I picked up The Carpet Makers from the New Book shelf at the local-but-one library, thinking that I probably wouldn’t actually read the thing, but hey, it wasn’t costing me anything. Then I opened it up, and found the first chapter really quite promising. Then all those characters and their concerns disappeared out of the book forever.
Now, Gentle Readers, I happen to like story. This is my own preference, and should not apply to other people. I don’t want to say that a book is better just because it has something to do with a protagonist who has a goal of some kind, and some sort of force preventing him or her from achieving that goal. I do, however, want to say that I will like a book more if it has all that. This book does not. Andreas Eschbach has many interesting ideas and visions, and (at least as translated by Doryl Jensen) an impressive and sly writing style, but he wrote this book for someone else. I hope that person enjoys it a lot; even through my frustration with Herr Eschbach’s choices, I found a lot to enjoy.
I will say, by the way, that if you think that the effect of revealing a large and complex story with a lot of small slices, tiny images from different perspectives, to be pieced together by the reader to get glimpses of the big picture, is something you would like, I think this book is likely to be for you. I don’t find that all compensates for the lack of characters and story, but people are different one to another, and so are books, thank the Lord.
chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek,
-Vardibidian.