Auto da Fé - Elias Canetti

Rarely has a book with such an impressive opening chapter revealed itself to be so challenging to read (though moving to our new flat didn't make the process any simpler I must admit!). And I don't mean a pleasant challenge, I just mean long, repetitive, and to be honest quite dated (in particular with the few traces of humour).

I was surprised to see the book in the Shaw Library, less surprised when I saw that it hadn't been checked out since since the 1970s (no kidding) as I'm not quite sure how many people in the UK even know of Canetti's existence.

The main character's interactions with his young neighbour at the start had me really excited, and up until his marriage proposal I was finding the book quite exciting. After that, however, it just kept on going on and on in a story that could have been told just as effectively (actually, probably more effectively) in 200 pages less. I understand the allegoric madness and book burning in the conclusion, but even that was rather obvious and predictable.

The Tongue Set Free – Elias Canetti

Why do accomplished Eastern European writers often seem to have led the most incredible lives? Are their personal stories so extraordinary, or at they simply extraordinarily good at creating magic out of a fairly normal existence?

This book deserves to be read by everyone, but its size probably intimidates countless potential readers (also, the fact that I’ve never seen a book by Canetti in a British library is probably an obstacle to its dissemination).

The book is a wonderful description of a family (and a village, and a country) split between tradition and modernity, looking for a way to succeed in the 20^th century. Yet, for all the travels of Canetti’s family, my favourite pages remain the ones set in Bulgaria, where the narrator learns to read and where he plays a terrifyingly dangerous game with a hatchet.