I found myself smack dab in the center of a literary mystery. It all began on November 25, 1940, when F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote to his friend, Edmund Wilson. In the letter, Fitzgerald accused John Steinbeck of plagiarism. He wrote, “[…] it is something else for a man of his years [Steinbeck] and reputation to steal a whole scene as he did in “Mice and Men.” I’m sending you a marked copy of Norris’ “McTeague” to show you what I mean.” These were fighting words, and very serious allegations indeed.

In 1989, a scholar named Richard Allan Davison located Fitzgerald’s marked copy of McTeague. He stated that the book was at a rare book collection at the University of Oklahoma. But when I ordered a copy of Of Mice and Men and tried to verify the edition of Fitzgerald’s copy of McTeague to align the page numbers with the commentary, I discovered that the University of Oklahoma didn’t have the book. Fitzgerald’s book was now missing.

I had to think about where the book might have gone. My first thought was Princeton. In 1950, F. Scott’s daughter, Scottie, donated his personal writings and literary effects to Princeton. In fact, Princeton is in possession of the November 25, 1940 letter. But Princeton did not have Fitzgerald’s McTeague either. However, this time, I had intrigued the Princeton librarian, who said, “I did a bit of digging because I love a mystery.” It turned out that the 1989 scholar had been wrong about the librarian helping him. The librarian did not work for the University of Oklahoma but the University of Tulsa.

After contacting the University of Tulsa, I was thrilled to learn that they had the book. With the help of 3 librarians, we were able to find one lost book out of all of the books in the world! This literary adventure made me think of the book “Possession” by A.S. Byatt. It begins with Roland Mitchell in The London Library. He is a long-time scholar of Randolph Henry Ash. While reading Ash’s copy of a book, a mysterious note falls out, sending Roland on a literary journey. He teams up with Maud Bailey, a Christabel LaMotte scholar, while the more established scholars are hot on their trail.

While “Possession” is charming and the villainous American, Mortimer Cropper, is refreshing, the book is victim to 90’s writing. It was a different time then. Consider this quote from Philip Pullman, author of “His Dark Materials”: “It was 1993 when I thought of Lyra and began writing His Dark Materials. John Major was prime minister, the UK was still in the EU, there was no Facebook or Twitter or Google, and although I had a computer and could word-process on it, I didn’t have email. No one I knew had email, so I wouldn’t have been able to use it anyway. If I wanted to look something up I went to the library; if I wanted to buy a book I went to a bookshop.” Nowadays, authors need to be more concise and engaging, as they are competing with TikTok and Netflix. Sadly, “Possession” was far too long winded, and most of the mediocre poetry should have been heavily edited down. But despite its flaws, it was still an enjoyable read for this literary nerd. And who knows, maybe one day someone will be hot on my trail during my scholastic investigations. Tomorrow is another day……

The Green Light at the End of the Dock (How much I spent):
Hardcover Text – $13.77 on eBay
Audiobook – Free through Libby

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I am going to be an outlier on this one and I really hate it.

I have been sitting on writing this review for 8 days now and I still don't know how I feel about it or how to rate it. It is a commendable, worthy, fascinating premise with some of the most exquisite writing. And you wonder why I am so uncertain about my thoughts.

All I can say is that for the reviews of friends I've read who gush over this novel, I just can't. I spent 23 days reading this chunkster and could only really read 2 or 3 chapters at a time. When I read Gone With the Wind, it took me 23 days and I flew through it. I know that's an odd comparison because the subject matters are completely different.

The writing is very, very dense and made for a slow-going process to completion. This is also what I would consider a very cerebral novel which meant much to ponder and soak up. All of these sound like criticisms but I don't necessarily view them that way. I admired much of what this novel has to offer.

Byatt has to be an extremely intelligent and knowledgeable writer to have created all of the poetry and letters that each character was to have written. So, I am extremely in awe of her talent but just not able to flood my review with 5 stars of love.

In this novel, Byatt gives her readers a very complex storyline that includes everything from romance and tragedy to mystery and conflict. We are introduced to an academic named Roland Michel who has spent his life's work studying a Victorian poet called Randolf Henry Ash.

