It is not often that I find a book which truly astonishes me. Indeed, the last book I found which had such an impact must have been a couple of months ago, a particular treasure which I paid £115 for (bartered down from £150). I am not at liberty to disclose its title or contents, but needless to say it is one of the rarer and more... esoteric books in my collection.
Today, however, I found a book which - although is nowhere near as expensive, nor indeed as in keeping with my own particular world outlook (that is to say, Christian henotheism [a belief in the One God but also belief in a myriad lesser divinities and their subordinate spirits]) - it is, however, much to my liking. Very much so. I could have picked it up and walked out with it, but, as is customary at a second hand stall, one is obliged to contribute a decent amount. I picked this little gem up for a meagre donation of one pound. It is in mint condition, and is an absolutely outstanding little work, translated, as it is, from Spanish (and sometimes Castilian). I am only at the end of chapter one, and so far it is simply sumptuous, refined, broad-minded, historical, mythological, filled with wonders, dreams, portents, omens, ghosts, spirits, ancient legends, Christianity, Islam, even a touch of other religious beliefs as well, gypsies, bandits, action, seduction, adventure. You name it, it's got it all.
It is, however, a prosaic novel (sicks up). It's one redeeming factor is that is a historical novel. Not the genre of historical fiction (though, I suppose, technically it is) but more that it was written hundreds of years ago, and harks back to events which happened in still further centuries beyond that.
As for my usual reading matter (classical studies) there are very few surviving novels in the classical world (if memory serves, only one in Latin, and seven in ancient Greek, that is if one discounts the partial Satyricon by Petronius, a Latin work).
One thing which did put me off (and I do admit, that this is merely a subjective opinion), is that the protagonist succumbed so very easily to the tempation of these succubi, the very instant they got their kit off and offered him lavish gold and limitless wealth. One might imagine that he would have at least had some will-power, or, better still, resisted completely the charms of these bellydancing incestuous lesbian succubi that shower him with limitless wealth. Well, there we are. It is much like the Judgement of Paris I suppose. Athena: wisdom and craft? Doesn't get a look in. Hera: hearth and home and a good housewife? Forget it. Paris goes straight for the fairest of the fair. (Typical bloke).
Even so, despite the distinct lack of willpower of our seemingly faithless protagonist, it is a remarkable work, and one which I highly recommend. It's style is elegant, refined, noble even. The book is The Manuscript Found in Saragossa by Jan Potocki translated by Ian Maclean. 10/10.
Max.
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