I have a friend who comes to the book club and remarks, "Oh, I hated this book." But then, curiously, he proceeds to tell us everything he liked about it. I must be his polar opposite - at least in this particular instance - because I truly liked this book - or at least the story of Leith, Helen, and Ben.

However, I did encounter a problem. The secondary characters seemed to encroach on the narrative constantly, drawing my attention away from the three characters I was most eager to read about. This was especially infuriating in the last third of the novel when Hazzard introduced several characters. She took pages to introduce them, only to have them disappear from the rest of the novel.

I did enjoy Bertram, and I would have liked more of him. Also, after all the time she dedicated to Ben and Peter, I would have appreciated a bit more of their stories from their own points of view. The few paragraphs we were given seemed almost like an afterthought, as if she was thinking, "oh, I almost forgot..."

It's ironic that I say this about Peter because, if I were writing or editing this, I would have cut his character down. She gives us too much of his story, which becomes a distraction, and then fails to follow up. It's a flaw. Yes, I'm afraid this is a 200-page story stretched into a 300-page book.

This is the second book I've read by Hazzard. I love her writing - her use of language and phrasing is truly remarkable. I understand that it may sound as though I didn't like the book, but that's not the case. I did like it very much. I simply would have liked it even more had the narrative been a bit tighter and shorter.

I read this for my book group and would not have struggled through it without that incentive.

For a long time, I haven't felt like I was slogging through a narrative so extremely slowly. It took me ages to get through every 10-page increment. You know how your mind sometimes wanders when you read? If I wandered for even a paragraph, I was lost again.

Throughout most of the story, I felt like I had such a tentative hold on it. However, part three (the final section) moved more quickly for me. I wonder if others had the same experience? Perhaps I finally understood the author's writing style, or perhaps it was due to the setting change. The more familiar Britain and New Zealand, as opposed to China and Japan, might have made it easier for me to follow. Maybe the author did that on purpose to keep the readers engaged.

Ultimately, this book was more about the ambience for me. The setting seemed to overshadow every aspect of the characters, and some of the characters were rather underdeveloped.

I'm really looking forward to my group's discussion. I hope someone else has also finished it!

When we're indecisive, yes, the wishes of others gain an upper hand. It's as if our hesitation creates a void that others are quick to fill.

“…I still hear the slurping sound that is a world licking its wounds.” This line is so powerful, painting a vivid picture of a world in the aftermath of something traumatic, trying to heal but still carrying the scars.

3.5 stars. It took me foreverrr to get into this story, but once I did, I was hooked. No one does doomed romance like miss Shirley. There are just too many characters to keep track of, which can be a bit overwhelming at times. However, the post-WWII attitudes all felt so real, as if I was transported back in time. I love how she crafted everyone's inner voice using free indirect discourse like no one else. It really added depth and authenticity to the characters. My main critique is that all these bitches are just too wise. How does everyone always know what's up with everyone else? It seems a bit unrealistic at times. But overall, it's a great read that I would recommend to others.

This book was hard work. It required a great deal of effort and dedication to complete.

The author had to conduct extensive research, carefully organize the information, and write in a clear and engaging style.

Editing and proofreading were also crucial steps to ensure the quality of the book.

Despite the challenges, the author persevered and managed to create a valuable piece of work.

The book covers a wide range of topics and provides in-depth analysis and insights.

It is sure to be of interest to a diverse audience, including scholars, students, and general readers.

Whether you are looking to expand your knowledge, gain a new perspective, or simply enjoy a good read, this book is definitely worth checking out.

Although I find this book terrible on many levels, I must start by saying that Shirley Hazzard is a good writer. In fact, she is an excellent writer. Looking back on my experience reading the book, I have to admit that I often enjoyed the beautiful phrasing for a long enough time to forget what a terrible book this actually is.

As a side note concerning Ms. Hazzard's language, if any Australians or New Zealanders happen to read this review, please let me know if you actually use the word "Antipodean" to describe yourselves.