Roland happens upon two drafts of letters written by Ash stashed between the pages of an Italian philosopher's Principi de Scienza Nuova, a book that had once been owned by Ash, and sends him into utter excitement at his discovery since they've never been seen before. Roland figures out who Ash may have written the letters to: a Miss Christabel LaMotte, a writer of religious-themed poems and children's books.

Miss LaMotte, Roland learns, has a following among feminist scholars which leads him to locating a Dr. Maude Bailey who is an expert on LaMotte. They form a partnership and begin a long investigation into what could possibly come from this abstract connection between these two Victorian poets.

Byatt produces the poems, fiction, essays and letters written by these Victorian poets as well as other characters' writings and allows the reader to interpret them. But through these included writings, we get the stories within the stories to decipher and mull over.

She creates a multitude of voices and perspectives among the long cast of characters and switches between time lines to affect her plot. As this review has taken shape, I am reminded of how academic this novel is in its premise.

This is a book about literary critics who study, read and reread and over-analyze the writings and lives of a pair of obscure literary figures from the past. They are devoted to what they discover and as Maude says Literary critics make natural detectives. It's interesting to think that what they find may only interest a small group of people in their academic world.

The title becomes the main theme and is represented in more ways than one. Primarily, the academics must ask themselves - who owns those discoveries, the things of the past? Also, there is physical and emotional possession, possessing ideas, feelings, desires to name a few.

As I said, this was very slow and dense and demanding. There was much to be interpreted with the poems and passages that weren't so easy for me, a non-poetry reader. Towards the final 1/4, the pace ramped up and some out of ordinary circumstances started to happen that really didn't feel like the rest of the novel.

Proof of Byatt's talent:

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.

Only write to me, write to me, I love to see the hop and skip and sudden starts of your ink.

He knew her, he believed. He would teach her that she was not his possession, he would show her she was free, he would see her flash her wings.

…words have been all my life, all my life--this need is like the Spider's need who carries before her a huge Burden of Silk which she must spin out--the silk is her life, her home, her safety--her food and drink too--and if it is attacked or pulled down, why, what can she do but make more, spin afresh, design anew….

In conclusion, this novel is a complex and challenging read. It requires patience and a willingness to engage with the dense writing and multiple storylines. While I may not have loved it as much as some others, I can still appreciate Byatt's talent and the depth of her storytelling. It's a novel that will stay with you long after you've finished reading it.

Whether you're a fan of historical fiction, literary criticism, or just a good story, Possession is definitely worth checking out. Just be prepared to take your time and really soak it all in.

So, if you're looking for a thought-provoking and intellectually stimulating read, give this novel a try. You may be surprised by what you discover.

It is truly a special treat to come across a book that concludes in such an intelligent, intuitive, and emotionally beautiful way - all simultaneously.

This book is highly sophisticated in both its construction and literary detail. During the first half, it demands a significant amount of attention and focus from the reader. The details of its various parts, the virtuosity of its styles, and the puzzles it assembles kept me utterly fascinated. The writing is simply excellent. As the story began to unfold around me, the characters multiplied and came to life.

A considerable number of these characters, living more than a century apart, start telling their stories - with three, four, five, and more writing styles in both prose and poetry multiplying. This is not merely a display of writing virtuosity. It is a means employed to enter the hearts and souls of these living characters.

Work is indeed required on the part of the reader. However, the reader is rewarded with a complex interplay between breathing and dreaming people a century and a half apart. The plot is very slowly revealed, and the prose holds the attention firmly.

This is the first book by A. S. Byatt that I have read, and I will most definitely read more. She has a genuine liking for people and a wickedly charming sense of humor.

So, there are complex puzzles, beautiful prose and poetic styles, lovely romances, intelligent and important enigmas, magical journeys, and so much more.

This book is truly a gift.

Think of this—that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other.

He heard the language moving around, weaving its own patterns, beyond the reach of any single human, writer or reader. He heard Vico saying that the first men were poets and the first words were names that were also things.

