Author A.S. Byatt's "Victorian attic in Putney", where she writes
I wanted to love “The Children’s Book”, by A.S. Byatt. I really did. It boasted a complex array of characters, a historically fascinating setting, a plot that twisted into the thickets of intrigue and more than a few hints of fantasy — in short, all the elements of a cracking good read. And yet I abandoned it, dropped the story smack in the middle, for reasons I can’t quite explain.
Well, perhaps I can. For me, walking away cold from a book is a serious decision, and one that requires a very good reason. I don’t necessarily hold myself to finish a novel that I’m really not enjoying, but I always feel vaguely guilty, like sneaking away from a party hours before everyone else has left.
With this book, though, I had to plead dissatisfaction. The first chapter was highly promising; it opens on two young boys in search of a third, a working-class runaway from Northern England who is burrowing in the bowels of the Victoria and Albert museum in London. It’s a captivating start – Philip, the runaway, is cloistered and concealed in an eerie, vault-like chamber beneath the museum, a sort of catacomb for superfluous artifacts, populated by ancient reliquaries and sightless, looming marble statues. The other boys imaginatively perceive him as feral and dangerous, or at least mysterious in origin.
The subsequent chapters depict Philip, who shows considerable artistic talent, flitting from one eccentric household to another, from the sprawling, storybook home of a successful childrens’ author and her wild brood of children to the strange and fragile environment of a skilled potter with a volatile temper. The rest of the characters are, for the most part, equally interesting: prominent turn-of-the-century figures like Oscar Wilde and Emma Goldman make brief appearances, a Peter Pan-like child of the forest attempts to reconcile himself with the ‘real’ world, a spirited young girl fosters her unorthodox ambition to become a doctor, and the author Olive Wellwood spins her enchanting narrative web. So far, so good.
But it was Byatt’s style, I think, that bogged me down, in the end. Her book is meticulously, exhaustively researched, with considerable detail about the turn of the last century. Ordinarily, this would thrill me beyond all things — I adore history, and historical novels packed with period detail have always been fascinating to me. However, Byatt has a tendency to veer sharply away from the thread of her narrative to insert bits of hard facts that made me feel as though I were listening to a particularly dry audio guide in a museum, or reading my high school history textbook. I think Byatt was too zealous in spouting her research on its own, rather than incorporating it more subtly into the story.
As I reached a point in the middle, one of the many wandering narratives of the various characters finally exhausted me. It was the proverbial scenario of the young, inexperienced, less-than-genteel girl eager for self-improvement about to be seduced by an older, wilier “mentor.” I knew exactly where the situation would end and, by this point, I was fed up with the tiresome pace. I vindictively removed my bookmark and took “The Children’s Book” back to the library — though, for some reason, the unfinished novel has weighed upon my literary conscience ever since. Maybe it’s because I looked forward to it with such high expectations, or because the book was intrinsically good, but presented with too much historical baggage.
Ah, well. I am resolved to try again, to give “The Children’s Book” an unprecedented second chance. Or perhaps I ought to approach A.S. Byatt from a different angle first – through “Possession”, perhaps?
