The Gargoyle (Canadian Edition)

The Gargoyle (Canadian Edition)

4.4 355
by Andrew Davidson

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An extraordinary debut novel of love that survives the fires of hell and transcends the boundaries of time.

On a burn ward, a man lies between living and dying, so disfigured that no one from his past life would even recognize him. His only comfort comes from imagining various inventive ways to end his misery. Then a woman named Marianne Engel walks into his


An extraordinary debut novel of love that survives the fires of hell and transcends the boundaries of time.

On a burn ward, a man lies between living and dying, so disfigured that no one from his past life would even recognize him. His only comfort comes from imagining various inventive ways to end his misery. Then a woman named Marianne Engel walks into his hospital room, a wild-haired, schizophrenic sculptress on the lam from the psych ward upstairs, who insists that she knows him – that she has known him, in fact, for seven hundred years. She remembers vividly when they met, in another hospital ward at a convent in medieval Germany, when she was a nun and he was a wounded mercenary left to die. If he has forgotten this, he is not to worry: she will prove it to him.

And so Marianne Engel begins to tell him their story, carving away his disbelief and slowly drawing him into the orbit and power of a word he'd never uttered: love.

Editorial Reviews

Ron Charles
likely to ignite the passion of anyone who loves a mix of romance and the macabre…Nothing [the narrator]—or you—can assume about this spectacularly imaginative journey will help navigate its twists and turns. Before it's all over, like Dante before him, our narrator must visit Hades, and like every chapter of The Gargoyle, that's a hell of a story, too.
—The Washington Post
Janet Maslin
[The Gargoyle] has been heavily influenced by some of Mr. Davidson's own favorite authors, who range from Vladimir Nabokov to Patrick Susskind to (go figure) the playful parodist Jasper Fforde. The free-range erudition of books like Possession and The Name of the Rose also come to mind. And the wearyingly popular literary story-within-a-story format is used here to incorporate a wild, seemingly random array of tricks and tangents. But Mr. Davidson binds them together with vigorous and impressive narrative skill.
—The New York Times
Publishers Weekly

The debut from Winnipeg writer Davidson is a sweeping tale of undying love between a burn victim and a sculptress of gargoyles who claims the pair have been lovers throughout ancient times. Brought to life in a spirited yet intensely personal reading by Lincoln Hoppe, the story resonates well beyond the first listen. Hoppe reads with tremendous passion and intensity, never going over the top, but always drawing his audience into the tale with a raw performance. Through suffering, pain, hatred and love, Hoppe captures the very essence of this enthralling tale and allows listeners to journey along wherever the tale goes. A Doubleday hardcover (Reviews, June 16). (Sept.)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Library Journal

At a modern-day hospital burn ward, a patient recovering from injuries sustained in a car accident is approached by a woman claiming to have been his lover in another lifetime. Davidson believably weaves historical detail into his first novel, adeptly developing even the most minor characters. Actor/screenwriter Lincoln Hoppe (, meanwhile, performs the lead character's role to perfection with a gravelly, fire-damaged voice, and he incorporates a variety of accents and languages into his narration. Both an excellent piece of literature and an excellent work of narration, this should be considered for purchase by all public libraries. [Audio clip available through library.booksontape.comand; the Doubleday hc, one of the most buzzed about books of the summer, was recommended "for all libraries," LJ6/1/08.-Ed.]
—Johannah Genett

Product Details

Random House of Canada, Limited
Publication date:
Product dimensions:
6.15(w) x 9.50(h) x 1.25(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Gargoyle
By Andrew Davidson
Doubleday Copyright © 2008 Andrew Davidson
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780385524940


Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.

It was Good Friday and the stars were just starting to dissolve into the dawn. As I drove, I stroked the scar on my chest, by habit. My eyes were heavy and my vision unfocused, not surprising given that I’d spent the night hunched over a mirror snorting away the bars of white powder that kept my face trapped in the glass. I believed I was keening my reflexes. I was wrong.

To one side of the curving road was a sharp drop down the mountain’s slope, and on the other was a dark wood. I tried to keep my eyes fixed ahead but I had the overwhelming feeling that something was waiting to ambush me from behind the trees, perhaps a troop of mercenaries. That’s how drug paranoia works, of course. My heart hammered as I gripped the steering wheel more tightly, sweat collecting at the base of my neck.

