'The Gargoyle' by Andrew Davidson, in which I focus far too much on a pet peeve

I had this book recommended by a lovely friend of mine at Waterstones who is into the same genres as me, and she said that everyone in the world had to read it.

First things first: if you have phobias of burning, OH GOD DO NOT READ THIS BOOK. Honestly, if you have a serious problem with drowning or extended scenes of necessary procedures performed on a burn victim, it might be difficult for you. But burning happens a lot, and in hideous amounts of detail, even for someone with no phobias and a strong stomach. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, as this book is about a man who is severely burned across most of his body during a car accident. The novel follows him during the aftermath as he comes into contact with a beautiful woman in the psychiatric ward at the hospital called Marianne Engel. I really want to add '-who shows him what it means to live again', because that's what always follows that kind of sentence, and it is true, but I feel it's short selling this book a bit. I have a sort of love-hate relationship with this novel, Andrew Davidson's first. I love so many things about it: the protagnist, who is a cynical, horrible person masquerading his fear as a realistic outlook; the characters introduced round the edges, each of whom is surprisingly developed; the symbolism and the fairy-tale aspects of the stories within stories; most of all the blurring between reality and fiction, especially at the end. The thing I hate is Marianne. She is like the archtypal Manic Pixie Dream Girl (as named by Nathan Rabin on The AV Club). It's not necessarily always a bad trope (Hermine from 'Steppenwolf' counts as one of these) but does make me an awful lot more likely to hate the character bitterly.

Marianne is (by the main character's analysis) either schizophrenic or manic depressive or both. She believes that the protagonist is her reincanated lover and that she has been blessed/cursed by God to carve stone gargoyles as a way of giving out the thousands of 'hearts' in her chest over the space of the 700 years she's been alive. Sounds pretty cool? It is, actually. But Marianne seems to also have that not-really-crazy kind of crazy so beloved by writers of Manic Pixie Dream Girls. And she's rich, and beautiful. And always right. And everyone loves her except the awesomely sensible and not-developed-enough burns specialist, Nan. Seriously, Marianne throws a party for everyone at the ward and, lo, she is beloved. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then gave up in despair of Marianne ever being anything but perfect, beautiful and special (my god, she's even called 'Engel', or 'angel' in German, though that may be related to Engelthal Abbey). So I stopped reading about halfway through and went off to read something else.

I had this problem that I really wanted to love this book, but Marianne annoyed me way to much, and the emotional crux of the book relies on us giving a damn about her. So I came back to it, as it was pretty cool in places, and the second half blew me away. For a start, it focuses far more on Marianne's narratives, which are a different tone to her dialogue. A much less annoying one. At the point that she becomes a storyteller, the author seems to be much more relaxed in crafting the language and tone. There are many narratives within the main one: the ongoing tale of how Marianne and the protagonist originally met in medieval Germany, with a Marianne I much prefer but who doesn't really seem to relate to the 'modern' Marianne, and the tales of four other pairs of lovers who ended tragically. They are well told and span centuries, bestriding the world. Finally, there is a Dante-esque narrative journey into a kind of personal Hell, which is wonderful but alas, too brief. In addition, Marianne begins to show signs of serious mental disorder rather than just 'quirkiness', and her breakdown as the protagonist is powerless to stop her is heart-rending, but I was still strangely detatched. I cared far more for the protagonist, a twisted monster inside who became a grotesque on the outside and learned to see the good in people as a result. Marianne was still an academic exercise rather than a person, though I was pleased to find out that she had given herself the name 'Marianne Engel'.

I've focused so much more on what I dislike about this novel because everything else is pretty good. It didn't engage my emotions as much as I felt it should, despite having all the right ingredients, I think because I was distanced by a hated archtype being used without being fully explored. I'm uber-critical of female characters in novels, and I let writers get away with far more in their male characters than I ever will with female ones, so most people won't find Marianne a problem. Her breakdown at the end almost made up for her earlier perfection, especially in one particularly shocking moment, but the question at the heart of this novel is supposed to be 'Is she really crazy?' Frankly, I didn't care, and despite Davidson giving us some pretty awesomely eccentric behaviour, he decided to soften the blow at the end by suggesting that it was all true after all. Which annoyed me: we're adults, Mr Davidson. You've put us through the ringer with everything else in this novel: let us make up our own minds, because we can cope with that kind of uncertainty. The personal development of the protagonist provided a much stronger note of hope for me than the vague assertion that maybe there is magic in the world after all.

Oh dear, a rant. Sorry, it sort of snuck up on me. But the fact that I hate the character of Marianne Engel so much and yet I actually finished the book has got to be some pretty good evidence for it being worth a try: I wouldn't recommend it with the same fervour my friend did, but I would recommend it, especially to someone who will enjoy the references and symbolism. The stories-within-stories are pure joy, and the development of the main character is subtle and introspective. I would almost certainly pick up something else by this author, but only if it had a story that interested me, and I would probably put it down again if I saw signs of another Marianne Engel.