That being said, I must state that this book is a pompous and bombastic piece of trash, the kind of trash that book reviewers seem to adore. It's easy to see why. Let's break down the book. The world before the great conflagration of World War Two was a nice place for people like Leith. The world was run by rich, educated, and oh so English people. They had parties where they discussed the humanities and had affairs with others who dressed well and talked about literature. They owned nice houses outside of Hong Kong. When they weren't residing in those houses, they stayed at nice hotels for white people.

Okay, yes, you may (and should) object to my characterization. That is not what the book is about! And I completely agree. My point is that Hazzard, like a Merchant and Ivory film, glamorizes colonialism and the colonial project to such an extent that for her, the picturesque colonial days (happily devoid of any Asians, as you know), come to represent the pinnacle of civilization, and the post-war era, run by Australians and, ugh! Americans, is boorish and depressing.

This beautifully written book creates a fiction that the literate types seem to love. The colonial days were a great time for literate types. In this simplistic sketch, I hope only to point out that Hazzard's vision of colonialism, war, and society does nothing but appeal to the romantic fiction of a world order in which people like her were on top and in charge.

There were numerous moments while delving into this book when I truly believed I might be smothered by the overly detailed descriptions of embroidered pillows, rugs, crepe items of every kind, vases, sofas, and so on.

This book essentially resembles a home furnishings store, albeit one filled with lavish everything for the modern colonialist, with a rather feeble thread of a story haphazardly buried within its pages.

Another aspect that nearly left the reader gasping for air (or, at the very least, feeling utterly exhausted) is the author's penchant for providing family lineages and histories that are overloaded with minutiae about side characters who play either a negligible or no role whatsoever in the actual story.

Finally, the only character for whom I had even a smidgen of interest, namely Peter, has his storyline abruptly dropped after a crisis and for the remainder of the book, the only further mention of him is in a marginal way, within someone else's letter, where it is briefly stated that he attempted suicide. (Who could possibly blame him, being trapped within the confines of such a dreadfully written novel?)

I only managed to finish this book because it was recommended to me by a friend.

500 pages of edging is an astonishing amount. It implies a great deal of meticulous work and attention to detail.

Imagine the effort that goes into creating 500 pages of precisely edged material. Whether it's for a book, a manuscript, or some other form of documentation, the process of edging each page requires skill and patience.

Edging not only enhances the aesthetic appeal of the pages but also provides protection. It gives a finished look and makes the pages more durable.

To produce 500 pages of edging, one must have a high level of craftsmanship. The edging needs to be consistent in width and quality throughout the entire set of pages.

It's a task that demands precision and focus. Each page must be carefully handled to ensure that the edging is done flawlessly.

Overall, 500 pages of edging is a remarkable achievement that showcases the dedication and expertise of the person or team responsible for it.

First thing to say is what a stunningly beautifully written book this is.

It's not just a well-written book; it's also a poignantly romantic one. The backdrop is the devastation caused by WW2.

The story begins in Japan in 1947 where Aldred Leith, who is still in the army and was decorated for bravery during the war, is about to visit Hiroshima.

He has his scars, both physical and emotional. In Japan, he meets a young Australian brother and sister. The boy, Ben, is dying of an incurable illness, and the girl, Helen, is beautiful.

Aldred falls in love with her despite her young age of 17. However, her narrow-minded military father disapproves of Aldred.

Soon, they are separated. There are numerous stories within stories in this novel, and occasionally the narrative shifts to other characters from Aldred's past.

We discover that he is a bit of a cad with a history of failed relationships, including a very brief marriage.

Suddenly, the situation doesn't look good for Helen, who has been taken to New Zealand while her beloved dying brother has been removed to America.

I guess the troubling aspect of this narrative is that you start to worry for Helen and even hope she finds someone else, which is strange because the author has presented her relationship with Aldred as one of those once-in-a-lifetime great loves and Aldred is likeable.

