‘Does its po-mo surface diminish this true story?’ Lasdun asked. A review in the Guardian by James Lasdun (see here) had put me off. My first encounter with the book had been less than promising. I had to force myself to walk round the beautiful ancient city in the sunshine and to go on the bike ride to tulip fields that I had been so looking forward to prior to my trip. I was so gripped by the novel, there were days when I had to peel my body up from my hotel bed and drag myself into the university. I was in the Netherlands at the time, a visiting lecturer on a week-long Erasmus exchange. I spent a thrilling week in March 2013 trying so very hard not to reach the end of Laurent Binet’s HHhH (1).
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