It is both readable and intensely sensual. This artwork is, in every way, a hallucination. A truly amazing book—a magnificent imaginative piece as well as a worthy homage to the greatest Greek poet of the twentieth century. ( )

I have to admit that after reading over 2/3 of this book, I gave up. I see why the other reviews say the things they do about it.
Whenever reading a translated book, the reader has four people to either thank of blame for the experience: the author, the translator, the editors and the publisher. In this case, there is plenty of evidence to blame each of them for this waste of my $17 and valuable rating time, time better spent on the large pile of TBR books I have waiting for me.
First, the evidence for the author's fault. This is a novel and not a biography and as a novel, it is limited to being a fictional biological sketch based an a very real person about whom little is known, but who left a body of work that can be used as clues. For all that, the author is praiseworthy. But that is where the praise ends.
The book meanders. It goes from place to place, setting to setting, reality to dreams or memories without transitions of lead ins from one point to the next. (The editor ought to have noticed and addressed this). But it also has some totally ridiculous and bizarre scenes which defy sensibility, especially the one where Constantine scrapes a whole in the back of the chair holding a nearby young man he is lusting after. Why What for? What did he hope to gain? After boring the hole, was he going to touch the young man, something he could have done and does manage to do without the hole? GOK (God Only Knows)
Second, the translator. First, she (Karen Emmerich) ought to have seen the problem of the transitions just mentioned and done something about them. Secondly, there are many places where the narration appears to be either a dialog or a rendition of the thoughts going on in the character's mind including memories and dreams. There is not punctuation or other indication of what these are. They are simply blended into the text of the novel, making readers wonder what is going on.
Third, the editors. All of the above ought to have been noticed and corrected by the editors but, obviously, that did not happen. Moreover, with all of those problems, the editor chose to recommend it to the publisher anyway.
Finally, the publisher. The publisher probably did not read this book and depended upon the work and recommendations of the editors. If the publisher did read it, the problems I just described and other commentators on goodreads pointed out, ought to have sent up red flags. No publisher can afford to invest in a product not seen as economically viable.
Since I think it is also possible and even probable that the publisher did not read the book but depended instead upon the recommendations of his editors, he ought to have some criteria and standards about books and about recommendations that he expects the editors to follow. If he has such standards, they aren't working. If he doesn't, how long does he expect to stay in business?
I usually read reviews from other readers both on goodreads and elsewhere before I invest time and money in a book, but when I am browsing a bookstore, I am putty in the hands of the merchant and that is what happened here. Then, "sunk cost phenomenon" took over: I had laid out good money for this novel, I was determined to read it. But I don't eat food that I paid for but that has gone bad in my refrigerator and I ought not to have read a book that had gone bad even before it was on the bookshelves. ( )

I have to admit that after reading over 2/3 of this book, I gave up. I see why the other reviews say the things they do about it.
Whenever reading a translated book, the reader has four people to either thank of blame for the experience: the author, the translator, the editors and the publisher. In this case, there is plenty of evidence to blame each of them for this waste of my $17 and valuable rating time, time better spent on the large pile of TBR books I have waiting for me.
First, the evidence for the author's fault. This is a novel and not a biography and as a novel, it is limited to being a fictional biological sketch based an a very real person about whom little is known, but who left a body of work that can be used as clues. For all that, the author is praiseworthy. But that is where the praise ends.
The book meanders. It goes from place to place, setting to setting, reality to dreams or memories without transitions of lead ins from one point to the next. (The editor ought to have noticed and addressed this). But it also has some totally ridiculous and bizarre scenes which defy sensibility, especially the one where Constantine scrapes a whole in the back of the chair holding a nearby young man he is lusting after. Why What for? What did he hope to gain? After boring the hole, was he going to touch the young man, something he could have done and does manage to do without the hole? GOK (God Only Knows)
Second, the translator. First, she (Karen Emmerich) ought to have seen the problem of the transitions just mentioned and done something about them. Secondly, there are many places where the narration appears to be either a dialog or a rendition of the thoughts going on in the character's mind including memories and dreams. There is not punctuation or other indication of what these are. They are simply blended into the text of the novel, making readers wonder what is going on.
Third, the editors. All of the above ought to have been noticed and corrected by the editors but, obviously, that did not happen. Moreover, with all of those problems, the editor chose to recommend it to the publisher anyway.
Finally, the publisher. The publisher probably did not read this book and depended upon the work and recommendations of the editors. If the publisher did read it, the problems I just described and other commentators on goodreads pointed out, ought to have sent up red flags. No publisher can afford to invest in a product not seen as economically viable.
Since I think it is also possible and even probable that the publisher did not read the book but depended instead upon the recommendations of his editors, he ought to have some criteria and standards about books and about recommendations that he expects the editors to follow. If he has such standards, they aren't working. If he doesn't, how long does he expect to stay in business?
I usually read reviews from other readers both on goodreads and elsewhere before I invest time and money in a book, but when I am browsing a bookstore, I am putty in the hands of the merchant and that is what happened here. Then, "sunk cost phenomenon" took over: I had laid out good money for this novel, I was determined to read it. But I don't eat food that I paid for but that has gone bad in my refrigerator and I ought not to have read a book that had gone bad even before it was on the bookshelves. ( )