Between my legs I had wedged a bottle of bourbon, which I tried to pull out for another mouthful. I lost my grip on the bottle and it tumbled into my lap, spilling everywhere, before falling to the floorboard. I bent down to grab it before the remaining alcohol leaked out, and when my eyes were lifted I was greeted by the vision, the ridiculous vision, that set everything into motion. I saw a volley of burning arrows swarming out of the woods, directly at my car. Instinct took over and I jerked the steering wheel away from the forest that held my invisibleattackers. This was not a good idea, because it threw my car up against the fencepost wires that separated me from the drop. There was the howl of metal on metal, the passenger door scraping against taut cables, and a dozen thuds as I bounced off the wood posts, each bang like electricity through a defibrillator.

I overcompensated and spun out into the oncoming lane, just missing a pickup truck. I pulled back too hard on the wheel, which sent me once again towards the guardrail. The cables snapped and flew everywhere at once, like the thrashing tentacles of a harpooned octopus. One cracked the windshield and I remember thinking how glad I was that it hadn’t hit me as the car fell through the arms of the convulsing brute.

There was a brief moment of weightlessness: a balancing point between air and earth, dirt and heaven. How strange, I thought, how like the moment between sleeping and falling when everything is beautifully surreal and nothing is corporeal. How like floating towards completion. But as often happens in that time between existing in the world and fading into dreams, this moment over the edge ended with the ruthless jerk back to awareness.

A car crash seems to take forever, and there is always a moment in which you believe that you can correct the error. Yes, you think, it’s true that I’m plummeting down the side of a mountain in a car that weighs about three thousand pounds. It’s true that it’s a hundred feet to the bottom of the gully. But I’m sure that if only I twist the steering wheel very hard to one side, everything will be okay.

Once you’ve spun that steering wheel around and found it doesn’t make any difference, you have this one clear, pure thought: Oh, shit. For a glorious moment, you achieve the empty bliss that Eastern philosophers spend their lives pursuing. But following this transcendence, your mind becomes a supercomputer capable of calculating the gyrations of your car, multiplying that by the speed of the fall over the angle of descent, factoring in Newton’s laws of motion and, in a split second, coming to the panicked conclusion that this is gonna hurt like hell.

Your car gathers speed down the embankment, bouncing. Your hypothesis is quickly proven correct: it is, indeed, quite painful. Your brain catalogues the different sensations. There is the flipping end over end, the swirling disorientation, and the shrieks of the car as it practices its unholy yoga. There’s the crush of metal, pressing against your ribs. There’s the smell of the devil’s mischievousness, a pitchfork in your ass and sulfur in your mouth. The Bastard’s there, all right, don’t doubt it.

I remember the hot silver flash as the floorboard severed all my toes from my left foot. I remember the steering column sailing over my shoulder. I remember the eruption of glass that seemed to be everywhere around me. When the car finally came to a stop, I hung upside down, seatbelted. I could hear the hiss of various gases escaping the engine and the tires still spinning outside, above, and there was the creak of metal settling as the car stopped rocking, a pathetic turtle on its back.

Just as I was beginning my drift into unconsciousness, there was the explosion. Not a movie explosion but a small real-life explosion, like the ignition of an unhappy gas oven that holds a grudge against its owner. A flash of blue flame skittered across the roof of the car, which was at a slanted angle underneath my dangling body. Out of my nose crawled a drop of blood, which jumped expectantly into the happy young flames springing to life beneath me. I could feel my hair catch fire; then I could smell it. My flesh began to singe as if I were a scrap of meat newly thrown onto the barbecue, and then I could hear the bubbling of my skin as the flames kissed it. I could not reach my head to extinguish my flaming hair. My arms would not respond to my commands.

