The subtext of this story is, the enabling of Brilliant Men – and the price paid by those who do that enabling. Therefore, the marvelously detailed historical descriptions (the passages describing glass-making in the 17th century were amongst the most mesmerizing and …more memorable in the book) and spooky supernatural storyline are overshadowed by deeply troubling (and frankly, boring) depictions of the primary protagonist’s ongoing love affair with the Brilliant Man to whom she is talking, i.e. addressing most of the book…this man who, though ostensibly ultimately paying a price, takes down everyone around him who admires and loves him, without reproach. His brilliant though apparently ultimately insignificant (her friend describes the sum of her academic efforts being 'about some pathetic murders in the 17th century’ and points out what a waste of talent that comprises) mother, intuitively aware of his two-timing ways, dismisses his moral lapses with the words ‘my clever son’, while his wife watches him flirting with and seducing the purported writer without saying a word of warning, or uttering a single protestation, while the Other Woman defends their affair with some emotionally dishonest (she comes close to collapsing and flees a party when witnessing an affectionate interaction between her lover and his wife, which reveals this) intellectual justifications concerning the stifling ‘boredom’ of middle-class marriages in a University town which she has always ‘refused’ – so the inference is, that somehow by (a) his brilliance, and (b) being a (white) man, he can be excused for being a perennial cheat, emotional manipulator, and chronic liar. We are left with the feeling that it is perhaps a man so exceptional’s just due to do as he darn well pleases – to use as many women as he wants; ‘the means justify the end’. All this is deeply troubling in a 21st century novel set in modern-day Cambridge, England. At the other end of the storyline the indisputably brilliant Sir Isaac Newton is, so it is shown - and this is part of the most riveting fabric of the book - likewise enabled in his brilliant career by those closest to him, despite being burdened by a middle-class birth family apparently incapable of appreciating or supporting his exceptional intellectual gifts; he pays no price for this (unless one includes his personal pain due to being driven by his obsessions to pursue knowledge in spite of the needs of body, soul and spirit) whereas his hidden support system pays – frequently – the ultimate one. It is a fascinating premise painstakingly researched and pieced together and very plausible. Whereas the rest of the storyline – cleverly crafted though it is – frequently runs the risk of descending into poetic mumbo-jumbo, and the overall conclusion – after a promising twist-in-the-tale, is anti-climatic and depressing.

I understand that this is the author’s first novel, and the foray from her everyday world of academia into fiction, shows some obvious seams. For example; the primary protagonist and narrator comes across as vacuous and morally ambivalent, she seldom shows her feelings, and we grow increasingly tired of hearing her thoughts, observations, justifications and silent admonishments to her lover as she grows increasingly reclusive and secretive, and we are left to infer what she feels – or is she grown comfortably numb? Apparently not, since she keeps secrets from her (few) friends and is obsessed with the way in which she and her middle-aged ‘brilliant’ lover both continue to conduct their relationship like a couple of college students having an eternal and eternally illicit affair. At some point, therefore, I simply ceased to care for her, I only cared for the outcome of what was happening in the story.

Read ‘GhostWalker’ for the historical stories of 17th century academia, alchemy and Cambridge; you will feel as though you have gained first-hand experience of strolling through an annual faire on the local commons, or sat in at a midnight session of glass-blowing in Murano, Italy, and you will likely ‘buy’ the central premise, arrived at detective-style almost like an old-fashioned ‘whodunnit’. Forget the rest. (less)