So I speak to you—or not speak, write to you, write written speech—a strange mixture of kinds—I speak to you as I might speak to all those who most possess my thoughts—to Shakespeare, to Thomas Browne, to John Donne, to John Keats—and find myself unpardonably lending you, who are alive, my voice, as I habitually lend it to those dead men. Which is much as to say—here is an author of Monologues—trying clumsily to construct a Dialogue—and encroaching on both halves of it. Forgive me.

While not my absolute favourite ventriloquistic, historiographic tour de force (that would be perhaps a tie between John Barth's The Sot-Weed Factor and John Fowles's The French Lieutenant's Woman, with Thomas Pynchon's Mason & Dixon a very wild wild card), this book was nevertheless quite the tour indeed. It forcibly made me reconsider my estimation of 19C poetry (which is likely about as errant and uniformed an opinion as what I think of 18C tragedy, say, or, LOL, the Canadian novel...but still an opinion for all that, and as worth about as much).

This novel was just so artful, though, whilst managing to be somehow equally erudite (or is that the other way 'round?), that I can easily see myself reading her Frederica Quartet in 2024. I rushed out and bought it not long after starting this one, I was so impressed.

It took her death, though, to get me to read this (and what's with that?), though I had read her The Matisse Stories years ago, and loved it (and re-re-read one in particular, "Medusa's Ankles"—so good). Why did I stop there, for so many years? I am an inconstant reader and fickle fiction-lover, I suppose, like those bright spritely birds who metaphorically alight at Katherine Mansfield's "Garden Party" for a brief visit, then move on, unaware that "poems are worth all the cucumber-sandwiches in the world," and so always in search of some mythical Heart of Saturday Afternoon (collecting/measuring the silvery worth of such moments with purloined coffee spoons, no doubt).

Speaking of readers and reading, this book has several golden edibles (those everripe "Spenser’s golden apples" we all seek, "glistening bright among the [...] ashes and cinders, may have seen in [our] mind’s eye, apple of [our] eye, the golden fruit of the [eternal] Primavera").

\\n   At the old world’s rim
In the Hesperidean grove, the fruit
Glowed golden on eternal boughs\\n

I'll end with by quoting, by way of hopefully convincing the unconvinced to be more quickly convinced of Ms. Byatt's merits than I was, because there is so little time, dear reader, and so much to wade through to find our El Dorados. \\n  

It is possible for a writer to make, or remake at least, for a reader, the primary pleasures of eating, or drinking, or looking on, or sex. Novels have their obligatory tour-de-force, the green-flecked gold omelette aux fines herbes, melting into buttery formlessness and tasting of summer, or the creamy human haunch, firm and warm, curved back to reveal a hot hollow, a crisping hair or two, the glimpsed sex. They do not habitually elaborate on the equally intense pleasure of reading. There are obvious reasons for this, the most obvious being the regressive nature of the pleasure, a mise-en-abîme even, where words draw attention to the power and delight of words, and so ad infinitum, thus making the imagination experience something papery and dry, narcissistic and yet disagreeably distanced, without the immediacy of sexual moisture or the scented garnet glow of good burgundy.

There are readings—of the same text—that are dutiful, readings that map and dissect, readings that hear a rustling of unheard sounds, that count grey little pronouns for pleasure or instruction and for a time do not hear golden or apples. There are personal readings, which snatch for personal meanings, I am full of love, or disgust, or fear, I scan for love, or disgust, or fear. There are—believe it—impersonal readings—where the mind’s eye sees the lines move onwards and the mind’s ear hears them sing and sing.

Now and then there are readings that make the hairs on the neck, the non-existent pelt, stand on end and tremble, when every word burns and shines hard and clear and infinite and exact, like stones of fire, like points of stars in the dark—readings when the knowledge that we shall know the writing differently or better or satisfactorily, runs ahead of any capacity to say what we know, or how. In these readings, a sense that the text has appeared to be wholly new, never before seen, is followed, almost immediately, by the sense that it was always there, that we the readers, knew it was always there, and have always known it was as it was, though we have now for the first time recognised, become fully cognisant of, our knowledge.

