Beginning a tormented search for anonymous sensual pleasure, David, a man obsessed with women, pursues a trail of aimless conquest and the intimacy of strangers. By the author of The Quincunx. Reprint.
Charles Palliser (born December 11, 1947) is an American-born, British-based novelist. He is the elder brother of the late author and freelance journalist Marcus Palliser.
Born in New England, Palliser is an American citizen, but has lived in the United Kingdom since the age of three. He attended Oxford University in 1967 to read English Language and Literature, and took a First in June 1970. He was awarded the B. Litt. in 1975 for a dissertation on Modernist fiction.
From 1974 until 1990, Palliser was a Lecturer in the Department of English at the University of Strathclyde in Glasgow. He was the first Deputy Editor of The Literary Review when it was founded in 1979. He taught creative writing during the Spring semester of 1986 at Rutgers University in New Jersey. In 1990 he gave up his university post to become a full-time writer when his first novel, The Quincunx, became an international best-seller. He has published four novels which have been translated into a dozen languages.
Palliser has also written for the theatre, radio, and television. His stage play, Week Nothing, toured Scotland in 1980. His 90 minute radio play, The Journal of Simon Owen, was commissioned by the BBC and twice broadcast on Radio 4 in June, 1982. His short TV film, Obsessions: Writing, was broadcast by the BBC and published by BBC Publications in 1991. Most recently, his short radio play, Artist with Designs, was broadcast on BBC Radio 3 on 21 February 2004.
He teaches occasionally for the Arvon Foundation, the Skyros Institute, London University, the London Metropolitan University, and Middlesex University. He was Writer in Residence at Poitiers University in 1997.
In 1991, The Quincunx was awarded the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction by the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters which is given for the best first novel published in North America. The Unburied was nominated for the 2001 International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. Since 1990 he has written the Introduction to a Penguin Classics edition of the Sherlock Holmes stories, the Foreword to a new French translation of Wilkie Collins’The Moonstone published by Editions Phebus, and other articles on 19th century and contemporary fiction. He is a past member of the long-running North London Writers circle.
Όποιος διαβάσει αυτό το βιβλίο ή αυτή την κριτική πρέπει να έχει κατά νου τρία δεδομένα: α) Το βιβλίο είναι ευφυέστατο β) Το βιβλίο είναι υποδεέστερο του συγγραφέα του γ) Το βιβλίο είναι όσο πικρός μπορεί να είναι ένας καφές με πολλές κουταλιές καφέ, ελάχιστο νερό και καθόλου ζάχαρη.
Ο Φλωμπέρ πανέξυπνος και προσαρμοστικός του κερατά έπαιζε στα δάχτυλα τα ρεύματα και παιχνίδιζε απ’ το ένα στο άλλο. Το αντίστοιχο του αλλά σε επίπεδο ύφους είναι ο Πάλλισερ. Με μεγάλη ευχέρεια και φυσικότητα δεν υιοθετεί κανένα ύφος, παρά μόνο για λίγο, για όσο εξυπηρετεί κάποια ανάγκη, που ο αναγνώστης θα καταλάβει τελευταίος.
Το βιβλίο κυλάει σα νερό, δε μπορείς να το συγκρατήσεις στα χέρια σου σα σχήμα, παρά μόνο σα μια υγρασία. Κι υπάρχουν υγρασίες που σου αφήνουν μια ευχάριστη δροσεράδα στα χέρια που τη θες, ειδικά τις ζεστές μέρες κι είναι και κάτι υγρασίες σαν αυτές που σου μένουν απ’ τις ιδρωμένες παλάμες, που καθόλου δεν τις θες. Αυτό σου μένει απ’ τον Αισθησιαστή.
