This was a tough one to get through for me. I had such high hopes due to the high ratings and raves this book always gets. For me, it was less historical fiction and more medieval soap opera. The historical parts seemed tossed into the contrived storylines that seemed to go on and on. I tried to find something likable and redeemable in a character but I couldn’t. Most scenarios that started bad just got worse. Way too much repetition of what had already happened. I just didn’t like the writing or the way the plot just kept “one-upping” itself. Sigh. I wish I could jump on the Follett bandwagon like everyone else. But it’s not for me.

If O. Henry's reanimated corpse were to write a short story about me, it would go something like this: Matt loved to read, but he was a very slow reader, and spent most of his life accumulating books he never got around to looking at. I know, sad. The practical result is that I'm choosy about the books I read. When I pick up a novel, it's usually a "classic" that I feel I should read, or a novel that's such a part of the zeitgeist that refusing to read it would mark me as a cultural caveman. If this sounds elitist, well, I have to go scrub my yacht before heading off to my Proust-themed cocktail party (berets and pencil mustaches mandatory).

Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth was water cooler fodder 21 years ago. Its sequel is already three years old. In terms of cultural velocity, I’m running neck-and-neck with my mother, who is still trafficking in email forwards from 1999 (take that William Jefferson Clinton!)

Obviously, I didn’t pick up Pillars of the Earth for my typical, admittedly facile reasons. I sort of wanted to read it because it marked Follett’s departure from super-charged thrillers to dense-doorstop sized historical fiction. There was also a burst of nostalgia involved. Follett’s absurdly-detailed sex scenes helped usher my adolescent, pre-Internet self through puberty. Sure, I got the birds and the bees lecture; in fact, I think my parents sat me down in front of a video featuring animated birds and bees in all manner of undress. Afterwards, I still had a lot of unanswered questions. Since I couldn’t simply go online and retrieve all the world’s porn with a click of the mouse, I went to Mr. Follett. (This was probably a good thing; I just did a Google search for “porn” and came up with 157,000,000 results in 0.20 seconds. Pretty sure I would have died if I had seen that as a 12 year-old). Thanks to Follett’s Night Over Water and Eye of the Needle, I was introduced to the concept of oral sex.

Pillars of the Earth is a big, multi-threaded story about the building of a cathedral in England during the 1100s. The story is set in motion by Prior Phillip, of Kingsbridge, who desires to build this cathedral. He is opposed by the devious Bishop Bigod, and the evil Earl William of Hamleigh. He is aided by the good mason, Tom Builder, Tom’s good stepson Jack, and bad son Alfred. There is also Aliena, the beautiful daughter of a former earl, and her brother Richard. All these characters interact throughout the decades that the Kingsbridge Cathedral is being built. They scheme, betray, double-cross and connive; they plot and plan and pace; they sleep together and fight one another; and it all goes on for nearly 1,000 pages. To describe more of the plot would be to ruin what little surprise exists, and also take me far beyond the maximum word count.

The plot here is not typical Follett, or at least the Follett I’m used to; that is, a plot set with the precision of a Timex watch (as in “pretty good” but not Swiss quality). The book doesn’t really build to any climax. Come to think of it, the finishing of the cathedral (yeah, spoiler, they finish it) isn’t really the point. Instead, the cathedral is a seemly focal point around which to unspool a dozen unseemly sideshows. I suppose that makes sense, since unless you're David Foster Wallace, you can't really spend 1,000 pages solely on the construction of a cathedral.

The rhythm of this book can best be analogized to an EKG readout of a healthy person with a normal heartbeat. Imagine the EKG waves rising and falling and then rising again (and yes, I understand that’s not necessarily what an EKG looks like, but it does on E.R., the beginning and end of my medical knowledge). That’s the plot. You start with Prior Phillip encountering a difficulty. He despairs, ponders giving up, and then comes up with a plan. He overcomes that difficulty with the help of his friends. He thinks everything is fine and dandy and starts doing his Walter Huston dance from The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Then something goes wrong, and we start over again. After the first few times this happens, all the tension dissipates, and you are left only with your curiosity to see how it ends.

The repetitiveness of this pattern becomes so predictable that you can start foreseeing the problems and the solutions from hundreds of pages away. This is made easier by the fact that the story is like a web. Every strand, every character, is connected (Chekhov would have approved). There is no character, no odd bit of detail, no freighted utterance, that doesn’t pay off somewhere down the line. If you ever start to wonder, “who’s going to suddenly appear to help/make things worse?”, all you have to do is think back to whatever character you haven’t heard from in awhile. This medieval world, you see, was founded on the backs of the peasants, and also on pure coincidence. There is no obstacle on earth that cannot be overcome by the exigencies of a Follett plot. Need to find someone who has left your village and may or may not be in a small town in Spain? Don’t worry, even though it’s the year 1130, you can make your way to the coast, get on a boat, cross the English Channel, travel through France, and find exactly who you are looking for (hint: he’ll be in the place you least expect him to be). And you can do this all in the span of four pages!

The amount of historical detail is amazing. I can imagine Follett hunched over a table in some library, pouring over old documents with a magnifying glass and dreaming of his inevitable Pulitzer. Follett has done his research on medieval masonry and architecture, weapons, clothing, customs, and food. (Horsebread? If it tastes as good as it sounds, I’m in!)