\\n

A while ago, I made a vow to myself.

I said, "I'm going to focus more on doing things that bring me joy. So, I'll cook more inventively and read more fantasy, as I often forget how much I enjoy those activities."

Then, I began reading Possession. The happiness project took a backseat until I was ready to break free from the Victorian melancholia that consumed my time and left little room for meal preparation.

While I didn't exactly cry while reading this book, I often teared up in the way a lemon meringue pie weeps when left out and then returns with droplets of moisture on its surface.

Oh, it was truly beautiful. This book had such a palpable substance that sometimes, when I was reading it while standing, I felt as if the book was supporting me rather than the other way around.

I've read and adored a couple of A.S. Byatt's short-story collections, so I was aware of her excellent command of language. However, Possession is on a whole different level. It tells the story through a multitude of voices, including letters, poems, criticism, biography, journal entries, and the prose of the main narrative.

Byatt didn't just pen some poems for her novel; she created two major Victorian poets from scratch, seamlessly fitting them into a specific time and place. She even had the audacity to have a character say about one of them, "You can't understand the twentieth century without understanding him."

Does that imply that we can't fully understand the twentieth century in a world where there was never a Randolph Henry Ash? This poet isn't a fictionalized Tennyson or Browning; he's a completely original and eminent Victorian.

Similarly, Christabel LaMotte is something entirely new. Her poems have a touch of Emily Dickinson's diction, but with a French-English, devout Christian, and firmly feminist sensibility.

I'm not sure if anyone classifies this book as a work of alternate history, but it was poignant to consider what would be different in a world that included this poetry. I wish I could visit that world just to read the rest of Ragnarok and Melusina.

The prose itself bordered on poetry, to the extent that I often had to pause to savor the rhythm. For example, "But he had known immediately that she was for him, she was to do with him, as she really was or could be, or in freedom might have been." (I would quote more, but I've already loaned out the copy I read.)

In addition to the new-old poetry, Possession contains a profound meditation on the arts of scholarship and biography, the most moving writing on celibacy I've ever encountered, a critical work on the erotics of reading, and a half-lament, half-ode to the powers of time, memory, and forgetting.

And, as the cover宣称, it is a romance - a set of intertwined love stories written with incredible precision and believability. It's a book about books, but in such a generous way that nearly everything books can explore is encompassed within its pages.

Reading something like this makes me grateful that there is such a thing as literary fiction.

I have been eagerly anticipating reading this for a long time, and as time passed, my expectations soared higher and higher. I expected to be immediately drawn in and relish it from the very first word. Sadly, this was not the case. However, the good news is that it was a slow burner, and as the book progressed, it grew on me more and more. Looking back on the book, it truly is a masterfully crafted piece of writing. It is incredibly ingenious, and the depth it delves into is intoxicating.

In essence, the book is a postmodern historical mystery set in the world of academia. ‘Possession’ explores the relationships between the living and the dead, as well as sexual relationships. Perhaps my favorite line in the entire book was: “He would teach her that she was not his possession, he would show her she was free, he would see her flash her wings.” So, in reality, it is not about gaining possession of people or things; it is the exact opposite. Possession delves into Romantic and literary themes and the writers.

The book depicts the search for the truth about a relationship between two Victorian poets, Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte. Although these characters are fictional, they are loosely based on real-life poets Christina Rosetti and Robert Browning.

The story begins in September 1986 with Roland Michell, who is conducting research at the London Library. He is an expert in the field of Victorian literature, specifically the Victorian poet Randolph Henry Ash. He studied under the supervision of Professor James Blackadder. Roland now works at a research center located in the British Museum. While looking through a book owned by Ash, he discovers two drafts of letters addressed to an unknown woman whom Ash seems to have been smitten with and sought to continue a conversation with. Roland is intrigued and steals the letters from the library without informing anyone of his find.

