As someone who cares a great deal about literature and was quite eager to dive into the life of the ultimate bad boy Lord Byron I was horribly disappointed. This is possibly a good book, but in no way is this a book for anyone who is remotely interested in BYron.

The first part of Benjamin Markovits's Byron trilogy is the sad tale of Byron’s sometime doctor - Polidori - who flies to near to Byron's flame and is badly burned. Various reviews have attested to this novel's preoccupation with fame and identity - mistaken identity - but it is also a study of failure and of siblings. The next two novels will see how closely Markovits gets to Byron's character - but his opening novel hovers around the edges as we glimpse a Lord Byron who is by turns taciturn, expansive, conciliatory - and the recording of Polidori's failure to write the required memoir of Byron himself - because he can only ever see himself as the subject reflected - a lifeless vampire feeding on the other’s essences. ( )

This is one of those brilliant books you read sentence-by-sentence, in awe. A marvel. ( )

Haven't made to the end of this book. A Byron wannabee, passing himself off as the author of the tale Byron wrote the night of tale telling that led to Frankenstein. This character is the doctor. Just can't care enough to finish (and this is a short book). Pretentious is probably the reason.

Read Imposture by Benjamin Markovits today, which stars Polidori, the young doctor who worked for Byron for a time, and who wrote a novel called The Vampyre at the same time as Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein.
The book is a layered thing, dealing with sleight of hand and deception on a number of levels, and it was an engaging enough read. ( )