three more cycles, and then the sequence of conclusions. Each story is split at the point it begins to get interesting so the process of reading is: bored -> mildly interested, bored -> mildly interested. I was convinced this was a misprint and flipped through the book until I saw the sentence resumed much later. The first story is split mid-sentence you read down to the end of the page and when you turn it-poof-different story. However, when you’ve finished and look back over the whole, the stories hang together tentatively, and the structure feels gimmicky. Taken side by side, the stories showcase his incredible grasp of period-appropriate dialogue and style.
What sells this book (and what would impress anyone) is Mitchell’s mastery of so many genres. If the first story is “A,” the second “B,” and so on, the pattern of the book would be: A B C D E F E D C B A. A unique birthmark appears on several characters which might suggest reincarnation, but there’s enough to wade through without trying to determine who might have been who in another timeline.įive of the stories are told in two parts, the sixth is told straight through from beginning to end. The stories come together when the letter writer reads the journal, the mystery story chick finds the letters, and so on. Each is written in a different style and genre: a journal from the 1800s, letters from the 1930s, a pop-fiction mystery in the 70s, a memoir from the 90s, a futuristic interview, and an oral narrative in a bizarre dialect. Unfortunately, it’s one of those books you’re not allowed to hate, because if you hate it, people say: “you’re stupid you only disliked it because you didn’t get it.” It’s an overstuffed, self-important book, and this has engendered self-righteousness amongst its more ardent fans.Ĭloud Atlas is composed of six loosely intertwined stories. David Mitchell is uncommonly talented and there’s nothing “wrong” with his latest book, but it’s difficult to enjoy. Despite this, I knew it was an objectively good dish: the chicken was well cooked, it had an interesting balance of flavors, etc., but I still asked that he not rush to cook it again. One night, my husband made Chicken Piccata with heaps of these ingredients. I don’t care for capers or artichoke hearts.
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