I have to admit that after reading over 2/3 of this book, I gave up. I see why the other reviews say the things they do about it.
Whenever reading a translated book, the reader has four people to either thank of blame for the experience: the author, the translator, the editors and the publisher. In this case, there is plenty of evidence to blame each of them for this waste of my $17 and valuable rating time, time better spent on the large pile of TBR books I have waiting for me.
First, the evidence for the author's fault. This is a novel and not a biography and as a novel, it is limited to being a fictional biological sketch based an a very real person about whom little is known, but who left a body of work that can be used as clues. For all that, the author is praiseworthy. But that is where the praise ends.
The book meanders. It goes from place to place, setting to setting, reality to dreams or memories without transitions of lead ins from one point to the next. (The editor ought to have noticed and addressed this). But it also has some totally ridiculous and bizarre scenes which defy sensibility, especially the one where Constantine scrapes a whole in the back of the chair holding a nearby young man he is lusting after. Why What for? What did he hope to gain? After boring the hole, was he going to touch the young man, something he could have done and does manage to do without the hole? GOK (God Only Knows)
Second, the translator. First, she (Karen Emmerich) ought to have seen the problem of the transitions just mentioned and done something about them. Secondly, there are many places where the narration appears to be either a dialog or a rendition of the thoughts going on in the character's mind including memories and dreams. There is not punctuation or other indication of what these are. They are simply blended into the text of the novel, making readers wonder what is going on.
Third, the editors. All of the above ought to have been noticed and corrected by the editors but, obviously, that did not happen. Moreover, with all of those problems, the editor chose to recommend it to the publisher anyway.
Finally, the publisher. The publisher probably did not read this book and depended upon the work and recommendations of the editors. If the publisher did read it, the problems I just described and other commentators on goodreads pointed out, ought to have sent up red flags. No publisher can afford to invest in a product not seen as economically viable.
Since I think it is also possible and even probable that the publisher did not read the book but depended instead upon the recommendations of his editors, he ought to have some criteria and standards about books and about recommendations that he expects the editors to follow. If he has such standards, they aren't working. If he doesn't, how long does he expect to stay in business?
I usually read reviews from other readers both on goodreads and elsewhere before I invest time and money in a book, but when I am browsing a bookstore, I am putty in the hands of the merchant and that is what happened here. Then, "sunk cost phenomenon" took over: I had laid out good money for this novel, I was determined to read it. But I don't eat food that I paid for but that has gone bad in my refrigerator and I ought not to have read a book that had gone bad even before it was on the bookshelves. ( )

Ersi Sotiropoulos puts herself inside Cavafy's head during a short stay in Paris, whilst he and his brother John are on their way home from a trip to visit relatives in Britain in June 1897. The newspapers are full of the Dreyfus Affair, there is talk of Proust and Wilde and Baudelaire, the streets are full of distracting life and movement and beautiful young men, and Cavafy is struggling to find the self-confidence to carry on with his poetry. On the third night, after a grotesque and not very arousing visit to a notorious private club on the fringes of Paris (his guide insists on a stop at an equally notorious "cottage" on the way back), the poet rips up his work-in-progress and starts to get a clear sense of a voice that is recognisably his own.

This is probably a book to read when you are already fairly familiar with Cavafy as a poet - it's full of half-buried references to his poems and the subjects he deals with in them, many of which will probably pass you by if you haven't read them. It's an enjoyable historical novel with lots of very authentic-sounding but not unduly laboured period detail. And it gives us an interesting insight into what it might be like to be a modest genius who isn't quite sure that he is as clever as people tell him.

I don't know enough about Cavafy's biography to judge whether he really did have this kind of epiphany in 1897, but the book conveys a strong impression that Sotiropoulos must have immersed herself in everything written by and about him, so I imagine that it must be at least plausible in the context of what is known. Although I'm pretty sure she made up the bit about the single irritating pubic hair...

One oddity about this book - which otherwise ticks all the boxes for an LGBT-interest historical novel, right down to the strategically placed text over the genitals in the cover art - is that it doesn't appear to have an introduction by Edmund White. Surely New Vessel Press must have realised that that is a legal requirement when publishing a book of this kind in English? (Happily, White's name is prominent amongst the blubbers, and he has been doing promotional events together with the author and the translator, so it looks as though this omission was only a minor hiccup in the fabric of reality.) ( )