Despite its position as one of Ondaatje's most famous novels, I found The English Patient less convincing than what I had read previously (Anil's Ghost, Running in the Family, Coming Through Slaughter). Maybe this is because of the oddly shifting times and locations of the narrative, or the choice of an unfamiliar setting, or the fact that although much of the story is told from a female character's point of view, she never feels like a woman — but rather a man's image of a woman.

Whatever the reason, I found this book more of a struggle than I expected (hence the perhaps overly low rating.) Nonetheless, the beauty of Ondaatje's prose holds throughout, and his ability to evoke images of exotic times and places is used to full force in this book. I recommend first-time Ondaatje readers start elsewhere, and work their way back to this one. ( )

This is a book to be read and treasured over a long weekend; it's filled with graceful heart-rending language and utterly believable characters who are as beautiful and full as they are broken. The more slowly you read this, and the more closely you read this, the more you'll gain from and appreciate it. Ondaatje's language is poetic and masterful, and nothing I could say here can do it justice. This is a book worth reading and rereading. ( )

I’ve been excited to read this book since before I watched the film, and it was much better and more rewarding than I imagined it would be.

The movie seems to focus more on the relationship prior to the accident, while the book focuses more on the man, his past and secrets, and the relationships he builds while dying. The jumps in time to reveal the histories of all characters were not a distraction but easy to follow.

I really loved the chemistry between all characters, the passion and power they each hold, and how quickly I was able to read the book. It was so entertaining that I flew through it quicker than I ever imagined I would, and in the end I was wishing for more.

I highly recommend it to everyone.

I was surprised by how much I liked this book. What I knew from this book is what I saw on a movie poster from the English Patient, which doesn't really describe the book accurate. It's a description of how four people recover from the horrors of World War II. One nurse stays behind in a converted nunnery to take care of a burned beyond recognition Englishman. An old friend and a sappar appear by chance, and each of their stories are told. These passages reveal how these characters deal with their own horror. Hana:"The deepest sorrow, he thought. Where the only way to survive is to excavate everything.""I leaned forward to close a dead soldier's eyes, and he opened them and sneered, "Can't wait to have me dead? You bitch!" He sat up and swept everything on my tray to the floor. So furious. Who would want to die like that? To die with that kind of anger. You bitch! After that I always waited for the bubble in their mouths. I know death now, David. I know all the smells, I know how to divert them from agony. When to give the quick jolt of morphine in a major vein. The saline solution. To make them empty their bowels before they die. Every damn general should have had my job. Every damn general. It should have been a prerequisite for any river crossing. Who the hell were we to be given this responsibility, expected to be wise as old priests, to know how to lead people towards something no one wanted and somehow make them feel comfortable. I could never believe in all those services they gave for the dead. Their vulgar rhetoric. How dare they! How dare they talk like that about a human being dying." The English Patient" We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. I wish for all this to be marked on my body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography--to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience. All I desired was to walk upon such an earth that had no maps."The Sappar"There are those destroyed by unfairness and those who are not. If she asks him he will say he has had a good life--his brother in jail, his comrades blown up, and he risking himself daily in this war. In spite of the kindnesses in such people they were a terrible unfairness. He could be all day in a clay pit dismantling a bomb that might kill him at any moment, could come home from the burial of a fellow sapper, his energy saddened, but whatever the trials around him there was always solution and light. But she saw none. For him there were the various maps of fate, and at Amritsar's temple all faiths and classes were welcome and ate together. She herself would be allowed to place money or a flower onto the sheet spread upon the floor and then join in the great permanent singing. ( )

What a captivating read. Truly hypnotic. The movie was awesome, but the book...well, the depth is unmeasurable. This is one of those books with many thought-provoking layers.

Imagine an 'English patient', a Canadian nurse, an Indian Sikh sapper and an Italian thief seeking refuge in an abandoned villa in Southern Italy at the end of the Second World War. Imagine the (possible) relationships and interactions that (could have) occurred between them.

The characterization is superb (none of them were undamaged by the war - spiritually and physically), the prose is enchanting and the description of the surrounding environment is surreal.

And thanks to this book, I shall try to re-read Kipling's Kim again, since the English Patient explained that one must read Kipling slowly, for when one does, Kipling’s phrasing reveals the power of his prose. Will do as advised, Sir! ( )