Despite striving for verisimilitude, Pillars of the Earth reads like a contemporary novel. A contemporary novel written by Ken Follett, to be exact. Now, I didn’t expect – or want – a novel written in 12th century colloquial English. If I want to read and not understand fiction from that time period, I’ll pull my copy of Chaucer off the shelf and ignore it, just like I did in high school. Still, this book was so…so modern, it was disconcerting. There’s such a vast canvas here, so much detail, so many pages, I was hoping to get lost in Ye Olde World. Instead, I felt like I’d lost my bearings at a subpar Renaissance Faire.

Follett himself has said he writes “transparent” prose. I don’t know if that gives him too much credit or not enough. Let’s just say I never felt the need to pull out a notebook and copy down a passage that lifted my soul or added to my understanding of the human condition. To his credit, you never get bogged down in a Follett book. He writes downhill, if you catch my meaning (and I’m not sure I do).

One of the glaring problems of Pillars of the Earth is its dialogue. To call it anachronistic would be to assume that it would fit comfortably in some other time period. This is not the case. The conversations had by these characters – stilted, wooden, banal, overly-expository – would be dreadful at any time in the known history of the world. At times, the writing got so egregious I wondered if perhaps Follett wasn’t attempting a meta-critique of the historical novel as a literary artifact. Maybe. I was laughing too hard to ponder this.

I suppose it’s not fair to expect too much from the dialogue, delivered as it is by characters only distantly related to the human race. The “people” in Pillars of the Earth were created by God and Ken Follett solely to service the plot. They have as much personality as the pieces on a chessboard. Their driving motivations are grab bag of clichés: “I want to build a cathedral for God!”; “I want revenge for my dead father!”; “I want to marry that girl because she has curly hair!” Everyone is given their defining character trait, and like fatalistic Calvinists, they ride that trait to their doom or salvation.

For example, there is William Hamleigh. He’s a bad guy. How do we know this? Because he is introduced in a scene in which he nearly tramples a small child with his war horse. Later, he rapes a girl, and makes her brother watch. And that was just a warm-up. He instigates two other gang-rapes that are described in the book, and I’m certain there are several more that appear off-page. Just in case you think William has any redeeming qualities, he also overtaxes his serfs, beats a mill owner, and burns down a village.

To be fair, it’s not as though Follett doesn’t attempt to inject humanity into his characters. In fact, he sometimes devotes entire lengthy paragraphs to their interior lives. It’s just that these interior lives display all the depth of a kiddy pool and all the subtlety of a Hooter’s waitress. Phillip, for instance, has a series of internal debates that flow thusly: (1) Existential quandary: I want to build a cathedral, but that is ambitious, and ambition is a sin; (2) Internal debate: Should I build the cathedral or not?; (3) Resolution: I will build the cathedral, but I will tell myself I am building it for God. Problem solved.

Of course, being a Follett novel, even one with certain pretensions, there are a few smutty parts. (I have helpfully bookmarked these, if you want to borrow my copy). Without getting into details, or excerpting long passages, I will only make note of an odd, fetishistic quirk I noticed , that of the repeated mentions of Aliena’s pubic hair. Every time Aliena takes her clothes off, which happens with some regularity, I might add, the reader is treated to a description of the coiffure of her nether-regions. Now, I’m not against period-specific details as it relates to dress, grooming, or hygiene, but seriously, Ken, it’s not like I’ve forgotten those specific qualities since the last time you mentioned them. The thing that pushes this quirk over the top, though, is how Aliena keeps thinking about it (it is one of her character traits, you see). She believes – and how’s this for anachronisms – that she’s too hirsute. Really? It’s the 12th century! People bathe once a year! It’s not like they hop out of the wooden tub, dry off on a sheep, and then get a Brazilian. Or did they? Everything I know about the 12th century comes from this book.

The end of Pillars of the Earth is a mild disappointment. It is rather passive and indirect. Characters win their rewards and get their comeuppances, but they come via a finale that feels more like an epilogue than part of the story.

Criticizing a Ken Follett book is akin to building sandcastles to hold back the tide. It is a futile exercise. His books will continue to sell millions of copies, and I will continue to buy them at used bookstores years after they have been relegated to semi-relevance. I will never fail to finish one of his novels, and always when I do, my brain will feel the need to take a shower.

At this point, you might be wondering about the four stars. Well, throughout nearly 1,000 pages, I never once thought about putting the book down.

6.0 stars. An absolutely amazing reading experience. This one may actually make it on to my "All Time Favorite" list. I listened to the audio version of this book, which means just over 40 hours of content, and when it was finished, I actually believed it should have been LONGER. This book grabbed me from the opening pages and kept me interested and engaged throughout the entire novel (a very rare feet for a 1000 page novel). With as much as I had heard about this book, I went into it with very high expectations and they were absolutely met (if not exceeded). I can't recommend this book highly enough.

I also need to say that the narrator, John Lee, did another amazing job. Coincidentally, he was also the narrator on the only other 40+ hour audio book I ever listened to, Pandora's Star by Peter F. Hamilton. He can certainly make a great book, even better. HIGHEST POSSIBLE RECOMMENDATION!!!!

A sprawling family epic in 12th century England!

In the early years of the 12th century, shortly after Henry I dies without an obvious heir, England is torn by civil war between his daughter, Maud, and her cousin, Stephen of Blois. This unsettled period in England provides the tumultuous setting for a sprawling 50 year epic tale of the construction of a bishop's cathedral at Kingsbridge Priory. Follett uses the history of the era to full advantage and masterfully weaves the fundamental ingredients of 12th century medieval English life into a stirring plot that will keep you reading well into the wee hours - the push and pull of church versus state as bishops tussle with nobility and archbishops and popes squabble with kings or rivals to the throne; the early development of the concept of organized labour and unions; the very tenuous and fluid definition of title and property ownership; the nature of military strategy and the frightful concept of in-close hand to hand combat in the middle ages; markets, trade fairs and the nature of commerce and business licences of the day.

