Sacred apathy. Review on Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth

I am at page 290 of this book, and I am already disappointed; disappointed by the inept prose, the cliched descriptions, the cartoon characters etc. Reading about Erasmus' relationship with Sarah Wolpert is like plowing through a bodice-ripper. Erasmus is not just a one-dimensional boob; he is a poorly drawn one-dimensional boob.

Captain Thurso's relationship to Paris is an excercise in stereotype: beetle-browed Bligh meets misunderstood, sensitive doctor (how convenient!)--watch as sparks fly. Yawn.

The description of Trader Owens and his river station brought to mind far superior descriptions of similar scenes, to be found in Conrad (''An Outpost of Progress'') and Somerset Maugham.

And where are the women? I detest novels that fixate on long-settled moral questions. We already know about the crime of slavery! Why could not Unsworth throw a curve ball by showing us the thoughts, fears and pain of the slaves themselves, particularly the women? I certainly do not care about Sarah Wolpert; who else is there?

It looks to me as though the Booker Committee got bored with its task and simply awarded its prize to the longest work it could find.

Ironically enough, the book's prologue is probably the best part of the work: spare, mysterious and just eerie enough to prompt the reader forward. But watch out, ye who enter here--you are being sold a bill of goods!