This is for me Banville's most difficult work. At one level there is the style and the book itself, which extends his love of deception – it seems to be the third part after the Book of Evidence and Ghosts, but this is never fully revealed. It's also difficult in that after you work through it doesn't give much. Characteristically, there are gorgeous, startling, dark and funny passages, and the descriptions of the paintings would make Perec proud, but these exercises didn't resonate like the other two parts in this 'trilogy'.

I am not in the habit of consulting other comments upon a book before I post. But Athena was a bit baffling, especially since I have liked so much of Banville's work so much in the past. I read it fairly quickly and with interest (mostly). The style, characterization and vocabulary impressed mightily, per usual. But something was missing. Publisher's Weekly nailed it: "The point of all this angst is never quite clear."

Although John Banville's writing always keeps me reading his work...I thought this novel was the weakest of the three in his loose trilogy.
The reason I gave it four stars was based on the absolutely lyrical passages that come along every so often...quite remarkable

I have about 20 pages to go and I'm looking forward to moving on to something more authentic, even if it's not as exquisitely well written as Athena, I don't care. There are so many echoes of Nabokov in Athena I can barely hear Banville at times, though Nabokov rarely if ever got as explicit in his nastiness as sir Banville. I don't mind nasty explicitness, but when coupled with an academic-type grace it can strike me as inauthentic, as a sort of slumming exercise. I have no idea what Banville's other books are like, or what they're about, but I get the feeling he could write as well about St. Theresa of the Flowers and her days of pure and limpid grace as he did here in Athena about a nasty scumbag sex-obsessed intellectual. I guess what has bothered me about the book, and what gives it the air of an academic exercise, is that Banville has tremendous literary talents that might very well not stem from or have any connection to his inner life or overall vision of earthly experience.

But I should say that there are many vivid descriptions in the book of all things derelict and decrepit and decaying, and there is an undeniable dark sexiness and black humor in the writing. So I am torn and at some point I will try something else by him.

Meh. If this is an example of his writing, I’m not interested in reading more. But then, I learned that this is book 3 of a trilogy. Still, it’s written in a stream of consciousness style that is most definitely not one of my favorites.
The narrator, whose name we never really know because he’s changed it, talks about some dodgy paintings in a secret room of a house. But he’s more interested in having sex with a woman he calls A - just an initial. Then there’s his aunt who’s dying or not, in a nursing home and then living in his third floor walk up with bathroom on the second floor.
I was never quite sure what actually happened and what was just in his head

It's about art thieves, and forgery, and creativity, and it's a mystery.

Oh, and about a fifth of it is devoted to this IMPOSSIBLY hot lifestyle D/s relationship between the protagonist and a mysterious woman.

So that was fun.

Freddie gets in over his head, finds love and loses it. What's there here that's interesting to new readers? Maybe the sex angle, I don't know. What's in it for readers from The Book of Evidence and Ghosts? Some shout outs to the previous novels, and the culmination of an aesthetic dream in Freddie's head from the first turned large and come back to bite off his head. I don't know, guys. Banville's had better days.

Athena is the last of Banville's Frames trilogy and the second loose sequel to The Book of Evidence, which was the best in my opinion. The writing, as usual, is top-tier, and though Banville loves to frequently flex the muscle of his staggering lexicon, I find this never really hampers the narrative (and I get to learn a bunch of obscure words).
Now I'm not at all interested in love affair stories as a general rule, but when from the disturbed mind of Freddie Montgomery-cum-Morrow it's more an excursion into mania, and I'm always down for that, so I can forgive the central plot. One thing that left me annoyed, though, was the sub-subplot of the serial killer dubbed The Vampire working in the furthest margins of the novel. I assume this killer is in fact Freddie, but aside from some vague hints about his love of white flesh and repulsion at A.'s overt displays of wantonness, and the timing of the killings, there is really nothing at all that would point to this conclusion. Even if Freddie himself has blocked these memories, I would've liked to see more about this in the novel.
Ultimately very good. I highly recommend The Book of Evidence to anyone who likes fantastic writing and fatally dark character studies. If you like that you'll probably like this and Ghosts.

I had to finish the trilogy... very Banville. Even at this early stage he has developed a style that is distinct. I love the command and use of language, more like prose. Always a good twist at the end.

Though I preferred the premise of this story quite a bit more than the previous two, I couldn't get behind the characters as much. In the first and second instalments I was appalled and intrigued, respectively, by each book's characters. Here, however, I wasn't nearly as moved. Regardless, Baneville still puts on a masterful display of storytelling, his ghostly narration is both captivating and plainly beautiful.

[rating = B]
A very raunchy, not to say that it was bad, type of Banville. Such a wonderful style. His breaks are carefully calculated, beautiful, and open up the possibility of the character's personality. Most likely an unreliable narration, it also can prove to be a realistic, if not truthful near the end, narration. Art, Art, and more art. Stolen, faked, real. Love comes, or is it fake love!?, everything is either real or a forgery, people and things alike. This is a search for truth, and yet it is also a concealment of it, for purposes unknown but that can be guessed at. It is almost a letter to this A. or supposed Athena who comes in and goes out just as mysteriously. Witty and darkly funny, Banville delivers a stylized tale of love and betrayal.

"The rain falls through me silently, like a shower of neutrinos."
"I am done with blaming people for their weaknesses. I am done with blaming anyone for anything. Except myself, that is. No end to that."
Oh John Banville, making me look up so many words and feel for a moment like a drunk brilliant poet.