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This one should be subtitled, "decent people make scads of bad decisions and then agonize over them." Seriously. I am surprised to have liked it as much as I did, because there is no reason this massive book should work.
And yet, it does precisely because of all the reasons why it shouldn't: plot and pace sacrificed to character development, pages and pages of seemingly trivial detail and enough Catholicism to fill a smallish catechism. Taken individually, its separate parts sound like a grueling exercise in literary masochism, but combined, there is no clearer fictional portrait of medieval life.
It's not going to appeal to everyone, but until someone invents time travel, this one is your best route to 14th century Norway.
Not that I'd recommend going there.
Lice and the plague are a bitch, ya know?
And yet, it does precisely because of all the reasons why it shouldn't: plot and pace sacrificed to character development, pages and pages of seemingly trivial detail and enough Catholicism to fill a smallish catechism. Taken individually, its separate parts sound like a grueling exercise in literary masochism, but combined, there is no clearer fictional portrait of medieval life.
It's not going to appeal to everyone, but until someone invents time travel, this one is your best route to 14th century Norway.
Not that I'd recommend going there.
Lice and the plague are a bitch, ya know?