An unconventional review of Too Many Magpies

Jim Murdoch writes an unconventional review of Too Many Magpies on his blog The Truth About Lies. Instead of using the conventional approach, he chose to write a kind of diary of the reading process as he read the book, and the result is interesting - to me, anyway, as the writer. When you write, you are constantly thinking about the effect on your readers - what will they think here? Will this rack the tension up nicely, or just confuse? Will they remember it when they need to later? etc etc., so it's very interesting to hear this in such detail from a reader, and most unusual: conventional reviews are written with hindsight which glosses over such reading experiences.

He begins reading late at night, and in the early hours records his impressions of the book's non-linear beginning, which it seems he did have some problems with (damn!), and then, sitting down to write again at lunchtime next day writes this: Thinking back the overall feeling I've got from this book is of a story coming into focus - exactly the impression I was aiming to achieve (hooray!), since the book is about looking at the complexities of things and meanings which are often missed. He shares his feelings at the cliff-hangers: Now, what the hell does that mean? and then when he takes the book up again: Ah, so that is what she means!
Well, I'm not so sure that in the end he's overboard about the book's glancing nature - he seems a man who likes the concrete: he has a problem with the female narrator's 'restlessness' as he puts it, and the character he really warms to is the baby, who stands in the novel for the sensually simple which the narrator yearns for but knows is not the whole story. However he calls the book 'beautifully written' and recommends it, I'm very pleased to say. And I appreciate greatly the trouble and thought Jim puts into his reviews - linking even to web examples of the scientific definitions (eg 'Hormones' and 'Cholesterol') which the narrator feels can be used to gloss over the complex truths.

How people read

Reading group last night, Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates, a tale about post-war American suburbia. Everyone without exception loved it, everyone thought it prescient, long before its time (as far as we British were concerned). Everyone found it brilliantly observed, the language utterly accurate and telling, the whole extremely moving. Only thing: only three of us found it funny as well, and I don't think anyone found it as funny as I did.

Best to confront this reality as a writer: however well you write, in the end you've no control over the way people read what you've written...