Past the point of no return

The problem with giving a book a good try before shelving it is you might come so far you don’t feel there’s any point in giving it up, even though you’re not convinced by it. I’ve reached this stage with "Labyrinth", which I will keep on reading until the end, grumbling all the way. It’s a bit unfair that the novel should put me in such a grumpy mood. It’s got some things going for it, like the pace, the plotting and… well, that’s it, really. It is action-packed, which means reading it is not great a hardship. But I find no joy in the characterisation, the descriptive passages (to be fair, few authors have the knack of making those gripping) or the language.

A common complaint when it comes to characters in novels is that they are depicted in black and white, but I’ve realised there are different ways of doing black-and-white-characterisation. An author who doesn’t bother with nuances can never hope to be the new Dostoyevsky, but all-good characters can still be engaging, and all-bad characters can still be fun. In "Labyrinth", though, the goodies are colourless – the medieval version of the heroine, Alaïs, is especially annoying – and the baddies are not so much stock characters as a set of traits generally associated with a particular stock character: they fill their function in the plot, but with little relish. The Bitch – both in the medieval and the modern part of the tale – has a little more going for her, as this is a stock character which it is hard to ruin completely. But just look at the Outwardly Civilised Brute. He has a record of sexual assault and domestic violence which has been hushed up as he’s from an influential family; his interrogation methods are unsophisticated to say the least; and in his office he has a photograph of himself shaking hands with Jean-Marie Le Pen, the erstwhile leader of the Front National. Oh, and he gives generous donations to the Jesuits. Boo. Hiss.

The Jesuit detail illustrates another problem I have with the book. I understand that the author wants us to side with the religious movement who called themselves Bon Chrétiens, and who are referred to in modern days as Cathars. But maybe she’s trying to hard – anyway, I in my contrary mood failed to warm to them. Yes, it seems harsh that they should be branded as "heretics", and yes, it’s nice that they embrace the notion that we will all be saved and go to Heaven eventually. But their beliefs as described in "Labyrinth" are so well attuned to modern sensibilities they set my teeth on edge. They are perfectly pally with Jews and Saracens, for instance, but openly scornful of Catholics. I’m not above a little papist-bashing myself sometimes, but don’t they deserve some credit for recognising the same Redeemer? Why shut them out of the cosy ecumenical fellowship? At one point, Alaïs sulks because she has to attend a service at – oh horror – a proper Cathedral, with a crucifix in it to which she takes exception. Can one blame the Pope for being a teensy bit peeved with these people?

Anyway, enough praise for our friends in Rome: I can see they blotted their copybook rather in medieval times with all their crusading. It might be consistent to persecute Cathars and Jews and Saracens, but it’s not particularly admirable. Let’s not forget, though, that the Catholics of the thirteenth century did not believe in universal salvation. It is easier to be tolerant when you are not convinced that those of a different religious persuasion are damning themselves in their own fashion.