I imagine, dear reader, that you’ve had some experience with heat. Perhaps you’ve tipped a boiling kettle at the wrong angle and the steam crept up your sleeve; or, in a youthful dare, you held a match between your fingers for as long as you could. Hasn’t everyone, at least once, filled the bathtub with overly hot water and forgot to dip in a toe before committing the whole foot? If you’ve only had these kinds of minor incidents, I want you to imagine something new. Imagine turning on one of the elements of your stove--let’s say it’s the electric kind with black coils on top. Don’t put a pot of water on the element, because the water only absorbs the heat and uses it to boil. Maybe some tiny tendrils of smoke curl up from a previous spill on the burner. A slight violet tinge will appear, nestled there in the black rings, and then the element assumes some reddish-purple tones, like unripe blackberries. It moves towards orange and finally--finally!--an intense glowing red. Kind of beautiful, isn’t it? Now, lower your head so that your eyes are even with the top of the stove and you can peer through the shimmering waves rising up. Think of those old movies where the hero finds himself looking across the desert at an unexpected oasis. I want you to trace the fingertips of your left hand gently across your right palm, noting the way your skin registers even the lightest touch. If someone else were doing it, you might even be turned on. Now, slam that sensitive, responsive hand directly onto that glowing element.

And hold it there. Hold it there as the element scorches Dante’s nine rings right into your palm, allowing you to grasp Hell in your hand forever. Let the heat engrave the skin, the muscles, the tendons; let it smolder down to the bone. Wait for the burn to embed itself so far into you that you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to let go of that coil. It won’t be long until the stench of your own burning flesh wafts up, grabbing your nose hairs and refusing to let go, and you smell your body burn.

I want you to keep that hand pressed down, for a slow count of sixty. No cheating. One Mis-sis-sip-pi, two Mis-sis-sip-pi, three Mis-sis-sip-pii.i.i.i At sixty Mis-sis-sip-pi, your hand will have melted so that it now surrounds the element, becoming fused with it. Now rip your flesh free.

I have another task for you: lean down, turn your head to one side, and slap your cheek on the same element. I’ll let you choose which side of your face. Again sixty Mississippis; no cheating. The convenient thing is that your ear is right there to capture the snap, crackle, and pop of your flesh.

Now you might have some idea of what it was like for me to be pinned inside that car, unable to escape the flames, conscious enough to catalogue the experience until I went into shock. There were a few short and merciful moments in which I could hear and smell and think, still documenting everything but feeling nothing. Why does this no longer hurt? I remember closing my eyes and wishing for complete, beautiful blackness. I remember thinking that I should have lived my life as a vegetarian.

Then the car shifted once more, tipping over into the creek upon whose edge it had been teetering. Like the turtle had regained its feet and scurried into the nearest water source.
This occurrence--the car falling into the creek--saved my life by extinguishing the flames and cooling my newly broiled flesh.


Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.

I have no idea whether beginning with my accident was the best decision, as I’ve never written a book before. Truth be told, I started with the crash because I wanted to catch your interest and drag you into the story. You’re still reading, so it seems to have worked.

The most difficult thing about writing, I’m discovering, is not the act of constructing the sentences themselves. It’s deciding what to put in, and where, and what to leave out. I’m constantly second-guessing myself. I chose the accident, but I could just as easily have started with any point during my thirty-five years of life before that. Why not start with: ìI was born in the year 19----, in the city of----î?

Then again, why should I even confine the beginning to the time frame of my life? Perhaps I should start in Nurnberg in the early thirteenth century, where a woman with the most unfortunate name of Adelheit Rotter retreated from a life that she thought was sinful to become a Beguine--women who, though not officially associated with the Church, were inspired to live an impoverished life in imitation of Christ. Over time Rotter attracted a legion of followers and, in 1240, they moved to a dairy farm at Engelschalksdorf near Swinach, where a benefactor named Ulrich II von Konigstein allowed them to live provided they did chores. They erected a building in 1243 and, the following year, established it as a monastery with the election of their first prioress.

When Ulrich died without a male heir, he bequeathed his entire estate to the Beguines. In return he requested that the monastery provide burial places for his relations and that they pray, in perpetuity, for the Konigstein family. In a show of good sense he directed that the place be named Engelthal, or ìValley of the Angels,î rather than Swinach--ìPlace of the Pigs.î But it was Ulrich’s final provision that would have the greatest impact on my life: he mandated that the monastery establish a scriptorium.


Eyes open on a red and blue spin of lightning. A blitzkrieg of voices, noises. A metal rod pierces the side of the car, jaws it apart. Uniforms. Christ, I’m in Hell and they wear uniforms. One man shouts. Another says in a soothing voice: ìWe’ll get you out. Don’t worry.î He wears a badge. ìYou’re gonna be all right,î he promises through his mustache. ìWhat’s your name?î Can’t remember. Another paramedic yells to someone I can’t see. He recoils at the sight of me. Are they supposed to do that? Blackness.

