A reviewer
Written with proper words in proper places, this astonishing and complex novel was a joy to read. In contrast to its plain cover, this marvelous novel, written in mellifluous and elegant prose, is complex its world sprawling and vast, with mind-boggling depth. After reading only two pages, I found myself charmed by its narrator¿s voice, and my mind glued to his world. On the surface it is the story of its narrator, a banker named Hans van den Broek , born and raised in Netherlands, and working in London. While working in London in a bank, he meets an Englishwoman named Rachel and marries her. They have a son named Jake. In 1990¿s, they relocate to New York and live in TriBeCa. After the terrorist attack on the Word Trade Center on 9/11, however, they relocate again, and decide to live in the Chelsea Hotel. But Rachel¿s fear of another terrorist attack and the toxic political atmosphere in the United States create stress in their marriage, and the stress in turn compels Rachel to move with her son, once again, back to London. Underneath this story, there is another story about a Trinidadian named Chuck Ramkissoon. Chuck is a shady character. He runs a fraudulent and illegal numbers racket and a kosher sushi business. But like all men, even a man from the under-world, he has big ambitions and a dream of starting a world-class cricket field and cricket club in Staten Island and of turning cricket into a national sport in America. The third story inter-woven with the other two is the story of the game cricket itself and its ardent players at the Staten Island Cricket Club, immigrants from countries such as Sri Lanka, Trinidad, Bahamas, and other tropical countries. Mr. O¿Neill weaves the three strands into a lovely braid, his lyrical prose serving as an adornment, like a rope of jasmine that often adorns a braid in tropical lands. The most striking feature of this novel, without a doubt, is Mr. O¿Neill¿s elegant and flowing prose, smooth and free from jarring edges and ripples, and as lovely as the very best I have read in my fifty years of romance with the English language: ¿The day was thick as a jelly, with a hot, glassy atmosphere and no wind, not even a breeze from the Kill of Kull, which flows less than two hundred yards from Walker Park and separates Staten Island from New Jersey. Far away, in the south, was the mumbling of thunder. It was the kind of barbarously sticky American afternoon that made me yearn for the shadows cast by scooting summer clouds in northern Europe, yearn even for those days when you play cricket wearing two sweaters under a cold sky patched here and there by a blue tatter ¿ enough to make a sailor's pants, as my mother used to say.¿ Mr. O¿Neill¿s command over the English language is such that even his long sentences glide on the pages without annoying the reader. If you are in search of that rare novel with a complex and fascinating story and written in elegant prose, read this novel to experience the joy of reading.
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