In the Skin of a Lion

"In the Skin of a Lion" is thick with memorable scenes. The plot advances from one evocative boiling point or epiphany to the next, threading together a small crew of intense and sympathetic individuals. The stoic, unschooled and hard-working protagonists allow a fresh perspective on early 20th century industrialization, which Ondaatje manages without ever becoming preachy or obsessed.The life circumstances that Ondaatje includes impart an almost mythic quality to the beginnings and endings of various romances . . . the intensity and strangeness of the relationships reminded me at times of Djuna Barnes' "Nightwood," while the earthiness and sensibility of the prose in general was more reminiscent of Steinbeck or Anderson.

There are times show more when the poetic quality of the narrative spills over into the dialogue, creating utterances that seem rather unlikely to have been as spur of the moment as the context suggests: "Remorse: A strange word. It suggests a turning around on yourself" or "I feel she's loaned to me. We're veiled in flesh." But there are wonderfully light details thrown into the movement of things that more than compensate for a few awkward moments: "How can she who had torn his heart open at the waterworks with her art lie now like a human in his arms? Or stand catatonic in front of bananas on Eastern Avenue deciding which bunch to buy?" or "In each set of trees was a live monkey, never able to reach the diners because of a frail chain. The animals had to dodge the champagne corks aimed at them--if you hit a monkey you were brought a free bottle. Sales of champagne soared and only now and then was there a shriek followed by a cheer."

I will reread this book and I will now have to read some of this man's other books--meaning that my aversion to reading anything by a man that I associated with the Academy Awards and Ralph Fiennes has been completely undone by "In the Skin of a Lion." show less

In The Skin Of A Lion by Michael Ondaatje I am flying above Eastern Europe over a land of endless brutal wars. The hostess asks me what I would like to drink. I ask for red wine and water. She fills the plastic glass to the brim. A heady brew indeed. I drink heartily. I am reading In The Skin Of A Lion by Michael Ondaatje.

Half way through my glass of wine the man next to me, a Turk, hands me another glass of wine and explains that the hostess had made a mistake and could I please accept a second glass? I accept the second glass gratefully. I know this will make me tipsy but I don't care. I have never written a review of a book before I have finished it. But I am going to now.

Michael Ondaatje writes dreams. You know what it is like show more with dreams you wake up and you can feel the dream fading even as the feelings still fill you up. Within minutes you can remember nothing of the details of the dream but the feeling still holds you in its grip. This is Michael Ondaatje. The man must write in his sleep.

In The Skin Of A Lion. It is dream, sex, want, need, fate and the inevitable stamp of history, all in one. I have no idea where the story is going but I want to be there more than anything.

I have often thought of writing a book but reading this makes me only too aware that my hands are made of clay and my thoughts are 1000 decibels in a land of whispers.

Michael Ondaatje weaves a bridge between this land of wakefulness and the land where our lives are half thought, where our vague patterns cast poetic shadows over the workaday reality of our lives.

These are the lives we would live if only we could wake up. show less

Before you read my actual review, I want you to see the review I was formulating in my head as I was reading this. Normally, I don't really consider my review as I'm reading a book, but if the book is bad and I have nothing more important to think about, it's inevitable to happen. Here is an idea of what was going on in my head as I was reading this.

Wow, what an absolutely dreadful book! The story is non-existent, the characters behave completely unrealistically, and the writing is convoluted as hell. Ondaatje doesn't seem to know how to differentiate between past and present, and this makes his book terribly confusing. Even if you manage to follow the story, the characters are flat and bland, and I wasn't interested in them in the show more least bit. There is absolutely no reason anyone should read this book.

Well, let me tell you, that has changed completely. About half-way through the book everything started clicking. The character's unrealistic actions began to make sense, the non-existent story began to exist, and the convoluted writing became clear. It all made sense, and I was so happy! While I was buzzing with euphoric understanding, the author intensified this feeling by writing this:

"The first sentence of every novel should be: 'Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human.' Meander if you want to get to town."
(page 141)

How unbelievably perfect does that describe my feelings as I began to unravel this novel. So many people will give up on a book if it doesn't capture their attention in the first 50 pages. Oh, and what a great book I would have missed out on if I had been one of those people. Sometimes you have to give a book time. Not every book is set up to get you addicted to a pathetically simple plot on page 3. Sometimes the author needs time to develop a novel much more complicated, and ultimately much more satisfying, than your average thriller...

Although, I still think some of the character's actions were quite a bit unrealistic. All the women in the book seem to lack any ability to control themselves and eagerly "jump the bones" of every man they meet, even when they are married women or nuns. Maybe the author is challenging the common belief that pre-1960's/70's humans were all perfectly innocent and true to their spouses...or maybe the author just has some strange prejudice towards women. Also the format of the book, jumping around time without giving any indication of doing so, can still be confusing and can sort of create a distance between the reader and the characters. You don't feel like you are experiencing their emotions but viewing them from afar. I found myself caring about the characters significantly less than I should have.

I still felt satisfied at the end of the novel though. It's rewarding and you feel great after reading the final page, so despite it's flaws I still liked the novel. I don't know if I've ever had such opposing feelings for a book before, despising it for the first half and thinking it was fantastic during the second. Even now, I have a hard time figuring out what I should rate it. All I can say is, if you do find yourself reading this, don't give up on it too early! show less

Patrick Lewis is just a boy, when he is introduced here- working alongside his father in a logging community in the deep wilderness of Canada. In his late teens, he arrives in Toronto. It is the early 1920s and he lands a peculiar job, searching for a missing millionaire. He also works on the tunnel project- putting a pipeline under Lake Ontario. This would normally be enough fodder for a novel but Ondaatje introduces more characters and storylines, really packing in a lot for a book under 300 pages. Lewis also intersects with characters that will be featured in his next novel The English Patient. The prose is truly breath-taking. Poetic and stylized. My only minor issues were the shifting timelines and were certain segments a dream or show more reality? The author has also done a dazzling amount of research, bringing early twentieth century Toronto to life. Highly recommended. show less

A compelling story that had me hooked, but I was frustrated by Ondaatje’s writing style, which is often more poetry than prose. In some instances, this is beautiful from a pure literary sense, but it did nothing to help me with the urgency of wanting to have the story unfold. I also found the jumping around in time and from character to character jarring in an unpleasant way. I understand this is Onjdaatje’s style, but it is not one of my personal favorites. Five stars for the storyline and character development, but 2 stars (or less) for the ordering of the tale and the ghost-like quality of the language.

It's a novel about immigrants in Canada, the disadvantaged ones building the infrastructure in the city of Toronto in the 20s and 30s of the 19th century. It's also a story about love and so many forms of it.
I found the start of the book a bit hard to read, but then it evolved into this beautifully written and captivating tale. The story was at times a little bit confusing and I would find myself sometimes lost with all the different stories and characters intertwining. But all in all it was quite hard to put down actually, really sad, but lovely and poetically written piece.

Read it for the writing, even if you don't care for the story. The writing reminds me of the way one can blur their vision in order to take in the essence of a too bright day - when you take away your focus you can hear the birds and smell the pavement or fields or sea, you can feel the slight breeze or the oppressive air, you can see the palette of colors without the detail of the picture.

As another reviewer said, "Many of the passages are understandable on a level beyond the words. The ideas almost seep into a stream of consciousness which are not directly linked with the actual sentence." This is exactly it. It is magical. It is messy. It is utterly transfixing.