Book of Human Skin [Paperback]

Michelle Lovric has obviously put a huge effort into the research that she weaves into a carpet upon which the story can walk and play. This story is shocking, yet, in places, amusing. Without giving too much away, I can tell you that any reader would agree that the conclusions are satisfying.

This story is so cleverly written, and the publishers have helped the author to present a unique style. There are five, very different narrators. The author gives them their individual voices, and the publisher has added to the effect by giving each of them a different font.

The narrators include Minguillo Fasan, who suffers from persecution mania and spends his vengeful life making the lives of all those around him as miserable as possible. He is also a collector of books bound in human skin. Yes, it is true that these repulsive objects actually existed, and may still. His sister, Marcella, the second narrator, is consequently much persecuted, and is forced to leave what should be a comfortable, aristocratic life in Venice to eventually arrive in a convent in the Andes of Peru.

The third narrator is a self-made doctor, who makes skin his speciality, and perhaps his obsession. Amongst others, he has the questionable privilege of treating Napoleon Bonaparte, even through the infamous Russian campaign.

The fourth is Minguillo's valet, Gianni, who is almost, but not quite, illiterate. That assumption costs his master dear, as his loyalties lie elsewhere. Who could ever be loyal to such a despicable character, anyway?

The final narrator is the craziest nun you could ever imagine. I won't say much more about her, but you will discover for yourself just how crazy she is, before you have waded more than ten pages into this book.

The pace seemed to slow down a bit in the middle, which almost had me awarding a mere three stars, but I am so glad I persevered as it soon picked up again. By the time I closed the book, I was feeling a little harsh when I awarded four stars. However, I think that this is a genuine rating.

Read it for yourself, and I will look forward to hearing your thoughts and comments.

Michelle Lovric's latest novel, "The Book of Human Skin", is an utterly delectable, beautifully crafted tale of sadistic jealousy, heinous villainy, religious fanaticism, quack medicine, bibliomania, murder, abduction, portraiture (most especially of nuns), love, loyalty and revenge. Written from five individual viewpoints, each sufficiently different in writing style to barely warrant the changes in typography that is used to delineate them, the tale unfolds in short snatches from multiple perspectives and in a way that leaves one never quite sure just how the threads are going to connect. Skin features as a prominent subject of attention in one form or another in each of these threads. Which is entirely fitting, for this book is itself like an itch, offering its reader no alternative but to be constantly scratching at it; the more one scratches at it, the stronger the need to continue that scratching...

Michelle Lovric's normal story world is the web of canals and social intrigues of late 18th, early 19th Century Venice. In this book, she extends her stage effortlessly to include the high Andes of Peru, spanning half the globe with a yarn that is masterfully constructed (putting me much in mind of Umberto Eco's "Baudolino" at times in that regard) from an elegantly interwoven web of interconnecting story-lines. The scale of the tale is colossal, its sweep majestic, while its telling is intimate, intricately detailed and constantly beguiling. It sweeps the reader along with its pace, its brilliance and, at times, its sheer bloody gall.

The book is not an easy ride but it is an exhilarating one; it is a ride I urge you to experience for yourself. But be warned: once under way there is no getting off. And, as you might expect, there are times when the going is more than a little uncomfortable...

The scale and ambition of The Book of Human Skin can be measured in its spanning from Arequipa in Peru to Venice of the late 18th century, taking in along the way a society dominated and revolutionised by the sweeping reforms of Napoleon in his conquest of Europe, as well as the revolution against Spanish rule in South America. It's also measured, just as ambitiously and comprehensively, by the range of its colourful cast of characters that take in all aspects of this striving for a new egalitarian society, all of them to a large extent defined, disfigured and their lives determined by the condition of their skin.

Much in the way the Patrick Süskind's Perfume opened up 18th century Europe as a highly original olfactory experience, The Book of Human Skin adds another dimension, that of the experience of life in the 18th century considered through the tint, taint, texture and tincture of the human skin. The self-lacerations and mortifications on the body of a fanatical nun in Arequipa testify to her state of mind and the world around her as much as the pustulant scarring on the face of Minguillo Fasan, the deranged son of a noble Venetian businessman, indicate the twisted machinations and extreme, vile and violent lengths he will go to in order to disinherit his pitiable disabled sister Marcella. Willed their father's estate in preference to the eldest son, Minguillo plots dastardly scheme after scheme to discredit and further disable the young girl, hoping eventually to have her sent off to a nunnery in the traditional fashion. Fasan himself has no great ambitions for the inheritance other than for the funding a grim and growing collection of legendary books bound, no less, in human skin.

While the historical background of the book is important, it's far from academic in what is clearly a delirious and entertaining romp through 18th century Venetian society. The historical context however is used quite brilliantly and ingenuously to indeed present various aspects of life through the medium of skin. All the lusts, excesses and indulgences of the age, all the beauty and the splendour, all the machinations, cruelty and depravity are expressed in the skin and faces of a wide range of characters, from the epidermis of Napoleon himself to the disfigured faces of beaten servants, and even in the mixing of skin tones on the palette of a painter of Venetian nobles.

A thick book, bound with intriguing black edging as if to warn of the corruption and depravity contained within, The Book of Human Skin may look a little intimidating, but it's a delightful and entertaining book to read. With its cacophony of beguiling narrative voices from the differing classes clamouring to present their side of the story, even the most deranged possess a seductive charm in their observations to draw the reader wholly into their world, making the 500 pages a mere skip to read. Considering the books fascination with "anthropodermic bibliopegy" however, the Cautious Reader should be wary of any "specially bound" editions being offered for sale.

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