Follett has populated this novel with an astonishing cast of memorable characters whose personalities, weaknesses, strengths, habits and physical descriptions are portrayed with a remarkable level of detail - Tom Builder and his wife, "witch" Ellen; the venal, psychopathic William Hamleigh and his ugly, domineering mother Regan; the kindly, prideful Philip, prior of Kingsbridge; brutish, bullying Alfred; the brilliant and beautiful Aliena and her self-centred brother Richard, tied to each other because of an oath made to their father as he lay on his death bed; the pious but machiavellian Waleran of Bigod who has set his sights on nothing less than the lofty position of Archbishop of Canterbury; and, Jack, Ellen's nerdy good-natured son who matures into a master mason obsessed with expanding the limits of medieval architecture. The good guys will make you laugh, weep and cheer and the bad guys will make your skin crawl. But - trust me - bad or good, you won't be forgetting these folks any time soon!

Follett's story-telling is as ambitious as the setting in which he has chosen to place it. Like other modern extended family tales such as Archer's Kane and Abel, John Jakes' The Kent Family Chronicles or the classic Dickens' Nicholas Nickleby, we are treated to a smorgasbord of emotions and characteristics - love and hate, strength and weakness, devotion and loyalty, dishonour and deceit, intelligence and bone-headed stupidity, altruism and selfishness, stubbornness and obsession, bravery and cowardice.

An extraordinary, compelling drama, The Pillars of the Earth deserves to be on your bookshelf.


Paul Weiss

Without Foundation

I don't think I'm a lit-snob. I like a good yarn, well told as well as pieces with complex symbolism and subtle style. But I couldn't get past the first 100 of the almost 1100 pages of Follett's fictional 'masterpiece' about medieval cathedral building. This is the length it takes him to introduce his protagonist, a stonemason who has a rather 20th century view of his importance in the world and an architectural obsession not unlike that of Howard, Ayn Rand’s hero of the Fountainhead.

Yet the reader knows nothing more about his character after 100 pages than she does after the first 10 pages. Lots of detail about the brutality of life in the 12th century, and several repetitious summaries of the plot are provided along the way, just in case the anthropological overload obscures the story-line. But other than his sexual fantasies at the most inopportune moment - just after the death of his wife in childbirth and the disappearance of his new son - the central character remains a somewhat vague performer of the role of overburdened paterfamilias who has made one hell of a bad career choice long before the novel starts.

What the reader can guess, unfortunately, is where the story will go from moment to moment, so even plot dies a wordy death. The young woman met in the forest in the beginning of the chapter is of course going to be his saviour and ally by the end for example. The tension is not about what will happen but when we're finally to get to it. My inner pleas of "Please don't let it be so" were as about as effectual as similar entreaties to the divine concerning Donald Trump's election.

In short, if all I need on a rainy autumn evening is readable prose with no obvious merit, I'd go for Mills & Boone. As far as medieval cathedral stories go, I recollect that Golding's The Spire had something going for it. Maybe I can dig it out.

The Pillars of the Earth (Kingsbridge, #1), Ken Follett

The Pillars of the Earth is a historical novel by Welsh author Ken Follett, published in 1989, about the building of a cathedral in the fictional town of Kingsbridge, England.

It is set in the middle of the 12th century, primarily during the Anarchy, between the time of the sinking of the White Ship and the murder of Thomas Becket. The book traces the development of Gothic architecture out of the preceding Romanesque architecture, and the fortunes of the Kingsbridge priory and village against the backdrop of historical events of the time. A red-headed man is hanged for theft after being condemned by a priest, a knight, and a monk. His pregnant lover curses the men who condemned him, declaring that their children will be hanged, their enemies will prosper, and that they will live the rest of their lives with regret and sorrow. ...

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: سال1997 میلادی

عنوان: س‍ت‍ون‍ه‍ای‌ زم‍ی‍ن‌؛ اث‍ر: ک‍ن‌ ف‍ال‍ت‌؛ مت‍رج‍م طاه‍ره‌ ص‍دی‍ق‍ی‍ان‌؛ ت‍ه‍ران: اه‍ل‌ ق‍ل‍م‌‏‫، سال1375؛ در سه جلد در1540ص؛ شابک9645568188؛ چاپ دیگر: تهران: روشنگران و مطالعات زنان‏‫، سال1390، شابک9789641940685؛ ‭‬موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان بریتانیا - سده20م

‫داستان، با اعدام شخصی بی‌گناه، در سده ی دوازدهم میلادی، آغاز می‌شود؛ همسر اعدامی، شاهدان دروغین دادگاه را، نفرین می‌کند، و سپس ماجراهایی رمانتیک، و حماسه‌ ای در پی این ماجرا شکل می‌گیرد؛ کشیشی به نام «پدر فلیپ»، می‌کوشد کلیسای جامعی بسازد؛ نیروهای اهریمنی، و صاحبان قدرت و ثروت، در تلاش هستند، جلوی ساخت کلیسا را بگیرند، تا بدانوسیله نفوذ و قدرت خود را، به اثبات رسانده، و «پدر فلیپ» را، از سر راه خویش بردارند؛ این رمان داستان عشق و امید و تلاش است؛ نویسنده، در این داستان، ویران شدن، نابودن شدن، و باز از نو برخاستن، و با اتکا به امید، دوباره ساختن را حکایت می‌کند؛

