Book Review: The Life of Pi

After a month off for Christmas, the book club meeting beckons this coming Wednesday. This month's choice is Life of Pi by Yann Martel. Unusually for me, I started it over Christmas. Normally with two months to get through it, I would have left it until halfway through January, but I had some spare time during the holidays when there wasn't anything much on the telly, I'd had enough of being on the computer (yes, it does happen) and no other distraction presented itself, so I made a start.

Well pretty soon I'd decided I wasn't going to enjoy it. Martel's writing style seemed typically "Booker Prize" (this had won it in 2002), by which I mean reams and reams of pointlessly detailed description; over-complicated rationalisations and hidden meanings. He seemed incapable of describing any one thing without including a list of similar things. When talking about animals in the zoo he would list countless examples. When smells reminded him of something? Again, a huge long list. Forgive me, anyone who is familiar with the book, if these are not accurate examples. I use them as illustrations only, since I've long ago left that part of the book behind and can't be arsed to re-read it to find the real material.

But then something unusual happened. I put the book down and left it alone for a couple of weeks. Whether it was that break, or that I'd happened to reach the point in the story where the action takes off, I don't know. When I picked it back up again, I started to enjoy it. This was long before the ship sank and Pi was stranded in the lifeboat with only a crotchety Bengal tiger for company. When that happened, I enjoyed it even more. Some sections of the prose are positively delightful. Wonderfully crafted, deeply evocative, taughtly written and interesting.

Hard to imagine that there would be enough going on during the many weeks aboard a tiny vessel in the middle of the Pacific to hold one's interest, but it certainly does. For once I can say I think a book deserved its Booker Prize. It reminds me very much of another famous "survival" epic I read - oh - about thirty years ago (OK, this is getting beyond a joke now). It was recommended to me by my mother. The Long Walk by Slavomir Rawicz. That had a very similar flavour to it, as I recall. I also remember being quite upset when I discovered that its veracity had been called into question, as I'd believed implicitly it was an accurate and true story.

I don't read this kind of story very often, but I'd thoroughly recommend Pi to anyone looking for something a bit different.