Wed, Nov 29, 2023

I almost put the book down after Ian and Heidi were killed by the … um, by the Rhǐmes (an evil entity that I’m sure will be fleshed out later, and the thing over the “i” is upside down but I couldn’t find the right symbol in Word OR Google docs, hello) as they were enjoying a cup of tea on their deck. And then Heidi became a zombie.

First of all, it gave me a nightmare that night. I hate nightmares. Second, I had trouble following what was going on. (This happens to me as I begin any David Mitchell novel.)

But the next day, the sun was shining, and it wasn’t too cold out, I thought, “Let’s give it another try.” That was a critical point in reading this book. Ian reappears but we know he’s some kind of … um, well he actually didn’t die, so that must mean something.

I resumed reading, and became immersed in the story and of course the exquisite atmosphere that Mitchell creates, as teenage Holly runs away from home after a horrible fight with Mam (her mom). She ends up picking strawberries on a strawberry farm with a strange roommate. (I feel certain the roommate will crop up again later as a major player.)

It is established that everything is super strange.

Suddenly we are in the head of Hugo Lamb, a Humber College student, having beers at The Buried Bishop with his friends, one of whom, Ollie Quinn, does not drink. (I note this in case it’s important later.) They talk politics. This is significant because Ian and Heidi were socialist activists. (I really liked Heidi and was upset by her murder.)

Okay, the next scene is fabulous: Hugo Lamb is at a choral concert and he is entranced by a beautiful but nameless young woman who, in his head, he names Immaculée Constantin. He tries a number of (hilarious) pick-up lines (“I always think…that seeing the choir’s blood, sweat, and tears as they work on a piece deepens the mystery of music, not lessens it. Does that make sense?” and “Erasmus, Peter the Great, and Lord Byron all lodged in my [dorm] room.”), but the young woman has something more profound in mind.

They talk about the politics of power (“Power mocks all its illustrious favorites as they lie dying…. That sickens me… Doesn’t it sicken you?”, she says.) She tells him to study the painting of Da Vinci’s The Adoration of the Magi, and then she disappears.

I am entranced and now am skipping normal daily activities like eating, in order to keep reading. My dog has to go out to the bathroom. I reluctantly put the book down and me and Patches go outside.

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