A deceptively slender volume at under 200 pages but what is contained within those pages amounts to so much more. This is a book that functions on a number of different levels. A straightforward story about a mountaineering /palaeontology expedition. That should appeal to those with an interest in climbing, fossils and those who like an adventure story. Someone seeking to make sense of their life; their past, their present and their future. An elaborate metaphorical allegory where the mountaineering expedition symbolises life itself. The perils and the pitfalls, the human against the elements and the mighty force of nature. An exploration of how the treatment of a child can produce the adult. One man’s obsession and what it does to him and those around him. A dream that fuels such an intense desire that all else fades into a pale background.
‘Stan has been hunting for fossils since the age of six. Now, in the summer of 1954, he hears a story he cannot forget: the skeleton of a huge creature – a veritable dragon – lies deep in an Alpine glacier. And he is determined to find it.
But Stan is no mountaineer. To complete his dangerous expedition, he must call on loyal friend Umberto, who arrives with an eccentric young assistant, and expert guide Gio. Time is short: the four men must descend before the weather turns. As bonds are forged and tested, the hazardous quest for the earth’s lost creatures becomes a journey into Stan’s own past.’
The book is sectioned by the seasons and we can interpret that on more than one level too. The linear seasons, or the metaphoric seasons of a life lived. The narrative yoyo’s between Stan’s past and his present but the two are dependent upon each other. Events in the present provoke a memory from the past. The novel is cleverly structured to allow us to see and try to understand Stan the person and his motivation.
The story boasts an evocative and pastoral prose acknowledging the dominance and reverence we should all have towards the natural world. There is a correlation between Man’s insignificance when compared with nature and Stan’s perceived insignificance within his past life. The tandem of the two ‘landscapes’ offer the reader an immersive experience.
The sense of seeking something desirous with a will tantamount to obsession is possibly something we can all relate to at times but Andrea elevates it to a subliminal height (no pun intended). There’s a fierce brutality in the story but with a beauty that runs in parallel. Utterly absorbing. And I feel sure that whilst reading this book and for some time afterwards most readers including myself will be thinking about their own monster in the glacier, their own dreams and the attempts to fulfil them. When I was young, adolescent, I had three dreams; to make a film, to make a record and to write a book. But have I been greedy having three dreams? Probably. Have I achieved any of them? When I was a student I managed to wangle my way onto a film course. I also put myself forward to run the college film society. Successfully. It wasn’t just about watching and studying modern European cinema, part of the brief was to make a film. It was a group venture and it was fabulous. I was involved in the script and the storyboarding. I acted in it. That was a first for me! We had a cameraman, we had sound guys, all students. Filmed on 16mm. A very limited budget so there was little room for retakes. But we did it. So I guess you could say it was one dream fulfilled. I often wonder what became of that film. Whether it’s languishing somewhere. I’d love to see it again. I used to tinker about with guitars and keyboards, again, when I was younger. I had a friend and we were going to be the female Simon & Garfunkel. The makes of our guitars were shown on the labels inside. Mine was Palma and my friend's was Angelica. So we decided that that would be a good name for our duo, Palma and Angelica. Later when we got ‘cultural’ we thought that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern would be better since it was an interesting little play on our Christian names - Roz and Gill. We sang loads of folk stuff and made cassette recordings of it. I’ve no idea what happened to them. I also wrote my own songs and recorded them on cassette recorders. I’m old, remember! I used to lay down a backing track on one cassette recorder and then I’d play it back, perform another voice or instrument along with the backing track and record it on another recorder. I still have the tapes somewhere. Not exactly making a record but it’s as close as I’ll ever get. Now? Writing a book? I’ve always written. It’s like a reflex. It’s like breathing. I have to do it. But I’ve never finished what I would call a book. I have numerous unfinished novels. And at this moment in time there is no excuse why I shouldn’t sit down and at least finish one of them. But I don’t. Why? Maybe it’s because I’m scared that I’m just not good enough. And if I finished it what would I do with it? Is it about being published? Was that the dream? Or was it just achievement? I've had extracts from my book reviews included on the cover or introductory pages of some finished copies of books. I've had the odd article published in bookish magazines. But my dream remains - to finish something worthwhile and maybe it will be found after my death and I’ll have some kind posthumous success!
Funny how a book that appears to be about a mountain expedition can you lead you thoughtwards down a different path! Guess that's the mark of a good writer. To make you think. And chase your dreams.
Funny how a book that appears to be about a mountain expedition can you lead you thoughtwards down a different path! Guess that's the mark of a good writer. To make you think. And chase your dreams.
This post is a part the blog tour for this book Check out other bloggers and bookstagrammers to see what they have to say.
My thanks to Gallic Books for a copy of the book and a place upon the blog tour.
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