The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton

I return from a long pause in posting with the 2013 Booker winner, reading ‘The Luminaries’ just before the 2014 prize is announced.  I was a little daunted on first encountering the hardback version of this novel as it was so thick – not because I mind a weighty book, but because it meant I couldn’t slip it easily into a handbag to be read on the move.  The page count has been cited in numerous reviews stating this to be the longest winner by the youngest author.  Of course the number of pages totally depends on font size and formatting – and this was on the large side with wide borders and especially in the latter part of the book, astrological charts and chapter breaks meant that it was hardly the wordy challenge that many reviews purported it to be.  Moreover, rather crucially, it happened to be excellent and so unlike some much shorter books I have encountered, it was a joy to pass time rapt within its pages. 

The novel is an intricately woven story set in the New Zealand goldfields during the 1860s, opening with a newcomer stumbling by accident upon a council of men who have assembled to discuss the recent odd occurrences in their community.  It has an almost Cluedo sense of a limited pool of characters, who each recount what they know so far, revealing the tip of the iceberg in terms of the interconnectedness of their paths and conversations.  And so Catton weaves a hugely impressive tapestry of happenings, gradually revealing, layer by layer, what has occurred and why.

To be honest the astrological element of the story, where each of the council is a member of the zodiac, and each of the remaining characters are heavenly bodies in the solar system – just adds yet another layer of complexity and cleverness to the whole thing.  The way in which the astrological charts of the dates when the story is set influences the plot structure and the characters involvement, is extremely impressive and yet I’m not sure it’s totally necessary.

This is not the kind of novel where one gets especially emotionally involved with any of the characters or has any major epiphanies about the human condition.  It is the literary equivalent of a mathematical proof, or Bach’s music – a stimulating (and crucially enjoyable!) intellectual exercise.  The skill of Catton’s masterful weaving of the plots and her craftsmanship displayed in the careful composition and exposition.  Resulting in a page-turner of a book filled with intrigue and wonder.  Catton’s feat in accomplishing this triumph of a novel is incredibly impressive – and I have much respect for what she has achieved – yes, as the youngest Booker winner being my contemporary at just a year old than me. 

I was thinking about whether I would actually purchase this novel (having joyfully borrowed it from my library this time) – and it made me realise that the books that I choose to own, I do so because I intend to re-read them.  However, without an emotional connection to this book, merely the awe-struck glee at its complexity, I’m not sure I would particularly want to re-read it.  Once was quite possibly enough – and yet I am so glad I did – to be able to revel in the skillfully constructed written word, worthy of the term wordsmith, is such a wonderful treat.