"This world contains just one masterpiece, and that is itself."

On the back of the dust jacket for David Mitchell's new book, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, one blurb from the New York Times proclaims, "Mitchell is, clearly, a genius." Of course flipping a book over and reading a line like that raises anticipation to unrealistic heights for the reader. Combine the genius label with the fact that Mitchell's Cloud Atlas is one of my absolute favorite books, and suddenly The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet needed to be the best book I read all year in order to meet my expectations. I am glad to say that the novel did not disappoint.

Narratively, Jacob de Zoet is more straightforward than Cloud Atlas, but certainly more interesting than his work in the good-but-not-great coming of age story, Black Swan Green. It's divided into five parts, mostly centering around the title character, a Dutch clerk in Dejima, a little Dutch East India Company trading port along the coast of Nagasaki in 1800. The setting is fascinating as Dejima is not quite Japan, and it operates under its own rules. Jacob is a solid main character, a stubbornly honest man surrounded by crooks, but many of the other characters are equally fascinating, especially Orito Abigawa, a Japanese woman who, despite laws keeping her from study, becomes a midwife. The story is sprawling, covering MANY themes: alienation, homesikness, racism, gender inequality, slavery, greed, religion, etc. Mitchell is one of those authors that is able to really capture the human experience while still telling a compelling story. And, like any historical fiction, I learned loads about and became immersed in a past I was previously completely unfamiliar with.

The "genius" of Mitchell, for me, is his prose and narrative framework. His novels draw attention to the art of storytelling. While Jacob de Zoet is not the structured marvel of Cloud Atlas, Mitchell is still anything but boring. Little shifts in point of view elevate moments in the book. Towards the end, an rhyming rap-like section springs out of nowhere in an unexpectedly beautiful moment. Somehow, Mitchell can make two characters talking about drafting a document setting the new price for copper engaging, even though I know nothing about early 19th century trading. After reading three of his books, Mitchell is now officially right up there with Chabon and Gaiman on my list of living authors I'm obsessed with. I really need to go back and read his first two books. Don't know how I missed them.

Thinking about David Mitchell brings to mind one of the ways I get book recommendations: from famous people I like. By famous people, I mean writers, musicians, bloggers; basically just people whose work I respect. Occasionally, this does not go well (Picked up Boneshaker based on the recommendation of Cory Doctorow and did not care for it, even though it sounded great in synopsis-form). Usually, though, I can really trust the taste of these creative types. Neil Gaiman led me to Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Colin Meloy wrote about his enjoyment of Arthur & George, and it was from Owen Pallett that I first heard of Mitchell. I suppose it makes sense that I'd be a fan of the works that inspire the artists that I'm already a fan of.

Lots to blog about, so little time. I'd like to write a post on Kelly Link, Scott Pilgrim, or Inception, but things are now crazybusy. School officially started this week, and grad school starts up next week. By Monday, I have to read an entire book that defines the various disciplines that fall under the heading of "English Studies." Ugh. Sounds like the perfect start to rekindle my love/hate relationship with academia. Yay?