No, Victoria Hislop does not appear to have learned to write better since her first book. If anything, this one is even worse in its writing. Admittedly she is observant, and the grains of interesting-ness scattered through the pages were just enough to keep me hanging in there and reading until the end. Skipping whole paragraphs but still reading. Silently cursing and getting annoyed with the writing but still reading. V.Hislop sees things but does not seem to know how to present them with good enough style.
So. "Cartes Postales from Greece" starts with obvious preparation for a cozy adventure: first a Welsh woman in London with no ties (no close family or friends, no serious job) leaves everything behind on a whim and goes off on a solitary tour of Greece.
Then a man with no obvious ties (no family or friends, no job) abandoned by his beloved, embarks on a solitary tour of Greece.
They are both without a plan, simply drifting around the country. Their thought processes are expressed in very similar writing, without any distinct individuality; the lives of both of them are portrayed in the same way, by piling descriptions of repetitive routines paragraph after paragraph:
"In the following weeks and months, everywhere I stopped people talked to me. Most were warm and kind and, if they were not immediately so, then my attempts to speak Greek would often break the ice. Many of them told me stories. I listened and noted it [sic] down, each day learning surprising things about this country, and new things about myself. The voices of strangers poured into the void, filling the silence you'd left." (p.19) By the way, who writes a diary immediately or shortly after the events but makes them sound as if they took place years ago?!
All of this is the groundwork for the unrelated stories that will be taking place within stories within stories (top score is 5 if you count the reader reading about Ellie reading about Anthony writing about Ariadne narrating about Icarus's dad). As I've said elsewhere, I am not a fan of the story-within-a-story approach: I think it shows an inability to maintain a plot which is sufficiently interesting in itself.
As for the sub-stories, the opening one is based on the premise that a bride runs off with another man while the groom waits for her with the guests in the church. Well, I don't know about Greece but I know how these things are traditionally conducted in its neighbouring (and culturally very similar if a bit less religiously extreme) Bulgaria: the groom DOES NOT wait in the church. He goes to the bride's home with the best man and a bunch of mates, plus a gypsy orchestra for good measure, and "abducts" his bride. There is no waiting around for her to turn up at the church; he barges into her parents' house and takes her to the church himself so there is no chance she can run away on the morning of the wedding. From that nonsense onwards I was not convinced by this tale.
The story of the violinist had some promise: "Antonio S-t-r-a-", and I thought, yes please, please leave it at that, let there be a bit of subtlety, but then, like a bull in a china shop, Victoria Hislop screams it out loud in case some reader's been dumb enough not to work it out. It's like this throughout the book: there is no room left for the reader's imagination; everything is told once in the sub-stories and analysed over again by Anthony.
Je Reviens - This is for me the best story, about belonging to a nation and about national identity. The problems I have with it though are two: 1. I can't understand why Penelope of the present day would decide to tell this story to a total stranger; and 2. How does she know the intimate details of what exactly happened inside the taverna during the German occupation between two people, or in the head of the grandmother Evangelia at the flag-waving parade. The story itself is good, or shall I say both sub-stories in it are good, but they are clumsily inserted in the frame of Anthony's collection of anecdotes. This recurring problem has been spoiling the whole book, even more irritatingly than it did in "The Island".
There are some continuity errors among the stories too, which also undermine the value of the whole work. In "Honeymoon" (which stems from the highly unlikely scenario in which a rented "top-of-the-range" Landrover runs out of petrol before the passengers notice!), the first night it's "gone nine thirty" (p.296) but the woman notices the pastel colours of the buildings and the pots of basil hanging from the balconies. Later on we read that the streets are unlit that night, so how does she see the colours and the basil if there's no daylight? The second night, it's only 9 p.m. but it's already too dark (p.314)
In the beginning of Anthony's notebook, the Turkish occupation of Greece lasted for almost five hundred years, and yet on p.240 it is "nearly four centuries"! A hundred years here or there, free or occupied, what does it matter, hey?
The monasteries of Meteora are at six hundred metres on p.217 but next thing we read is they are a thousand metres up (p.225). Remarkable!
I shall remember not to go anywhere near Victoria Hislop's books again, for they are not worth the time. Hopefully I've saved someone else a day or two so they can read something better.