Eyes open. I’m strapped to a spine board. A voice, ìThree, two, one, lift.î The sky rushes towards me and then away from me. ìIn,î says the voice. A metallic clack as the stretcher snaps into place. Coffin, why no lid? Too antiseptic for Hell, and could the roof of Heaven really be made of gray metal? Blackness.

Eyes open. Weightless again. Charon wears a blue polyester-cotton blend. An ambulance siren bounces off a concrete Acheron. An IV has been inserted into my body--everywhere? I’m covered with a gel blanket. Wet, wet. Blackness.

Eyes open. The thud of wheels like a shopping cart on concrete. The damn voice says ìGo!î The sky mocks me, passes me by, then a plaster-white ceiling. Double doors slither open. ìOR Four!î Blackness.


Eyes open. Gaping maw of a snake, lunging at me, laughing, speaking: I\AM\COMING\.\.\.?The serpent tries to engulf my head. No, not a snake, an oxygen mask.?.\.\.\AND\THERE\IS NOTHING\YOU\CAN\DO\ABOUT\IT. I’m falling backwards gas mask blackness.

Eyes unveil. Burning hands, burning feet, fire everywhere, but I am in the middle of a blizzard. A German forest, and a river is near. A woman on a ridge with a crossbow. My chest feels as if it’s been hit. I hear the hiss as my heart gives out. I try to speak but croak instead, and a nurse tells me to rest, that everything will be okay, everything will be okay. Blackness.

A voice floats above me. ìSleep. Just sleep.î


Following my accident, I plumped up like a freshly roasted wiener, my skin cracking to accommodate the expanding meat. The doctors, with their hungry scalpels, hastened the process with a few quick slices. The procedure is called an escharotomy, and it gives the swelling tissue the freedom to expand. It’s rather like the uprising of your secret inner being, finally given license to claw through the surface. The doctors thought they had sliced me open to commence my healing but, in fact, they only released the monster--a thing of engorged flesh, suffused with juice.
While a small burn results in a blister filled with plasma, burns such as mine result in the loss of enormous quantities of liquid. In my first twenty-four hospital hours, the doctors pumped six gallons of isotonic liquid into me to counteract the loss of body fluids. I bathed in the liquid as it flowed out of my scorched body as fast as it was pumped in, and I was something akin to the desert during a flash flood.

This too-quick exchange of fluid resulted in an imbalance in my blood chemistry, and my immune system staggered under the strain, a problem that would become ever more dangerous in the following weeks when the primary threat of death was from sepsis. Even for a burn victim who seems to be doing well long after his accident, infection can pull him out of the game at a moment’s notice. The body’s defenses are just barely functioning, exactly when they are needed most.

My razed outer layers were glazed with a bloody residue of charred tissue called eschar, the Hiroshima of the body. Just as you cannot call a pile of cracked concrete blocks a ìbuildingî after the bomb has detonated, neither could you have called my outer layer ìskinî after the accident. I was an emergency state unto myself, silver ion and sulfadiazine creams spread over the remains of me. Over that, bandages were laid to rest upon the devastation.
I was aware of none of this, and only learned it later from the doctors. At the time, I lay comatose, with a machine clicking off the sluggish metronome of my heart. Fluids and electrolytes and antibiotics and morphine were administered through a series of tubes (IV tube, jejunostomy tube, endotracheal tube, nasogastric tube, urinary tube, truly a tube for every occasion!). A heat shield kept my body warm enough to survive, a ventilator did my breathing, and I collected enough blood transfusions to shame Keith Richards.

The doctors removed my wasteland exterior by debriding me, scraping away the charred flesh. They brought in tanks of liquid nitrogen containing skin recently harvested from corpses. The sheets were thawed in pans of water, then neatly arranged on my back and stapled into place. Just like that, as if they were laying strips of sod over the problem areas behind their summer cabins, they wrapped me in the skin of the dead. My body was cleaned constantly but I rejected these sheets of necro-flesh anyway; I’ve never played well with others. So over and over again, I was sheeted with cadaver skin.

There I lay, wearing dead people as armor against death.


