The Historian, Elizabeth Kostova

Kostova seemed to be eminating a classic gothic novel...

This book started out full of promise. Due to my lifelong obsession with the undead of the fangy persuasion, brought about by none other than Mr Stoker himself, I was totally hooked from the very first page. I found myself passing on nights out in favour of going to bed early with my book, hot chocolate and the kind of excited feeling rarely felt by the over 13s. Delicious and unashamedly gothic in true ghost story stylee, it took me to a reality where vampires were a possibility. Dark, threatening shadows lurked in dank, dusty corners, insinuating, but never explicitly jumping out and saying "boo". Sadly, it was too good to last.

The unnamed narrator is a young, charmingly naive girl, growing up in Holland. While scouring her father's library for reading material, she happens across an old handwritten manuscript with the salutation: "My dear and unfortunate successor…" On discovering his daughter’s find, the narrator’s father begins suddenly to act quite strangely and confiscates the manuscript. Rather than desisting, however, our narrator’s curiosity is stirred. Drawn into an ever thickening plot of history and family ties, she finds herself learning the scandalous truth about her heritage and her missing mother (previously thought dead) and all the while following her father around the world on one v.dangerous and unlikely mission.

Disappointment set in when the initial excitement I felt inevitably wore thin and I started to notice the mediocrity of the writing. No-one one "was" or "did" everyone "seemed". Even when it was a direct statement eg: "she seemed to be looking straight at me," and once this had come to my attention, I couldn't help but pick up on it every single time*. To add salt to the wound, the writing was v.Americanised. I found spellings such as "ax," words like "gotten" and references to the "morgue" detracted from the gothic Olde English feel.

Because the writing lacked staying power, I soon became bogged down in the convoluted plot and was relieved when the story changed from being narrated through letters to the "present day" story it had started out as. In fact, the novel would have been very dry had Kostova not managed to dredge it back from the recesses time and again with this same writing device, meaning that at some point, each of the main characters takes the lead through letters. Still, there were points where one narrator banged on a little too long and I found myself skimming large chunks. In addition, the length of these sections rendered the letters-written-on-the-fly motif totally implausible. I also found that the characters left a lot to be desired: despite each having their turn at storytelling, they remain 2D plot carriers throughout, rather than well rounded people. That said, the way the stoylines interchange and weave together is quite magical, although their perfect collaboration only adds to the implausibility.

It's an unrealistic book, to say the least, and difficult to enjoy without suspending belief to accommodate wild coincidence wholeheartedly. Because of this, it reads v.much like a children's book and I would probably have found it far more enjoyable had I read it as a teenager. Nonetheless, it is a decidedly chilling tale written in an exciting, fast paced style, not dissimilar to The Da Vinci Code. In fact Kostova manages to bring in a conspiracy theory of her v.own creation. And much like The Da Vinci Code, it's an easy read with some interesting facts and talking points: I instantly started scouring Wikipaedia for more information about Vlad Ţepes (aka The Impaler) and there were problems to ponder, like how to enter Communist Hungary, even though the point in question was eventually discarded with a v.unimaginative someone-magic-and-unexplainable-sorted-it-out-somehow wave of the hand.

Despite its setbacks, I did enjoy this novel for what it was. Kostova has managed to recapture some of the thrill of a good ghost story, rarely seen in this day and age, and despite myself, even towards the bitter end, the book still managed to make the hairs stand up on the backs of my arms.

Not a thumping good read, but a bold attempt at rehashing Stoker's classic.

* Average seemed to be 5 a page