The author sustains the tension until virtually the last page, keeping the readers on the edge of their seats.

It took me quite some time to fully immerse myself in this novel. I had actually put it aside a little over a year ago. However, Hazzard's story is truly remarkable. It is about a 30-ish highly decorated WWII veteran who arrives in occupied Japan several years after the war has ended. He then falls in love with an 18-year-old woman-child. The way Hazzard tells this story is not only well-written but also deeply touching.

The scope of the novel is broad. The primary themes revolve around a relatively chaste love that is complicated by the different ages of the participants. It also explores the world that is emerging from the shadow of the great war and learning how to live again.

Throughout the tale, there are small and intimate details. For example, the brother of the young woman-child is stricken with a progressive incurable disease. Her parents are remote and almost hostile. There are also glimpses into the lives of other smaller characters who are also trying to find their way after the war.

This novel is well-crafted and engaging. It is a great read, or in my case, a re-read that I thoroughly enjoyed.

The only great thing about "The Great Fire" is its name.

As you embark on reading this book, you find yourself constantly being pulled away by random thoughts. Your mind drifts to the morning commute, the long-expired and unpaid decal on your front windshield. You remember the dog that you forgot to feed, and now you know it took its revenge by soiling the one spot of the carpet you so fiercely guarded in anticipation of the weekend party with your boss and his expensive wife. You also recall that she, the boss's wife, strangely winked at you during the last Christmas party, leaving you feeling rather choked.

The story of post-war Japan and the Australian (or was it British?) soldier who fell in love with a teenager struggles to hold your attention. You keep getting distracted by thoughts of the brownish spot on the carpet that will forever serve as a reminder of the day you neglected to feed the dog because you were trying to read this book.

Who really cares whether the Australian and the teenager remained faithful to each other? After all, the world has changed so much since 1947. Instead, you find yourself hoping that the next paycheck will be enough to call "Stanley Steamer" and have them remove the memory of your immoral transgression.

But back to the book! If you're a fan of British style novels where old ladies and younger chaps with names like Bertram and Aldred gather for tea, write long romantic letters in their spare time, and frequently reminisce about the horrors of World War 2, then this book might be for you. However, if you're like me and have a mind filled with so many distractions that it takes a much more captivating novel to keep your attention firmly on its pages, then I highly recommend you resist the urge to read this one.

Three and a half stars, which I have rounded up to 4. It is a good read overall. However, the writing style can be a bit irritating at times.

There are numerous beautifully crafted sentences in the book that make use of great economy of expression. This means that the author is able to convey a lot of meaning with just a few words. It's quite impressive.

But sometimes, she takes this too far. She seems so determined not to waste any words that it actually gets in the way of the meaning. On a few occasions, it felt like I was reading something that had been run through Google translate. The sentences were a bit stilted and hard to understand.

Despite this mild irritation, the story itself managed to keep me engaged throughout. I was interested in what was going to happen next. However, I can understand how some readers might find it too much of a ramble. The plot doesn't always move in a straightforward way, and there are a lot of detours and asides. But for me, this added to the charm of the book.

War is truly a hellish experience, and yet victory can bring a sense of loneliness that is equally profound. Vietnam veterans were the first to be diagnosed with "post-traumatic stress," but Ernest Hemingway had already described the disillusionment after battle almost half a century earlier in "The Sun Also Rises." Warriors have faced difficulties in returning home since the times of "The Odyssey."

Now, add Shirley Hazzard's new novel to the collection of haunting post-war stories. "The Great Fire" smolders in the aftermath of World War II, when the ashes of that great calamity threatened to reignite or choke the estranged survivors.

It has been 23 years since her previous novel, "The Transit of Venus," won the National Book Critics Circle Award. The careful poetry of "The Great Fire" suggests that it was perfectionism, rather than writer's block, that consumed those two decades. In fact, the hiatus seems to have extracted Hazzard from the mainstream of contemporary literature and allowed her to produce a strikingly timeless novel with an air of aged profundity.