نقل از متن جلد نخست: (پیشگفتار سال1123میلادی؛ پسرها صبح زود برای دیدن مراسم اعدام حاضر شدند؛ هنوز هوا تاریک بود که سه چهار نفر از آنها همچون گربه، با پوتینهای نمدی به آرامی خود را از آلونکهایشان بیرون کشیدند و به راه افتادند؛ لایه ی نازکی از برف تازه، مثل پوششی سفید رنگ، سراسر شهر کوچک را دربرگرفته بود و جای پای آنها بر روی آن نقش میبست؛ آنها از میان کپرهای چوبی نزدیک به هم و خیابانهای پوشیده از گِل یخ زده عبور کردند و به میدان بازار رسیدند، جاییکه چوبه ی دار در انتظار ایستاده بود؛ پسرها آنچه را که برای بزرگترها ارزشمند بود تحقیر میکردند؛ زیبایی را خوار میشمردند و نیکی را به سخره میگرفتند؛ از دیدن مردی افلیج هو میکشیدند، و اگر حیوانی زخمی میدیدند سنگسارش میکردند؛ وقتی صدمه ای به آنها وارد میشد به خود میبالیدند، و اثر زخم را با غرور نشان میدادند؛ به ویژه اگر کسی عضوی از بدنش قطع شده بود، مورد تحسین قرار میگرفت: پسری با انگشتی قطع شده میتوانست رهبر آنها باشد؛ خشونت را دوست داشتند؛ حاضر بودند مایلها بدوند تا صحنه ی خونریزی را ببینند؛ آنها هرگز مراسم اعدام را نادیده نمیگذاشتند

یکی از پسرها پای چوبه ی دار ادرار کرد؛ دیگری از پله ها بالا رفت، انگشتانش را بر گلو گذاشت و خودش را یکباره پایین انداخت، چهره اش را به تقلید از خفگی به طرزی مهیب پیچ و تاب داد؛ دیگران فریاد تحسین برکشیدند؛ دو سگ پارس کنان به میدان بازار دویدند؛ پسر جوانی بی پروا شروع به خوردن سیبی کرد، یکی از پسرهای بزرگتر مشتی بر بینی او کوفت و سیب را از دستش قاپید؛ پسر کوچکتر خشم خود را با پرتاب سنگی تیز به طرف یکی از سگها تسکین داد و سگ زوزه کشان فرار کرد؛ اکنون کار دیگری نبود که به انجامش بیارزد، بنابراین همگی روی پیاده روی خشک رواق کلیسای بزرگ چمباتمه زدند و به انتظار رویدادی تازه ماندند؛ نور شمع از پشت پنجره های اطراف میدان سوسو میزد که نشان میداد توی خانه های چوبی و سنگی محکم صنعت کاران و بازرگانان ثروتمند، دختران کلفت و پادوهای آشپزخانه مشغول روشن کردن آتش و گرم کردن آب و پختن حلیم هستند؛ رنگ آسمان از سیاه به خاکستری گرایید؛ مردم شهر با سرهای خمیده از درگاههای کوتاه منزلهایشان بیرون آمدند، آنها خود را در جبّه های پشمی زبر و کلفت پوشانده بودند و لرزان از سرما برای برداشتن آب به سمت رودخانه میرفتند

اندکی بعد گروهی از مردان جوان شامل مهترها، کارگران و شاگردان صنعتگران با غرور قدم به میدان گذاشتند و پسربچه ها را با مشت و لگد از رواق کلیسا بیرون راندند، و خود به دیوار طاقهای سنگی کنده کاری شده تکیه زدند؛ آنها بدن خود را میخاراندند، روی زمین تف میانداختند �� با اطمینانی آگاهانه درباره ی اعدام صحبت میکردند؛ یکی از آنها گفت: اگر بخت با او یار باشد به محض افتادن، گردنش میشکند، مرگی سریع و بیدرد: در غیر اینصورت همچنان که آویزان مانده است سرخ میشود و دهانش مانند ماهیِ از آب بیرون افتاده باز و بسته میشود تا اینکه خفه شود؛ دیگری گفت، چنین مردنی ممکن است به اندازه ی یک مایل راهپیمایی طول بکشد؛ سومی گفت: میتواند از آن هم بدتر باشد! او کسی را دیده بود که تا وقت مردن گردنش سی سانتی متر دراز شده بود؛ دسته ای از پیرزنان در طرف مقابل میدان با فاصله ای دور از مردان جوان ایستاده بودند، جوانانی که آمادگی داشتند جلوی مادربزرگهای خود کلماتی زشت بر زبان بیاورند

پیرزنان همیشه صبح زود از خواب برمیخاستند؛ گرچه دیگر فرزند کوچکی نداشتند تا موجب نگرانیشان شود؛ با اینحال اوّلین کسانی بودند که آتشهایشان را روشن میکردند، و کف تنورهایشان را جارو میزدند؛ رهبر شناخته شده ی آنها، بیوه «بروستر»، با اندامی عضلانی، در حالیکه بشکه ای آبجو را به راحتیِ حلقه ای که کودکان با چوب میگرداندند، به جلو میغلتاند، به آنها پیوست؛ هنوز درِ بشکه را برنداشته بود که مشتریان منتظر با کوزه و سطل دورش جمع شدند. مامورِ اعدامِ داروغه ی شهر دروازه ی اصلی را گشود و به کشاورزانی که در خانه های چهار طاقی پشت دیوار شهر سکنی داشتند اجازه ی دخول داد؛ برخی تخم مرغ و شیر و کره ی تازه برای فروش آورده بودند؛ عدّه ای برای خرید آبجو و نان آمده بودند و بعضی دیگر در میدان بازار به انتظار مراسم اعدام ایستادند

