I got off on the wrong foot with this book- the rich details about New York felt a bit too researched and I felt like the author was teaching me history... It riled the anti-didactic in me for some reason. By the end I forgave this more, I got a buzz from the final paragraphs as every question left hanging at the end of each chapter was answered rapidly and the family story came together with the rich and blacks and the socialists and the jews and the forces of history into a neat summary.
Summary is maybe part of the problem though - the section on Houdini felt like a summary of the thinking about the meaning of escapology and being Houdini I had read elsewhere. I thought Houdini is rich enough to warrant a book of his own, not a few short stories within this novel... And the crowbarring in of Franz Ferdinand and even Henry Ford was maybe a bit forced.
The language was quite stretched... when I think about it I can hear a lot of the final chapter lines like "whose breath up floated and was lost in the mist." ie lines that sound poetic, but Im not sure there were that many striking observations in there really. I didn't recognise a real artists eye.
The narrative of Coalhouse and the fight for justice over his motor car was really gripping. THis was my favourite element.
Maybe the most interesting thing about this book was that my dad gave it to me, and so part of what I thought of it was related to thinking that he liked it, and I wanted to know better than him!
As with parents in general, really I should appreciate the gift.
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