Review of The White Castle

I should have loved this book. It was recommended by a dear friend, and the elevator pitch -- "In the 17th century, an Italian is captured by Turks and forced to work for their rulers" -- is pure Maxwell-bait. But by God, the writing is dull, dull, dull. 80-90% of this slim book is the main character endlessly pontificating or having pointless arguments with the Turk who is his tutor, student, and jailer. It's not quite as bad as The Seven Madmen by Roberto Arlt, another mind-melting bore with a navel-gazing, daydreaming, self-hating protagonist. But it's friggin' close, and in some cases it offends more: the setup for the most predictable twist in the world is not so much telegraphed as repeatedly blasted into your face.

All the same, I couldn't help myself picking up Snow, another book by Parmuk, from a little free library the other day. I shall have to see whether that is any better.