'The Gargoyle' by Andrew Davidson

In the event, I didn't take 'The Dante Trap' on holiday with me: for one thing it turned out to be a hardback (being a library book, THAT should have come as no surprise!) and thus rather cumbersome, for another it seems to be one of those books that feel the need to point out to its reader just how urbane and sophisticated it is, but ultimately I just can't take a hero seriously who 'leaves a black orchid as his calling card'! Tsk!

I ended up taking a paperback copy of 'The Gargoyle' by Andrew Davidson, which I picked up by chance whilst checking out the other book. Even though it is a 'Richard and Judy Book Club Book', which - sad snob that I am - I usually try to assiduously avoid. As I have mentioned before, holiday books have to tick certain boxes, and this one fitted the bill perfectly - with the added bonus of dealing with some pretty big philosophical issues. The unnamed protagonist, hideously burned in a car accident, relates the tale of his former life as a physically perfect hedonist and that of Marianne, a sculptress who he meets in hospital. She in turn relates episodes from their 'former lives' together as she tries to expiate her 'sins' by carving - and thus 'releasing' - gargoyles from stone. The theme is of course, redemption. But whose? Does Marianne really recall their lives as medieval Germans, or is she (as her status as a psychiatric patient would suggest) completely delusional? Does the hero really love her, as she tells him he does, or is she a meal-ticket who fills the void in his scarred life?

I read this book voraciously. Some of the prose is a bit rambling and overblown, but as a first novel (and I'm staggered to find that it is), it is extraordinary in both its philosophical depth and its bredth of knowledge. I also have to also that I am fascinated by the subjects that the author seems so knowledgable about - namely medecine and the preservation of knowledge. I am currently re-reading it as it is one of those books whose earlier parts become clearer with hindsight. And that is something I am inclined to do for very, very few books.