هر از گاه مردم همچون گنجشکهای محتاط، سرشان را بالا میبردند، و به قصری که در بالای شهر، روی تپّه قرار داشت، نگاه میکردند؛ آنها دودی را که به طور مداوم از آشپزخانه برمیخاست و شعله های نامنظم مشعلی که از پشت درز پنجره های باروی سنگی سرک میکشید، میدیدند؛ سپس هنگامی که خورشید در حال بیرون آمدن از پشت ابر ضخیم خاکستری بود، درهای بزرگ چوبی قصر باز شدند و گروه کوچکی بیرون آمدند؛ داروغه پیشاپیش بر اسبی سیاه و زیبا سوار بود و به دنبال او، یک گاری حرکت میکرد که گاوی آنرا میکشید و زندانی، دست بسته، بر آن سوار بود؛ پشت سر گاری سه مرد اسب میراندند، گرچه چهره هایشان از آن فاصله دیده نمیشد، لباسهایشان نشان میداد که یکی شوالیه، یکی کشیش و دیگری راهب است؛ دو مرد مسلّح در پشت این گروه در حرکت بودند؛ همگی آنها در دادگاه ایالتی که روز قبل در شبستان کلیسا برگزار شده بود حضور داشتند؛ کشیش، دزد را حین ارتکاب جرم گرفته بود؛ راهب جام نقره ای صومعه را شناسایی کرده بود، شوالیه که ارباب دزد بود، فرار او را شهادت داده و داروغه او را به مرگ محکوم کرده بود؛ همچنانکه آنها به آرامی از تپه پایین میآمدند، سایر اهالی شهر در اطراف چوبه ی دار جمع میشدند

شهروندانِ با نفوذ: قصاب، نانوا، دو دباغ، دو آهنگر، چاقوفروش و پیکانساز، همگی با همسرانشان، آخرین کسانی بودند که به میدان آمدند؛ حالت جمعیت عجیب بود؛ آنها اغلب از مراسم اعدام لذت میبردند؛ معمولاً زندانی به دزدی متهم بود و آنها با حرارتِ مردمی که داراییهایشان به سختی به دست آمده است، از دزدان نفرت داشتند؛ امّا این دزد با دیگران تفاوت داشت. هیچکس نمیدانست او کیست و از کجا آمده است؛ او چیزی از آنها ندزدیده بود، بلکه از صومعه ای که بیست مایل با آنجا فاصله داشت، جامی جواهر نشان را سرقت کرده بود؛ جامی آنقدر گرانبها که عملاً فروش آن غیرممکن مینمود؛ این دستبرد با سرقت یک تکه ران خوک یا کاردی جدید یا کمربندی خوب که کمبودش مشکلاتی فراهم میکرد، تفاوت داشت

آنها نمیتوانستند از فردی که جرمی چنین بیهوده را مرتکب شده بود، متنفر باشند؛ هنگامی که زندانی وارد میدان شد صدای چند سوت و هلهله ی استهزاآمیز شنیده شد، امّا دشنامها از ته قلب نبود و تنها پسربچه ها او را با حرارت مسخره میکردند؛ اکثر مردم شهر در دادگاه حضور نداشتند، زیرا دادگاهها در ایام غیرتعطیل برگزار میشد و آنها مجبور بودند در تلاش معاش باشند، بنابراین این اوّلین باری بود که دزد را میدیدند؛ او جوانی بیست تا سی ساله مینمود، قد و قواره اش معمولی بود، امّا ظاهری کاملاً غریبه داشت؛ پوستش به سفیدی برفِ روی شیروانیها بود، چشمان سبز شفاف شگفت آوری داشت و موهایش به رنگ هویج پوست کنده بود؛ به چشم دختران زشت آمد؛ پیرزنان به حالش تاسف خوردند و پسرکان آن قدر خندیدند که به زمین افتادند؛ داروغه چهره ای آشنا بود، امّا سه مرد دیگر که سرنوشت دزد را رقم زده بودند، غریبه بودند؛ شوالیه، با اندامی فربه و موهای زرد، آشکارا شخص مهمی به نظر میرسید، چرا که اسبی جنگی را میراند، حیوانی عظیم الجثه که به اندازه ی درآمد دهسال یک نجار ارزش داشت؛ راهب بسیار پیرتر بود، شاید پنجاه ساله یا بیشتر

مردی بلندقد و لاغر اندام که با شانه هایی فروافتاده روی زین نشسته بود، گویی زندگی چون باری خسته کننده بر دوشش سنگینی میکند؛ شگفت آورتر از همه کشیش بود، مردی جوان با بینی نوک تیز و موهای صاف و مشکی، جامه ای سیاه بر تن داشت و بر اسبی شاه بلوطی سوار بود. او نگاهی هوشیار و خطرناک داشت، همچون گربه ای سیاه که میتوانست بوی بچه موشی را از لانه استشمام کند. پسرکی کوچک، با نشانه گیری دقیق، بر زندانی آب دهان انداخت؛ تیر خوبی بود و میان دو ابروی او نشست؛ او نفرینی نثار کرد و به طرف پسرک خیز برداشت، امّا طنابهایی که او را به کناره های گاری بسته بود مانع حرکتش شد. کلماتی که به کار برد فرانسوی بود، زبان لردها؛ آیا او از اشرافزادگان بود؟ یا از کشورش دور افتاده بود؟ کسی نمیدانست؛ گاری زیر چوبه ی دار ایستاد؛ جلاد در حالیکه حلقه ی طناب را در دست داشت روی آن رفت

