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3.0 out of 5 stars
The Pseudonym Is The Problem, May 12 2008
The rationales for an author choosing to write under a different moniker are probably unlimited. The logic I have never understood is what will the explanation be once the true name is known? Several people have commented on interviews done by Mr. Banville where he evidently has stated the speed with which he pens these books is notable. My reading is that people also feel his speed is better described as haste and that these books are intentionally meant to be more commercial, publications to facilitate a payday for an author who is well respected/admired but might like to sell more books. In this case it may have worked. A brief review of works under the Banville name generally garner much less attention, the exception being the work that won The Man Booker Prize. As I have read all of Mr. Banville's previously published novels this new name only served to ensure that I knew nothing of this book until someone pointed out to me, a year after publication, that he had written it. I doubt the goal was to make the work invisible to admirers of his work but that is exactly what happened in my case. He may place any name he likes on his work but unless he is to radically change the manner with which he writes I do not believe there is massive audience awaiting his books. I would suggest that readers like me enjoy his work for the many reasons others do not. If you are looking for a tale told at a blistering pace look elsewhere, if you enjoy a tale that is wrapped up as quickly as the 60-minute TV mysteries (43 minutes without commercials) his books will try your patience. This work is a grim tale of deceit, hypocrisy and betrayal by an institution that is supposed to exist in counterpoint to these failures of character. The author did not set out to lift anyone's spirits or provide even a mildly positive outcome. The events in this book document the depravity that comes with moral certitude together with the arrogance that a simplistic belief system facilitates. And that may be why this book does not seem to be very appealing to many, it is relentless at exposing the flaws of its characters and the institutions they believe they are the champions of. It also reads like contemporary news accounts. The topic may be different but the evil is the same. I don't like this version of "John Banville" as much as his other works. How much of this is caused by my curiosity as to why this work came out camouflaged is something I cannot gauge.
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1 of 3 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars
Ellipitical Tale of a Drunk and His Guilt, Feb 29 2008
If you are not already a fan of John Banville but like suspense stories, you will probably grade this book as a two. Why? The "mystery" is heavily contrived by holding back details that the main characters know from the beginning. That method of story telling is a John Banville specialty that makes his "serious" novels smack you with epiphanies after you are lulled into complacency by "predictable" seeming plots and his lovely prose into assuming that more is well than is. Having a narrator who is usually drunk makes for interesting fiction, if the complication doesn't drive you away from the story. Clearly, that's a "serious" book ploy. Quirke is a pathologist. Malachy (Mal) Griffin is an OB/GYN. They work in the same hospital. In the rest of their lives, they are rivals for the approval of Mal's father, Judge Griffin, and were rivals for the love of Quirke's life, Sarah, who married Mal. The two are brothers-in-law due to Quirke having married Sarah's sister, Delia. Into that conflicted background, Quirke staggers down towards his office after overindulging at a staff party and finds Mal sitting at his desk writing in a patient record. The patient's name? Christine Falls. Her young body lies on a near-by gurney that Quirke accidentally undrapes. Soon, Quirke doesn't even remember the incident until he is reminded. But he cannot get the image off his mind and starts to probe into what happened to her. Strong forces strike back to limit his progress. If you stick it out, you'll be rewarded by appreciating some remarkable causes and effects that trace back over several decades . . . and make you realize that everything we do counts. A good analogy for this story is the effect of dropping a huge stone into a small pond -- the ripples will radiate out to the bank and back creating considerable turbulence for some time. The book is skeptical about the sanctity of the Catholic establishment in Dublin and in Boston. Some may be offended by the turns that the story takes in that direction.