Excerpted from The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson Copyright © 2008 by Andrew Davidson. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Andrew Davidson grew up in Pinawa, Manitoba, and graduated in 1995 from the University of British Columbia with a B.A. in English literature. He has worked as a teacher of English in Japan, where he has lived on and off since the late 1990s, and as a writer of English lessons for Japanese websites. The Gargoyle, the product of seven years’ worth of research and composition, is his first novel.

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The Gargoyle 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 355 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
A story that starts in the Fourteenth Century and ends in ours, a love story between the enigmatic sculptor Marienne Engles and the narrator of the book . After surviving a horrendous car accident in which leaves him badly burned and injured beyond belief our narrator meets our heroine Marrianne Engles a world renowned sculptor who begins telling him stories about her life and how they first met. She then beguiles him with other love stories over the centuries. As he recovers we meet other people who influence the characters and add to the story. This is a definite must read.
ti-amo More than 1 year ago
Such a unique and well written story! One I won't soon forget. I agree with other reviewers that it is hard to pick up another book right away after finishing the Gargoyle. It is a book in which the characters are so well developed you can't stop thinking about what they are doing now. That to me is great writing, to transform words on paper to feeling like you have a relationship with these people. Such a complex novel that was well thought out and thoroughly researched. When I purchased the book, I was a little worried that I wouldn't be able to remain interested in it, being that it does switch back and forth between present and past. But that was not an issue AT ALL, it flowed perfectly. I enjoyed it so much that I wish it was a series. So great job Mr. Davidson, I anxiously await your next book!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
If I had only one word to describe this book it would have to be intriguing. If I had only one category it would have to be a love story; however, it is so so much more than just any love story. It transcends centuries, cultures, and lifestyles. It made me believe in the everlastingness of the soul, and the love you have is taken with you throughout eternity. The story is quirky, at times smutty, a little bit sci-fi, containing some aspects of action-adventure, yet achingly human. A vain porn star is burnt in a fire caused by his own actions. Looks and daily functions gone, pain his company and addiction to pain-killers present, he is nursed back to health by a woman of questionable sanity. As she nurses him to health, he learns of her past encounters with life which span centuries. She convinces him that their love has been since before his present life, and as he increases she decreases. I can't recommend this book to children or teenagers due to language and content; however, those aspects should not influence an open minded person from enjoying one of the better books written in the last 20 years.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This story transcends generations and time. I listened to it on tape and then read it. Wasted lots of gas driving around to hear the end of the story. The descriptions of the accident at the beginning make you feel as though you have gone through it with the main character. It begs to be read again. The history is accurate, the language is beautiful and the writing is elegant. a must read.
JUles60 More than 1 year ago
A beautiful and sensual story. A must read, so I will not give away any of the story (read the editor notes for a synopsis). I recommend this to anyone; you will not be able to put it down. Usually after finishing a book I can move on the next one within a couple of days, but this one moved me so much and stuck with me, I couldn't pick up another book for a couple of weeks! My mind still wanders to the story and the characters on occasion. Simply amazing.
Emily-S More than 1 year ago
Really you gotta get through the first few chapters then you are really in for a beautiful sensual story of love and redemption. The first few chapters really paint how utterly abhorrant the main character is, which delves and explains his own self hatred. Allusions to Dante's Inferno where the hell is within the madness of our own minds and self destruction. Supernatural elements has you wondering what is reality or a twisting of the mind. Very lovely story with grief, excruciating pain, and exquisite blissful love.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is an amazing book, it is one of the very best book i have every read. Thank you Andrew Davidson!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm a lover of fiction/romance/history and this satisfied all my appetites! The characters were unforgetable and mesmerizing, and the ending will stay with you for a long time. Highly recommended!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
when i first picked up this book i was iffy. i started reading the beginning and i still hadn't decided whether i liked it or not. Once you get about 50 pages in it hooks you. Even when you read it a second time you pick up on so many things that you didn't catch the first time. i was so enthralled by this book that i failed to notice until the very end that the author never gives the main character a name. VERY well written and it is a must read!
MissBethie313 More than 1 year ago
I just bought this book because it was on sale at Barnes & Noble, the buy 2 paperbacks and get one free deal and it looked interesting. Little did I know the story that I picked up would be so riveting or so powerful and moving. An amazing story with a bittersweet ending that you wish didn't end and then it did. A definite keeper among my hundreds of favorites among my library of favorites!