زندانی شروع به تقلاّ کرد؛ پسرها غریو شادی سر دادند، اگر زندانی آرام میماند آنها ناامید میشدند؛ حرکات جوانک توسط طنابهایی که به دست و پایش بسته بودند، محدود شده بود، امّا سرش را به این طرف به آن طرف میچرخاند و خود را از حلقه ی طناب کنار میکشید؛ پس از لحظه ای مامور اعدام که مردی قوی هیکل بود قدمی به عقب گذاشت و مشتی بر شکم زندانی کوبید؛ مرد دولا شد، به خود پیچید و جلاد طناب را بر گردنش انداخت و گره اش را محکم کرد؛ سپس روی زمین پرید و طناب را محکم کشید و سر دیگر طناب را به قلابی در پای چوبه ی دار بست؛ نقطه ای بی بازگشت؛ هرچه زندانی بیشتر تلاش میکرد، تنها مرگش را سرعت میبخشید؛ مردان مسلّح پاهای زندانی را باز کرده و او را تنها روی گاری رها کردند، دستانش از پشت بسته شده بود؛ سکوت بر جمعیت حکمفرما شد؛ اغلب در این لحظات اغتشاشی ایجاد میشد: مادر زندانی جیغ میکشید و یا همسرش کاردی بیرون میآورد و به جایگاه میدوید و در آخرین لحظات تلاش میکرد زندانی را نجات دهد

گاهی اوقات زندانی از خداوند طلب بخشش میکرد، یا بر دژخیمانش دشنامی میفرستاد، که خون را در رگها منجمد میکرد؛ مردان مسلّح اکنون در طرفین چوبه دار ایستاده و خود را آماده ی مقابله با هر حادثه ای کرده بودند؛ در این هنگام زندانی شروع به آواز خواندن کرد؛ او صدایی مردانه، زیر و بلند و بسیار صاف داشت؛ کلمات به زبان فرانسه ادا میشد، امّا حتی کسانی که به آن زبان آشنا نبودند، میتوانستند از روی آهنگ گله آمیز و شیرین آن بگویند که از غم و نابودی سخن میگوید: «چکاوکی در دام، شیرینتر از همیشه ، نوا سر داد ، پنداشتی ، با بالهایِ محکمِ آوازش ، از پنجه هایِ نامهربانِ دام ، خواهد رست.»؛ همچنانکه آواز میخواند مستقیما به شخصی در میان جمعیت نگاه میکرد؛ به تدریج فضایی در اطراف آن شخص شکل گرفت و همه توانستند دخترک را ببینند؛ او حدودا پانزده ساله بود؛ هنگامی که مردم به او نگاه کردند، در عجب ماندند چطور قبلاً متوجه او نشده بودند؛ گیسوانی به رنگ قهوه ای تیره، بلند، پرپشت و زیبا داشت که روی پیشانی پهنش ریخته بود؛ اندامی موزون، لبانی پر و دهانی شهوانی

زنان پیر متوجه کمر پهن و سینه های سنگینش شدند، و به این نتیجه رسیدند که باردار است، و حدس زدند زندانی پدر فرزندِ تولد نیافته ی اوست؛ امّا دیگران به جز چشمانش، متوجه چیز دیگری نشدند؛ امکان داشت او زیبا شمرده شود، امّا چشمانی جدّی و فرو رفته به رنگ طلایی داشت؛ چشمانش ته قلب انسان را میبینند و آدمی از ترس اینکه راز و رمزش برملا نشود چشم برمیگرداند؛ جامه ای ژنده بر تن داشت و اشک روی گونه های لطیفش میغلتید؛ راننده ی گاری با حالتی منتظر به مامور اعدام نگاه کرد؛ جلاد در انتظار دستور به داروغه نگریست. کشیش جوان با حالتی منحوس بیصبرانه به پهلوی داروغه زد، امّا داروغه توجهی نکرد؛ او زندانی را آزاد گذاشت تا به خواندن ادامه دهد؛ صدای دلنواز مرد زشت روی با مکثی هولناک، مرگ را معطل نگاه داشته بود: «در گرگ و میش سحرگاهان، صید در چنگال صیاد، و چکاوک در دام؛ همسخن مرگ ، آه، مرگش نشسته برابر، آنک، پرنده و انسان، خونهاشان، به جویبارِ جاریِ مردن، خواهد پیوست، امّا پرنده ی آواز، لیکن پرنده ی فریاد، در آسمان سبزِ همیشه، پرواز میکند، زیرا، مرگ پایان کبوتر نیست.»؛

هنگامیکه آواز پایان گرفت داروغه به مامور اعدام نگاه کرد و سر تکان داد؛ جلاد فریاد کشید: «هی!» و با طناب به کفل گاو شلاّق زد؛ ارابه ران همزمان شلاّقش را به صدا درآورد؛ گاو جلو رفت، زندانی که روی گاری ایستاده بود تلوتلو خورد، گاو گاری را به جلو کشید؛ طناب کشیده شد و گردن دزد با صدایی شکسته شد و زندانی میان زمین و هوا معلّق ماند؛ جیغی کشیده شد و همه به دخترک نگاه کردند؛ صدای جیغ از او نبود، بلکه از همسر چاقو فروش بود که کنار او ایستاده بود، و به دخترک اشاره میکرد؛ دخترک در مقابل چوبه ی دار زانو زده و دستانش را به حالت نفرین به سوی آسمان گشوده بود؛ همگی به حقانیت این اعدام مظنون بودند؛ پسران کوچک وحشتزده به او مینگریستند

