Cloud Atlas
/For me, David Mitchell’s book is in my top five English novels from the past twenty years. It’s hard to describe without offering spoiler alerts, and I really don’t want to do that. If you haven’t read it, I really want you to, and I also want you to discover for yourself the intricate way in which it’s organised. A simple summary would say that it moves across varied settings, times and genres, allowing Mitchell to demonstrate incredible virtuosity. But it’s also witty and fast-moving, a delight to read, and it has recurrent themes and motifs which bind the whole thing together.
I knew all that before. Soon after I first read it, I picked up a second-hand hardback copy, knowing that I wanted it on my desert island bookshelf, of substantial novels I knew I would re-read. Some time back I’d lent it to my son, and he returned it in a quick visit between lockdowns. when the latest lockdown started, I knew my desert island had arrived. Would the magic still be there? It was. I knew what was coming, frequently had “Oh yes, it’s this bit” moments, but the pleasure of reading, of being drawn into this ingenious, compulsive structure, was as strong as ever. While there’s books around like this, I know I can cope.