The Book of Lost Things

Somehow, in the normal course of life I never get to read fiction. I used to devour it but never seem to have the time these days – although life-coaches of the world would argue it’s not time but direction which is lacking. That piety aside, it remains the case for me and the happy exceptions are holidays: summer and Christmas. Into this blessed gap just past dropped a fascinating, engrossing new novel by John Connolly. The Book of Lost Things is a truly magical novel; a fable about the journey from childhood to adulthood which spoke to me in ways I had long forgotten. It is, in a very real sense, a fantasy but grounded in the harsh realities of life seen through the eyes of a twelve-year old boy. The narrative is as compelling as any of the great adventures which we read at that age but draws deeper than those to the folk-tales and archetypes that the Brothers Grimm and Carl Jung would have recognised. Sad, funny, horrific and warming. Well worth a read. http://www.thebookoflostthings.com/

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