Griefwork

Griefwork is James Hamilton-Paterson's third novel. It is more carefully crafted than Gerontius and Ghosts of Manila, more serious than The Bell-Boy and more meditative than any of his other works.Griefwork is set in the time period immediately following World War II and encompasses a lyrical and detailed character study of Leon, a brilliant, eccentric, self-taught curator of Palm House, a large greenhouse in the botanical gardens of the capital city of an unnamed Northern European country. Leon struggled against near-impossible odds to preserve Palm House throughout the Nazi occupation of the city and is now engaged in a battle against city authorities who would like to close the garden and develop the land on which it sits.Hamilton-Paterson tells the story of Leon's life in flashbacks, slowly exposing the loss that serves as its defining factor and catalyst for his now slowly encroaching insanity. The son of a North Sea fisherman, Leon is irrevocably changed when, as a teenager, he spends a summer as an assistant to a visiting naturalist, one who recognizes Leon's talents and encourages him to make full use of them.More importantly, Leon becomes obsessed with Cou Min, the young daughter of the scientist's Asian servant. Even though he never again sees her, her loss affects Leon so deeply that it becomes the backdrop of his life; the reason for all he does thereafter.Leon's obsession is complicated by the events of WWII when he rescues a young gypsy from a Fascist mob and enters into a strange and haunting relationship with a beautiful Asian princess who wants to hire him to create a botanical garden in her own country and who may or may not be interested in him personally. This lyrically meditative story slowly spins a web that eventually catches everyone involved in ultimate disaster. The book is not without its own stylistic devices, however, and some of them border on the pretentious. Leon is so attuned to the plants in Palm House that, at times, he can even hear them speak to him, just as they speak to the reader in a pseudo-Greek chorus at the end of each chapter. This can be disconcerting at first, especially as the plants are possessed of some of the wittiest dialogue in the book, certainly more so than Leon, whose grimness is unrelieved.Hamilton-Paterson, however, is a master at writing about the natural world, so this particular stylistic device eventually works and we are keenly aware of Leon's frustrations in evoking a "natural" world that can only exist under the protective barrier of glass.In a world where popular fiction is usually fast-paced and brutal and literary fiction cool, ironic and postmodern, Hamilton-Paterson can be seen as an anomaly or as a phenomenon. A private man, fifty-something, and with no institutional affiliations, he may be seen by some as far too artistic for his own good. Defying the brand-name classification many publishers demand of today's novelists, all of Hamilton-Paterson's novels, despite a

Griefwork is James Hamilton-Paterson's third novel. It is more carefully crafted than Gerontius and Ghosts of Manila, more serious than The Bell-Boy and more meditative than any of his other works.Griefwork is set in the time period immediately following World War II and encompasses a lyrical and detailed character study of Leon, a brilliant, eccentric, self-taught curator of Palm House, a large greenhouse in the botanical gardens of the capital city of an unnamed Northern European country. Leon struggled against near-impossible odds to preserve Palm House throughout the Nazi occupation of the city and is now engaged in a battle against city authorities who would like to close the garden and develop the land on which it sits.Hamilton-Paterson tells the story of Leon's life in flashbacks, slowly exposing the loss that serves as its defining factor and catalyst for his now slowly encroaching insanity. The son of a North Sea fisherman, Leon is irrevocably changed when, as a teenager, he spends a summer as an assistant to a visiting naturalist, one who recognizes Leon's talents and encourages him to make full use of them.More importantly, Leon becomes obsessed with Cou Min, the young daughter of the scientist's Asian servant. Even though he never again sees her, her loss affects Leon so deeply that it becomes the backdrop of his life; the reason for all he does thereafter.Leon's obsession is complicated by the events of WWII when he rescues a young gypsy from a Fascist mob and enters into a strange and haunting relationship with a beautiful Asian princess who wants to hire him to create a botanical garden in her own country and who may or may not be interested in him personally. This lyrically meditative story slowly spins a web that eventually catches everyone involved in ultimate disaster. The book is not without its own stylistic devices, however, and some of them border on the pretentious. Leon is so attuned to the plants in Palm House that, at times, he can even hear them speak to him, just as they speak to the reader in a pseudo-Greek chorus at the end of each chapter. This can be disconcerting at first, especially as the plants are possessed of some of the wittiest dialogue in the book, certainly more so than Leon, whose grimness is unrelieved.Hamilton-Paterson, however, is a master at writing about the natural world, so this particular stylistic device eventually works and we are keenly aware of Leon's frustrations in evoking a "natural" world that can only exist under the protective barrier of glass.In a world where popular fiction is usually fast-paced and brutal and literary fiction cool, ironic and postmodern, Hamilton-Paterson can be seen as an anomaly or as a phenomenon. A private man, fifty-something, and with no institutional affiliations, he may be seen by some as far too artistic for his own good. Defying the brand-name classification many publishers demand of today's novelists, all

In a haunting, complex book, James Hamilton-Paterson brings the reader into an enclosed world under glass--a hothouse filled with tropical plants. This warm, steamy world exists in juxtaposition to the cold climate of Germany outside its glass walls. Inside is a man who also lives an unreal life, spellbound by the strange plants and trees which become his whole world. Sometimes he hears them speak "We happen to be particularly sensitive to cold. Our lives hang on a few degrees which isn't true of humans. But they have their own problems, our gardener especially. It's to do with their hearts, I think." As World War II rumbles into life Leon, who is the curator of the hothouse, manages to keep it running. He is `the genie in this enchanted forest'. Interwoven is the story of his young love affair and his friendships with a princess from a warm foreign land, and an abandoned gypsy boy. Hamilton-Paterson's prose is lyrical, it sings. Griefwork is a powerful book, an unforgettable story of fantasy, love and loss