Curious for more information, Roland and Maud visit Christabel's grave and then explore the grounds near Seal Court. Roland encounters a woman in a wheelchair and helps her. She turns out to be Joan Bailey, who lives at Seal Court and invites them back to the house. The house is a simple ground floor equipped with every possible aid, including doors and ramps, to assist Joan as she moves around in her wheelchair. As they chat with Joan and her husband George, George discusses his lack of interest in Christabel or poetry in general, as well as his irritation with Leonora's visit to try and find out more. However, at his wife's urging, he does agree to show Roland and Maud the room where Christabel lived. In the room, they are struck by a collection of dolls; they have china faces and little kid-leather arms. They all stare with blue glassy eyes, filled with dust. Maud reveals that she had written a series of poems about the dolls - ‘They were ostensibly for children like the Takes for Innocents. But not really.’ Guided by her memory of a poem that refers to dolls hiding a secret:

‘Dolly keeps a Secret
Safer than a friend
Dolly’s silent sympathy
Lasts without end.

Friends may betray us
Love may decay
Dolly’s discretion
Outlasts our day.’

…the poem continues for another few stanzas, in a similar form, claiming the love of her dolls. Then Maud pulls at the ribbon of two parcels…revealing two bundles neatly folded like handkerchiefs…Roland is very much intrigued, as am I. These are the letters of Christabel’s life. It is like finding the love letters of Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte.

Returning home, he finds a letter from Joan Bailey, informing him that she and her husband have decided to allow him and Maud to read the letters together. She suggests they stay with them for a few days to do so. While he tries to figure out how to arrange this trip without alerting anyone to his find, Val returns home accompanied by a handsome lawyer named Euan MacIntyre, whom she has been working with. Val is irritable and tries to make Roland jealous.

A few months later, Roland and Maud have assembled at Seal Court to review the letters. They each read the letters related to their poet. The next day when Maud returns to Seal Court, Roland startles her in the garden, embarrassing both of them. To add to the awkwardness, the snow worsens that evening, and Joan suggests Maud and Roland both spend the night. As she prepares for bed, Roland unexpectedly runs into her outside the bath and is shocked by the rush of attraction he feels when they touch. This awkward encounter is heightened by Joan's assumption that the two of them are in a relationship, even though Roland corrects her. They are like a bunch of awkward teenagers; their naivety is quite sweet actually.

I must admit that I found the ENDLESS letters to be rather tiresome. It was page after page of correspondence, which at the beginning was a nice change from the usual prose, but after a while, it became difficult to keep up with what was happening and who was writing. However, after a while, the letters shifted to include a fairy tale by Christabel and highlights from the correspondence between her and Randolph Henry Ash. In their letters, they discuss literature, their own current projects, religion, and the day-to-day details of their lives.

I couldn’t have been more glad to see prose in my life lol

Read as part of The Infinite Variety Reading Challenge, which is based on the BBC's Big Read Poll of 2003.

They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side... He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase.

I have nothing particularly profound or interesting to say about this book other than I did not enjoy it. I found it lacklustre, boring, adrift and self-indulgent. The description in the quoted passage might seem poetic at first glance, but overall, the story failed to engage me. There were perhaps some moments of good writing, but not enough to save it from itself. It felt as if the author was more interested in showing off their writing skills rather than telling a captivating story. Beyond that, I simply do not care. I cannot recommend this book to others.

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A worthy Man Booker Prize winner indeed. The story of two academics, Roland and Maud, uncovering a secret about two famous Victorian poets is truly fascinating. The competition between biographers Blackadder and Cropper has its amusing moments. Obsession not only drives them but also their possession of heirlooms and knowledge about their subject, Randolph Ash. Maud is also determined to find out who Christabel LaMotte was and if she was the person she suspected.

The story, which makes use of letters, diaries, and detective work on the poems, gradually reveals a passionate romance. It skillfully switches between the present and the past, with wonderful prose and descriptions of the landscape and the classical mythology that the poems of Ash and Christabel are based upon.

Although the author did use some clichés in part, they sometimes work, and in this romance, they do. I particularly liked the ending with a postscript of Ash walking in the countryside and coming across something that brings him great happiness. It adds a touch of warmth and closure to the story.