I can see why Cloud Atlas doesn't appeal to everyone. The language is rich to the point of intoxication; the characters are as stingy about self-revelation as ordinary humans; the structure is at once simple and arcane, like a crab canon penned by Bach or Buxtehude; and above all, Mitchell commits the cardinal sin of expecting a good deal of his readers. If you are looking for a novel that explains and hands plot points to you on a silver platter, apply elsewhere.
But as a reader and perhaps especially as a writer, I was richly rewarded by the time spent in Mitchell's hall of mirrors. I found his serial storytelling intriguing, completely suitable for this ambitious peregrination of a story that loops back and forth through time, life, and death. I found myself admiring his pacing, his refusal to tell too much too soon. I marveled at the skill with which he differentiated the voices and diction of his characters--the sheer tonal range he was able to encompass.
This is, quite simply, a gorgeous book on every level. It is not for the easily distracted nor those who expect from their fiction a quick and easy liftoff. Those who are willing to commit to the journey, however, will experience that elevation characteristic of all fine literature. Cloud Atlas is a beautiful and supremely well crafted piece of storytelling.
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