StoryloverUSA More than 1 year ago
The Gargoyle is the thought provoking story of a man on so many journeys. The book is so well-written and so deftly woven together. It isn't a story I will ever forget. Only a few times in my life have I read something so powerful. It's a must read and then a re-read. Fantastic author on the rise!
loves_to_readEV More than 1 year ago
I rarely rate books, however this one was pretty incredible. This book is so incredible that it will keep you up at night just thinking about it.
DOMENICA81 More than 1 year ago
I got this book without giving it much thought, I just wanted something for the road and I was pleasantly surprised. If you like dark stories and graphic descriptions that will make you feel the character's suffering, this is your book. It was different, refreshing and well written. Great read.
Yanagi More than 1 year ago
I bought it based on the cover, summary, and reviews and it did not disappoint! As a lover of thick books, I must say this is the best I've read in a very long time. This is the kind of book that can only come as a labor of intense research and academia, it will have you reaching for a dictionary every few pages. The wordplay and sentence structures themselves are reason enough to buy it! It's a triumph of the English language. As far as the plot, it's quite intricate and undoubtedly beautiful as you witness the nameless main character develop and transform before your very eyes. No praise is high enough! Many books pale in comparison.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The characters are interesting and believable. The author skillfully wove the story through time. The eras and settings of the story varied clearly and cleverly. I could not put this book down.
saskesa More than 1 year ago
I picked up this book because it sounded interesting. It was fabulous! I was sucked in from page one. It is a book that not only has romance and humor, but it gives an insight into life and love. I have quotes from this book underlined and all of my friends have loved it too. If your looking for a cute romantic novel that has meaning-buy this book.
katieKray More than 1 year ago
This brilliant love story unfolds through the telling of a series of timeless love stories. As someone who really only dabbles in the fantastic, I loved the framework Davidson created -- it made me willing to suspend my disbelief so I could savor each tale at it urged the main romance forward. Furthermore, the allusions to Dante truly make this highly enjoyable read and intelligent piece of fiction.
kg713 More than 1 year ago
A dark yet thoughtful look at ever enduring love. This book took hold of my imagination and took me on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. From loathing to sympathy to admiration. A pure escape I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a not so normal romance..
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I've never read anything quite like this. If you can make it through the first fifty pages or so of addiction and depression, you will not want to put it down and will want more when it's finished... Write on!
asian_brave More than 1 year ago
This book left me absolutely speechless. I'm the type of girl who picks up a new vampire romance and squeals with glee, so this book was a little out of my genre. But I'm so glad I read it! This story is about a man with 3rd degree burns who meets a woman who claims to be hundreds of years old and a lover in his past lifetime. This story is beautifully written with fantastic stories within the novel that lead you into a world where the impossible is possible. This novel leaves you believing that absolutely anything can happen. This is one of my favorite novels and i recommend it to anyone who enjoys a good book. =]
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book is my favorite of all time. It is a timeless story you can talk about with your friends and family. It's touching, romantic, funny, but most of all it defines the true definition of LOVE.
foodtraveler More than 1 year ago
I loved the combination of current time vs historic time, and the variety of concepts involved. Fascinating story, that is never dull and so unusual that I have bought it for my sister to read, and everyone in my book discussion group is passing it around to read. Refreshing to see someone with new ideas and stories to tell.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I was recommended this book by a friend. She knows that i don't like fantasy books and still said i should read it. At first i was a little worried, but soon realized i had nothing to worry about. Maybe it was the romantic in me that took over, but i absolutely loved the book. The modern characters are able to live previous lives that even the most unimaginative of us wish they could have lived. This is a book i would say anybody would enjoy reading, from those who like Lord of the Rings, to those who stick with classic literature (myself), or even those who only read books from John Grisham (previously myself).
Jenniffer More than 1 year ago
Though it took a while to read, Gargoyle is by far my favorite novel. Andrew Davidson's writing style is the greatest of any modern author, by far before the J.K Rowling. Marianne Engel is my favorite character and I can relate to both her and the main character.
chibijelly More than 1 year ago
I couldn't put it down. I can't really pinpoint what it is, but there's something about this book that just draws you in. It might be the characters, the stories, the overall atmosphere... I don't know. Not yet. After another read-through, I might be able to tell.

If you love fiction that goes against the grain, a good romance, plenty of the supernatural... pick this up. And even if you don't? Pick it up anyway. It will change your mind indefinitely.