HFS is what would happen if you slightly de-crazified Anne Rice and told her to write a ghost story. The twists and turns are very Rice-ian, but there's little to no sex (of any kind) and no overarching obsession to get caught up in. There are also no particularly sympathetic characters, no discernable point to the whole thing, and not enough development to prepare one for the climax of the novel. In one word, Meh.
Elspeth Noblin, a London-based rare book dealer, dies of leukemia and leaves her entire estate to the twin daughters of her estranged twin sister, Edie. Julia and Valentina (the twins) are stipulated to come and live in Elspeth's London flat for a year, together, before they can sell the place. So they do. There they meet Elspeth's neighbors, scholarly Robert (who was her lover) OCD Martin, and his fed-up wife, Marijke. Oh, they also live next door to Highgate Cemetery, the history of which Robert is writing a book about. The twins navigate London, make friends with Elspeth's old friends (Valentina becomes involved with Robert, and Julia appoints herself Martin's nursemaid after his wife leaves him), and attempt to uncover the secret of why Elspeth and Edie have not seen each other for nearly 20 years. They also get to know their Aunt Elspeth, as she is haunting the apartment. That's when the trouble begins.
I'm going to leave the synopsis at that in order to avoid spoilers. Although, as stated earlier, the climax and thrust of the novel really sort of seem to come from out of left field, and when they do, well, you don't really care a whole lot. Seriously, what a bunch of selfish and uninteresting characters. Julia and Valentina are 21 year olds who have done/are doing nothing with their lives. Valentina has aspirations of being a fashion designer, but she and her sister are so co-dependent that they are crippled in terms of actually having lives of their own. Elspeth was a rare book dealer, and OCD Martin is a crossword setter, while Robert gives tours of the cemetery (which is, in fact, quite famous and interesting) while studying the history of the place, and you would think that with these sort of random and quirky activities the characters (and the novel) might be more interesting. But it's not, really - the quirks provide no development and little movement in terms of the plot, so they mostly just feel like Niffenegger selected professions at random. It doesn't mean anything that Elspeth was a rare book dealer, beyond her agonizing about how the twins don't read any of the fabulous books she has in her flat, or how they've got a Hogarth Press first edition of To the Lighthouse in the bath. (The Hogarth Press was Leonard and Virginia Woolf's press, btw, so that's a pretty sweet book - we're talking close to $20k ... in the tub. Eep.)
Oh sorry, rare book nerd tangent. Ahem.
The book is just sort of meandering, I guess, and when the big reveal(s) come, they don't seem to mean anything. Perhaps there is some larger message and meaning that I'm just missing. The writing is quite nice, but ultimately boring. I'm all about characters, and if I don't care about any of 'em, well, then I just don't care. I was interested in the book I guess because of the potential for rare book nerdery and the fact that the title is a Blake quote. And even that is only relevant in the most superficial sense. The main characters are two sets of identical twins. Valentina and Julia are mirror-image twins, which means that they're totally inverted ... apparently down to their internal organs, or something. Also, I think the larger context of the Blake poem ("The Tyger"), dealing with the duality and symmetry of nature, is supposed to say something about the duality of the character's personalities. But that seems pretty peripheral. That point could have been developed throughout the novel, but it's really not.
You know, in thinking about it, I guess I could sort of argue for the main point of the novel being the double-sided nature of most human beings in terms of being selfish vs. putting the needs of others first. There is a lot of exploration there, I suppose. The twins want their own lives, but often put the perceived needs of the other first. Robert struggles between doing what he wants and doing what Elspeth wants/wanted. Marijke leaves Martin because she wants a normal, OCD-free existence, but she still misses him and ends up helping to take care of him from afar. Martin himself struggles between sort of wallowing (no offense to OCD sufferers, but that is how it is presented to a certain degree) in his disability and making the effort to be better in order to reunite with his wife. Elspeth and Edie, well ... let's just say they follow the trend.
So there you have it. As a good former English major, I have found a theme to talk about. It's just not a very satisfying theme, somehow. Alas, not a recommend. I think it's trying to be so deep that it's not even good for just a fun, quick read. One keeps waiting for something that never arrives. Certainly that would be a viable theme for a novel, but it doesn't really make for an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon or two.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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