دختر، چشمان نافذ و طلایی خود را به سوی سه غریبه، شوالیه، راهب و کشیش گرداند، سپس با آهنگی پرطنین و کلماتی وحشتناک نفرین خود را بر زبان آورد: «نفرین من همراه با بیماری و غم، با گرسنگی و درد بر شما باد؛ خانه هایتان در آتش بسوزد و طناب دار به گردن کودکانتان بیفتد؛ دشمنانتان کامیاب شوند و پیریتان همراه پشیمانی و اندوه باشد و در عذاب و ناپاکی بمیرید...» همچنان که دخترک آخرین کلماتش را بر زبان میآور�� دستش را داخل کیسه ای که روی زمین در کنارش بود فروکرد و جوجه خروسی زنده را بیرون کشید و با حرکتی سریع با کاردی که در دست داشت سر خروس را برید؛ در حالیکه خون از سر جدا شده ی خروس فواره میزد، خروس بدون سر را به طرف کشیش مو سیاه پرتاب کرد

خروس به او نرسیده بر زمین افتاد، امّا خون به سر تا پای او و راهب و شوالیه که در دو طرفش ایستاده بودند، پاشیده شد؛ سه مرد با نفرت خود را کنار کشیدند، امّا خون به سرتا پایشان پاشیده شد و صورتهایشان را آلوده و جامه هایشان را لکه دار کرد؛ دخترک چرخید و شروع به دویدن کرد؛ جمعیت در مقابلش راه گشود و پشت سرش بسته شد؛ برای چند لحظه محوطّه را هرج و مرج فرا گرفت؛ نهایتا داروغه توجه مردان مسلح را به خود جلب کرد و با عصبانیت به آنها فرمان داد دخترک را تعقیب کنند؛ آنها در میان جمعیت شروع به تقلاّ کردند؛ با خشونت زن و مرد و بچه را از سر راه خود کنار میزدند، امّا دخترک در یک چشم به هم زدن ناپدید شده بود؛ گرچه داروغه دست از جستجوی خود برنمیداشت، امّا میدانست او را پیدا نخواهد کرد؛ داروغه با انزجار برگشت؛ شوالیه، راهب و کشیش فرار دختر را ندیده بودند؛ آنها هنوز به چوبه ی دار مینگریستند؛ داروغه مسیر نگاه آنها را دنبال کرد؛ دزدِ مرده در انتهای طناب آویزان بود؛ چهره ی جوان و رنگ پریده اش هم اکنون به آبی میگرایید، و در زیر جسدش که به آرامی تاب میخورد خروس بدون سر، در حالیکه نیمه جانی داشت، روی برف خون آلود دور دایره ای ناموزون پرپر میزد.)؛ پایان نقل

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 20/03/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 22/01/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

7.2 MILLION STARS!

Did I just read one of the most amazing books I have ever read? Yes, yes I did!

I cannot say enough about this book, the story, the writing, the characters, etc. etc. etc. Everything is perfect!

If someone had said to me, “Here is a 1000 page book about the building of a cathedral 1000 years ago in England” I probably would have fallen asleep before the end of their sentence. But, do not judge a book by its description – it is a 1000 page book about the building of a cathedral, but Follett does an amazing job of crafting a historical fiction story around it that will keep you engaged from page one until the very end.

With 1000 pages, there has to be filler, right? There is not! Every sentence, every word – all of it adds to the story. And, events on page 25 may have ramifications on the events of page 825. How the author kept the storyline together, intertwined, and fully applicable throughout is amazing. I picture him referencing a very complicated flowchart covering his entire wall while writing this book. Sounds confusing – it is not! Despite the intricacies, it was very easy to follow.

Do you love to hate evil characters and feel passionate emotions for the ones you love? READ THIS! I don’t think I have ever wanted to reach into a book more and strangle a character than I did with this book. Then, I found myself audibly cheering and groaning as the relationships of my favorite characters developed, succeeded, and sometimes failed. I was emotionally spent loving and hating these characters – and it might be the most I have ever been emotionally invested in characters in a long time (if ever).

I cannot say that this book will be for everyone, but it is worth giving it a try. Especially if you like any of the following:

•tHistorical Fiction
•tBritish Fiction
•tStories about church vs government
•tKnights, monks, kings, and other medieval dramatis personaet
•tCharacter studies

This comes with a warning, though: I know I have some book friends who do not like violent depictions of sex. If that is a problem for you, either go into this story being aware that you will be uncomfortable, or steer away from it completely.

This is an amazing novel, A 5 Star Historical Fiction read
A lengthy novel at over 900 pages and not for the faint hearted and yet the story moves at a surprising quick pace. The characters are so well portrayed and engaging that you cant wait to turn the pages to unravel their fates. I loved the twists and turns of this story and as historical fiction goes this is among the best I have read as the research is excellent and the sense of time and place so real and vivid.

Set in 12th-century England, the narrative concerns the building of a cathedral in the fictional town of Kingsbridge. I never thought I would read a 900 page novel on the building of a cathedral but the plot is so compelling as it spans 40 years of social and political upheaval and we see how church politics affect the progress of the cathedral and the fortunes of the protagonists. Ken Follett has written a novel that entertains and presents an amazing sense of time and place.