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94 of 102 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars
"We all have our own kinds of sin.", Mar 17 2007
By Mary Whipple - Published on Amazon.com
This review is from: Christine Falls: A Novel (Hardcover)
(4.5 stars) With the same care that he devotes to his "serious" fiction, Booker Prize-winning author John Banville, under the pen name of "Benjamin Black," plumbs Dublin's Roman Catholic heritage in a mystery which examines the question of sin. The result is a vibrantly alive, intensely realized story of Dublin life and values in the 1950s--a mystery which makes the reader think at the same time that s/he is being entertained. Unlike most of the characters, Quirke, the main character, holds no awe for the church. In his early forties, "big and heavy and awkward," Quirke is a pathologist/coroner at Holy Family Hospital, a man who "prizes his loneliness as mark of some distinction." A realist, he has seen the dark side of life too often to hold out much hope for the future, his own or anyone else's. His vision of humanity is not improved when he goes to his office unexpectedly one evening and finds his brother-in-law, famed obstetrician Malachy Griffin, altering documents regarding the death of a young woman, Christine Falls. Quirke's autopsy of Christine shows, not surprisingly, that she has died in childbirth, a "fallen woman" in the eyes of the church. The nature of Christine's sin, however, does not begin to compare to the sins that Quirke uncovers during his investigation of her death and the fate of her child. John Banville (Black) has always been at least as interested in character as plot, and this novel is no exception. Quirke lived in an orphanage before being unofficially adopted by Judge Garrett Griffin, father of Dr. Malachy Griffin, who is obviously involved in the case. Developing on parallel planes, the novel becomes a study of Quirke and his personal relationships, at the same time that it is a study of Christine Falls and what she represents about Dublin society, the medical profession, the church and its influence, and the nature of power in upper-echelon Dublin. Murders, torture, beatings, and violence keep the action level high (and a bit melodramatic), in keeping with the great, old-fashioned tradition of 1950s' mystery-writing. A change of location from Dublin to Boston broadens the scope, connecting the Dublin mystery to the history of the Irish and their traditions in Boston. The author's use of parallel scenes emphasizes contrasts and similarities (a Christmas party in Dublin vs. a Christmas party in Boston, for example), and he maintains a conversational voice appropriate for Quirke. After this fine debut mystery, one can easily imagine Banville developing the character of Quirke in future mysteries and becoming, like Graham Greene, a writer of both serious literary fiction and "entertainments." n Mary Whipple
25 of 27 people found the following review helpful
2.0 out of 5 stars
Morality sunk by melodrama, Dec 19 2007
By Steven Reynolds - Published on Amazon.com
This review is from: Christine Falls: A Novel (Hardcover)
Solid writer of obscure though occasionally prize-winning literary fiction turns his hand to the crime novel. It sounds like a great idea that solves the 'problem' of both styles: such a novel would have the suspenseful, page-turning plot that literary fiction often lacks, and yet it would be handled with the depth of character and richness of language usually absent from genre fiction. Sadly, the result is more like decorating a suburban bungalow in the style of Louis XIV: ill-advised and more than faintly ludicrous, but salvaged by its winking self-awareness as something not to be taken entirely seriously. Banville claims he was inspired by rediscovering the novels of Georges Simenon. There is something of that here, though not quite enough of the existential anxiety (which Martin Amis, in a similar mode, to my mind nailed perfectly, terrifyingly, in the much-maligned "Night Train"). For me, the central problem here is that the moral claustrophobia of Banville's tale - which needs to be about real, credible characters to move us - is consistently undercut by ludicrous melodrama, the sheer silliness of some sequences, and the relentlessly clichéd depiction of characters such as Andy Stafford. None of it felt real to me, so neither did the moral angst around which the plot turns. I understand this began life as a television script, and that's precisely how it feels: worth spending 100 minutes with over a cup of tea, but not worth slogging through 400-odd pages. I like Banville. I like good crime fiction, too. This is neither.
34 of 39 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars
BANVILLE STANDS, April 16 2007
By Kerry Leimer - Published on Amazon.com
This review is from: Christine Falls: A Novel (Hardcover)
I'm not a mystery/thriller reader (strictly speaking, this book fits neither genre) and so bought this book only because its author is Banville. So to an extreme outsider it seems that Banville has taken almost every pulp cliché and turned it inside out, doubling up at every opportunity (Mal works with the living / Quirk with the dead. They are married to sisters: Mal's wife is alive / Quirk's dead -- thus they are brothers-in-law and because they share a parent, brothers by law. Father to Mal, adoptive father, or better still, Judge to Quirk. Mal orders an omelet, Quirk, the bird, and so on to deliriously detailed levels of interplay...and later still remarkably persisent stretches of alliteration) that make this something of a entertainingly postmodern excursion in Fun with Form wrapped within a dark to darker noir setting. All this is done without ever abandoning the fundamental obligation of delivering a well-told tale. Time, place, character, plot and the hazy details that shape up lives and deaths are all convincing in their familiarity, but the surface texture isn't all that matters here. As is usual for Banville, the language is exceptionally rich and lyrical, with some allusions proving profoundly unnerving, others profoundly amusing and still others so tenuously connected to their subject that you'll stop and think and think again. And importantly -- unlike another work by a "serious" writer pursuing a theoretically less demanding form -- "Christine Falls" never strains under the weight of all this talent in the way that Martin Amis' "Night Train" sadly came to a creaking halt, mid-rail. Bottom line, this one is as engrossing to read as it must have been to write.
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