Στο κέντρο ένας άνθρωπος που θέλει άλλους δίπλα του χωρίς να ξέρει το λόγο, είτε είναι γυναίκες, είτε φίλοι, ακόμη και μια δουλειά με την οποία εντέλει πειραματίζεται. Αναλαμβάνει ευθύνες, κολλάει, διαλύεται και μέσα σε όλα αυτά νοικιάζει ένα διαμέρισμα που το πάτωμα λόγω κάποιας καθίζησης, είναι επικλινές. Επίσης, έχει ποντίκια που στη γενική υποχωρητικότητα του, τον εγκλωβίζουν σ’ ένα κομματάκι της κουζίνας. Στο κέντρο όλων μια διαβρωτική σχέση, με μια γυναίκα με ψυχολογικά προβλήματα και κυριότερο την παντελή αδιαφορία για τον εαυτό της, που φτάνει μέχρι του σημείου να τον περιφρουρεί, για να μπορεί να τον πονάει. Τίποτα δεν καταλήγει καλά.
Απλά τα πράγματα; Σαν πολλές άλλες ιστορίες; Συμφωνώ. Διάβασε το όμως κι αν μείνεις λιγότερο έκθαμβος από ‘μενα απ’ την ικανότητα του συγγραφέα να σε κάνει να αισθάνεσαι σαν κατσιασμένος, σα να έχει περάσει από πάνω σου στρατόπεδο, μαζί με τις Καναδέζες, σαν την παλάμη που μένει με το μεταφερόμενο ιδρώτα της άλλης παλάμης και έχοντας συνεχώς την τύψη για μια ιστορία που ήσουν μόνο αναγνώστης και που παρόλ’ αυτά σου θυμίζει χιλιάδες δικές σου μικρό- ή μεγαλό- υποχωρήσεις σε διάφορα επίπεδα, εμένα να μου τρυπήσεις τη μύτη.
Goodness Gracious...is this REALLY by the same person who conjured up that victoriana masterpiece The Quincunx?
Do you remember that famous piece of sport news where McEnroe throws a wobbly at Wimbledon and shouts out something along the lines (sic) of 'you can't be serious man'? Well that is how I feel about this...
This is an old plot: single man spends all his time boinking every woman he meets, "falls" for a nutcase and ruins his career. So what? Poorly developed characters and not very well-written, but less than 200 pages. Don't bother.
Stark writing make this little book a bit hard to follow, but once you learn to read between the lines, you find some pretty interesting stuff going on. A disturbing ending is what you will be gifted with.
A guy goes to work in a new sad English town. Lot's of rain, women, depression and drugs. It's basically about the impossibility to feel love and to fit in. Great read.
I can't imagine two more disparate books than Palliser's first and second novels. I haven't read his first Quincux but have read enough about it to be suprised that he also wrote this one - The Sensationist. For most of the way through the book I was frustrated by the deliberate lack of concrete details about the setting and the main characters. For me landscape is very important and I couldn't help wondering was David working in Manchester, Glasgow or Edinburgh? And what was his job anyway? I know these weren't the concerns of the novelist but I did feel the lack...until the denouement when it all fell away and only what was revealed mattered. A strange but rewarding novel.
Heel fragmentarisch geschreven, en in vrij korte zinnen die bijna allemaal opgebouwd zijn als 'Onderwerp, persoonsvorm , [rest van de zin]'. Wat voor punt de schrijver wilde maken is me niet helemaal duidelijk. Het verhaal zelf is in ieder geval behoorlijk deprimerend: een aan seks verslaafde man met een stressvolle baan krijgt een vage vriendin en hun relatie is ronduit kut.
Twee sterren omdat er naast veel korte zinnen, onduidelijke personages, rare tijdssprongen en perspectiefwisselingen, een paar interessante observaties in The Sensationist zaten.
After the first few paragraphs I knew this was going to be garbage. I couldn’t finish this very short book. I have had too much experience trying to finish awful books and I vowed to just say no, and discard them. Life’s too short and too many good books to waste even 5 minutes reading badly written books. I found myself dreading having to read this, just so I could finish it. I shouldn’t be angry just bc I pick up a book and trying to read it when I know it’s crap. I’ve determined that once a book starts badly, it NEVER improves (like many movies).
Overly descriptive - describes every little raindrop establishing a setting with too much superfluous detail. I started thinking this is one of these books written way back when there was no TV and they would describe EVERYTHING - NOT how Hemingway wrote. It’s very common for European writers, who like to hear themselves talk. Very typical of Patrick Modiano who by the way I've given three tries and I'm done with that author.
