Shortly after this was shortlished for the "the Best of the Booker" award in 2008 I picked up a copy in a second-hand bookshop, probably around 2010. I'd recently read Dalrymple's majestic "The Last Mughal", and thought this would be a good companion piece.
I read about 50 pages and then got distracted. I saw it on my bookshelf in 2022 and decided to give it another go. I could see straight away why I hadn't finished it first time around. It hadn't got any better with age. It's rather slow and ponderous. It tries too hard to be funny and poignant and philosophical all at the same time. Sometimes it hits the mark, and makes you laugh, and think, but mainly it falls rather flat. The main characters are all caricatured, flat, 2D archetypes, and have little narrative arc, apart from Fleury, whose arc is unconvincing. Farrell, who sounds like a lovely, well-meaning, person, with his heart firmly in the right place, has set out to make a broad ranging satire on culture, society, art, policitics, religion, science, sexism, the kitchen-sink, etc., and uses the siege as a backdrop for his points. Characters are carefully drawn to counterpoint each other to make these points - the Collector vs the Magistrate, the Collector vs The Padre, Dr Dunstable vs Dr McNab, Fleury vs Harry, Miriam vs Lucy, etc. Farrell makes his arguments rather bluntly, and I got tired of it at the end.
When you get to the very end, Farrel lists his acknowledgements, and confesses to having used much of his research verbatim, which explains the sometimes detail about weaponry, which I struggled to understand.
I struggled to finish this book, and wished it had been a lot better. I don't know if I'm glad it's on my "finished" shelf. Perhaps I'll come to appreciate it more in the coming years. For now, I wish I'd spent my evenings reading something else.