The first Fowles I read. Not quite up to the standards he set with The Magus and The French Lieutenant's Woman, but a very good (if slightly disturbing) read! ( )

I bought this book (specifically the original 1963 paperback edition, which was really hard to track down) because of the book code clues in the 1st season finale cliff-hanger of the TV series Criminal Minds. Of course, by the time I'd eventually obtained my copy, plenty of people had already solved it so I never did get around to finding out if my copy was the correct version.

I have to say that I didn't really enjoy reading it - I found it strangely disturbing and uncomfortable reading, possibly due to the intimate level of detail. ( )

1950 The Collector, by John Fowles (read 21 Oct 1985) I think Fowles is a major living novelist, so I thought I would read more of his stuff. This is his first book, apparently, published in 1963. It tells of a weirdo butterfly collector, who catches a girl and keeps her in his house till she dies. It was quite readable, and I found I wanted to keep reading. Of course, the guy this caught girl was somewhat in love with was a nauseating person, but at least the girl wasn't a slut. But the philosophy of Fowles (he is an atheist) doesn't impress, when it shows through in the story. But it was a book that was easy to read, and I am going to read his next novel too. ( )

This book was incredible, very creepy and quite a powerful examination of how a seeminly harmless but socially stunted young man starts his journey to being an outright madman.

When this book was recommended to me I instantly thought of The Vanishing by Tim Krabb, and recommended that one right back to the person who suggested I read The Collector. I can honestly say that both books are utterly chilling in the simplicity of the plot and the insights into the minds of men so utterly incapable of human feeling and compassion.

The Collector was first published in 1963. I have to warn potential readers that it does not contain the sort of images that run through todays psychologial thrillers, there are no misfit cops with troubled marriages, no gimmicky serial killers all wanting their fifteen minutes of fame, no hotshot lady investigators with great careers but no guy to make them happy. And I have to say that this book is all the better for it.

Frederick Clegg comes into a lot of money, which allows him to turn his fantasies about possessing the beautiful Miranda Grey into reality. Told first from his perspective, then from hers, The Collector is all the more effective for the slow pace and gently developed story that has an utterly shocking ending. Rather than belt along at full Hollywood Blockbuster pace, The Collector creeps quietly and nastily along, sneaks up on you and grabs you, rather like Clegg himself pouncing on his victim.

There is something especially chilling about Clegg, the quietness of him, the way he justifies his behaviour, each time getting a little further away from human decency but still able to function in socielty, albeit in a stunted way, is very scary.

As someone who loves older classic literature of this sort, The Collector is right up there now on my favourites list and I am very greatful that this book was recommended to me. I would, in turn, recommend it to everyone else. It left me longing for a sequel, preferably one with Clegg awaiting trial and a lot of skeletons being dug up from his garden. Wonderful book. ( )

http://www.bookcrossing.com/journal/5... ( )