What am I reading here? still yapping about the setting and I don't know what the setting is! Some dark city? Three pages later and 3 pages later it just doesn't get better. It's disjointed. Who's the character? Then other random characters thrown in out of nowhere. It doesn't make sense. It’s incoherent then doesn’t follow a linear path in terms of story structure or plot bc there is no story or plot or even the establishment of the protagonist.
Then it jumps to completely different locations with different people and I'm wondering what is going on. I knew I can't finish this but it's a short book so I try. I'm tired of choosing books that are so bad I can't finish like every book by Patrick Modiano. I look to see if I can audiobook this somehow to get through it faster. This POS book isn't even on Internet Archive. Few people have even read this turd. Some reviews revealed it’s okay. Most the reviews were this is garbage. But I figure I will give it a try and just press through bs it's short.
It makes no sense; he lives in an apartment he doesn't know who is there? His roommates? There's random people he meets in his apartment? It's disjointed, incoherent and stupid. Apparently the author wrote some other book, what he's known for. I'm not going to go out of my way to find that title. It's amazing how many garbage books exist. I’ve concluded if the book isn't good in the first one or two pages - it's not going to improve. It’s been my experience that the book NEVER gets better when it starts out badly. Bc someone writes miniscule details of a one blade of grass doesn't make them a great writer. This reminds me in eighth grade a basic writing exercise - walk outside and describe something! It gets boring quickly. This turd book is overly described with no story. It you can’t describe it fast, then you aren’t a good writer (Hemingway managed to). I understand descriptions to get into the scene, but it's like watching a bad movie where all you're watching is a setting and cinematography without anything happening.
He meets a woman not sure where in his apartment? Then calls a cab and then a disjointed description that they are having sex. Sex where? It isn’t said. Like they teleported to an unknown location, in a bed? It is really poor, incoherent, disjointed writing.
After reading the reviews I prepared for the worst but kept an open mind. After reading the first few pages, I could see where the negatives were coming from and figured that I'd try to get through it in one sitting rather than prolong it. I strongly advise doing the same; the story moves and does eventually build, a little like a B movie as the main character "boinks every women he meets" (as noted by another reviewer :) ). It's clear that Palliser was taking an artistic approach to the novel and that the style and lack of details are deliberate. I'm no expert but I'm sure he accomplished what he set out to do and there's no lack of writing skill involved. It's different; it's not the Quincunx, and not for everyone, but I enjoyed it.
A work which generates unease by the pure detachment of its narrator to the events that unfold, with or without his participation. Most discourse tends to fall upon how this short volume compares to The Quincunx, which is unfair to the stylist prose presented here - closer in nature to the hoary emptiness of Jon Fosse and the experimentation of Donald Barthelme. It is not always perfect, but it is quite the work of someone who knew how to wring an effect on his audience.
Yes, as some of the other reviewers have said, this is a much different book from his first Victorian novel. This one is brooding as well, but in a different way. At first I was put off by the bouncing around and random paragraphs and thoughts, but once onto it the book is captivating in its brooding style. Sad ending, but I won't give the story away.
1.2⭐️ Not sure I’ve ever given such a low rating to a book.
It didn’t hate the story but I did not enjoy the style. I couldn’t tell what was happening in some parts. It would be mid sex scene & then with no warning he was at his office.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Well, I was warned by previous reviews! It reads like a semi autobiog book written in one session with a nose/vein full of drugs. I even had to debate whether to award a second star.
The Quincunx, Charles Palliser's first novel, was wonderful. Think of Dickens with sex, the details of clothes, constructio, lost wills, abductions. The Sensationist is nothing but sex, drinking, and lack of connection. Emotion? Just not there. As for detail, the first person narrator, David, never tells you where he was from and there is little to latch onto. The relationships go nowhere and David spirals. I couldn't even tell the women apart. The secrecy about his work life was annoying, not mysterious. Lucy, the one woman he connects with, is portrayed so unrealistically that I thought he had hallucinated her. I know Palliser can write, but he's better in a different century.
Coming after the lengthily magnificent Quincunx, The Sensationist, set in the 20th century, shows Charles Palliser's versatility. Difficult to say I enjoyed it - I was so shocked by the ending that I had to leave the room where the book was. But the author intended it to be shocking, and definitely succeeded.