Her story comes into sharp focus two years after the destruction of Hiroshima. The war is over, but the peace is far from satisfying, leaving the world dirty, damaged, and troubled by rumors of a possible resumption of conflict. "In the wake of so much death," she writes, "the necessity to assemble life became both urgent and oppressive."

One of the many victors challenged by this necessity is Aldred Leith, a 32-year-old war hero. He has been wandering through the new peace like a man inspecting a burned cathedral. "I feel pursued," he tells a friend, "by evocations of wartime violence, unexorcised." Divorced from a war bride he never really knew and distant from his reserved parents, Leith travels to Japan to document the obliteration of an ancient culture.

"He had spoken with many persons grieved and embittered by ruin, and by the gross ambiguities of their liberation; and related these matters with simplicity and truth." Although we read very little of Leith's report, Hazzard's narrative is filled with beautiful, tragic visions of Asia after the war, along with the most careful analysis of Leith's unease about playing the role of conqueror in the ashes of Hiroshima.

As a decorated soldier in the British army with a publishing assignment from a French general, he enjoys a rare degree of autonomy in this territory now firmly controlled by America. However, autonomy is a quality he has had enough of. "As war was ending, he had intended to create for himself a fixed point, some centre from which departures might be made," but two years later he is still "at an immense distance from anything resembling home."

Surprisingly, he finds refuge as a lodger on an island off the mainland where he stays during his observations. His hosts, a brusque Australian administrator and his bitter wife, "were disquieting as a symptom of new power," Leith thinks wryly. Living with them "did not even seem a cessation of hostilities."

But their son and daughter bring new life to his existence. Like Leith, Ben and Helen have endured and benefited from isolation. Shipped around the world to avoid the war or burden their parents, these two siblings seem like characters from a Louisa May Alcott novel, having had no company but each other and a collection of 19th-century books.

Secluded in their rooms with this charming and modest war hero during hot afternoons, Ben and Helen feel as if they have discovered another captivating storyteller. Charming, openly affectionate, and astonishingly perceptive, they are precisely the kind of people Leith needs to help him rediscover the habits of affection.

However, two problems threaten this idyllic haven in the ruins of war: First, Ben's health is rapidly deteriorating due to a chronic illness, which his parents alternately ignore and resent. Second, Leith feels he must not pursue his love for Helen because, at 17, she is almost half his age. And yet, as Ben's condition worsens and Leith's desire grows, the three of them plot against death and their parents to find a way to stay together. "Having expected, repeatedly to die from the great fires into which this time had pitched him," Hazzard writes, "Leith had recovered a great desire to live completely; by which he meant, with her."

Several other storylines develop alongside this one, involving Leith's friends and relatives, all of them unsure of how to rebuild their lives in the silence of peace. His best friend chases war criminals in Hong Kong but cannot stand up to his parents. Back in Britain, Leith meets an old lover who later became his father's mistress, a woman now caught between her conscience and her shamelessness.

Hazzard writes with an extraordinary mastery of geography and time, moving around the world to capture fleeting yet arresting impressions of fascism in Italy, battle in Germany, and defeat in Japan - all the shattering chaos that, through a million permutations, has brought Leith into the company of these two ethereal siblings.

Flashes of violence punctuate the contemplative narrative, but in her exquisitely crafted sentences, Hazzard focuses on the subtler emotions of these hearts scarred by violence. Her story is eerily quiet, filled with despair but also hints of hope, caught indirectly, much like astronomers detect dark matter by the way it bends light.

In a novel that could easily crumble under the weight of pretension if a single line were out of place, Hazzard keeps this romance afloat through her refined sensibility and a profound understanding of human nature. Against the backdrop of a world shocked by the most appalling atrocities, the affection between Leith and Helen shines with an otherworldly glow.

http://www.csmonitor.com/2003/1002/p1...