A memorable Novel and certainly one for my real life bookshelf.

3.5 Holy cathedrals, that was a long ride. I really wanted to love this book, but sadly, at several parts I was very detached from the whole thing. And then at some others I was so into the story it almost hurt, especially when Philip or William where on the scene, those two made the book for me. It is a long story about injustice, love, religion and ancient architecture, with well constructed characters and an unbelievably perfect set. Maybe too much for someone who is not really a big Historical Fiction reader, like me, but if you like and know the genre already, The Pillars of the Earth is a must.



Un libro sobre la construcción de una catedral, que se ve siempre amenazada por el gobierno, la guerra, la misma religión y los personajes que hacen que estos tres temas converjan. Muy rica en historia, muy detallada en personajes y muy pesada en trama.

Creo que es una historia fantástica, pero no del todo interesante para mi. Aun así hubo muchas cosas que adore como Philip y toda su odisea para construir la catedral y todo lo relacionado con William porque a pesar de que era un hijo de perra, sus capítulos siempre fueron muy interesantes. Por otro lado a Tom, Ellen y Jack jamas los pude soportar.

Otra cosa que me gustó fue todo el detalle técnico sobre las catedrales, algo que me había frustrado mucho en Nuestra Señora de Paris, Ken Follet lo logra de manera increíble, gancha y da detalles sin extenderse demasiado. Acabas interesándote realmente en el tema.

Sin lugar a dudas, Los Pilares de la Tierra es una historia con toda una investigación detrás que le da credibilidad a su ficción, deja en entredicho la sociedad como realmente era sin caricaturizar nada. Una verdadera obra de ficción histórica digna de mención. Una pena que la mayoría de sus puntos altos no sean de gran interés para mi.

Recomendado para los fanáticos del género o bien para quienes quieran dar el siguiente paso en el.

Even though Ken Follett's so-called "masterpiece" has received so much popular appraisal (like the sales-boosting membership to Oprah's Book Club), I have to say I don't really see the novel's appeal beyond some decent medieval research and adequate character development. Spanning the length of most of the 12th century, Pillars of the Earth is yet another epic novel that follows several generations of the same families, members of whom seem to be simple reincarnations of their ancestors. In 900+ pages, Follett often seems to be too lazy or not creative enough to develop new characters as they are needed, or even new plot lines. Reading the struggle between good and evil, the humble prior seeking to rebuild his cathedral vs. the power-hungry lord who seems be driven by nothing but pure revenge (church vs. state, anyone?) gets old after the first 250 pages, after which the same struggles are reincarnated over and over again, between all of the characters. Additionally, the dialogue is quite thin, and the characters themselves seem to recycle, right down to their looks (the same damn hair colors and facial features are constantly reappearing--hasn't Follett heard of recessive genes?). If you need a book to get you though a long flight or something mindless to wean you off your last round of exams, this is a good choice; otherwise, Follett's rather remedial prose leaves you feeling like you just wasted quite a bit of time digging through a massive, yet empty, tome.

A friend recommended this book. He is no longer a friend. I confess a snooty predisposition against pulpy books. I was going to the beach so I thought this would be a good beach book.

So what's it about? A master builder wanders medieval England looking for work. He's with his family--pregnant wife ("she was his soul-mate"--the author actually writes that twice), medieval Bart Simpson-ish son, scrawny daughter. He Dreams of Building a Cathedral. Along the way he meets a witch in the forest--a pulchritudinous witch, no warts. He loves his wife but lusts for the witch, then goes back to focusing on his lesions.

As the family nears starvation, the wife goes into labor in the gelid forest and dies in childbirth. The baby lives. The mason abandons him and staggers off into the forest.

The witch-babe comes upon the mason for a brief prurient-interest sex scene. She's on top and her breasts swell to his touch. You get the idea. Then she feeds the builder and his kids soup in her cave, which is appointed like Hugh Hefner's "After Dark" lounge.

The baby is then rescued by monks who feed it by dipping a cloth into goat milk and letting the lad suckle. The monks seemed relieved from their daily routine of plain song (oh, for a drum sample!), beer brewing and long, steamy group showers. They quickly devolve into bitchy "Three Men and a Baby" behavior.

This book is 124,000 pages long and I am on page 98. Why I am reading it? 1) Hanging out with my father-in-law in hospice. Not a good time to whip out "Angry Birds" 2) Sex scene with concupiscent witch actually was sexy. 3) Copy of "The Leopard" by di Lampedusa on order.

Toward the end of this 1000 page book I noticed the ad for the equally non-descript titled SEQUEL released 17 years after Pillars. This raises a lot of questions. What kind of author leaves his fans hanging for 17 years? Can there possibly be anything left unsaid after 1000 pages? Is this why Follett looks so smug on the back cover w/his black turtleneck?

Maybe in the sequel he'll explain why he couldn't find room in the story for Martha after age 6. She was my favorite character and she got maybe 5 sentences of mention after page 300. Talk about a huge loose end.

And what was with all the raping? When the author got writer's block he must have pulled out some custom Magic 8 Ball with two possible responses: A) Rape or B) Further uncertainty regarding the King of England

The result of that Magic 8 Ball shaking is Pillars of the Earth. I don't think I'll be reading the sequel.

I should have put this book down forever when the one character marries the forest witch 2 hours after his beloved wife dies a bloody death. Looking back, that was a huge red flag.