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Betrayals: A Novel
At once a hypnotic murder mystery, scathing literary parody, soap opera, and brilliant pastiche, Betrayals is an astonishing virtuouso performance by a modern master of literary gamesmanship in the tradition of Vladimir Nabokov and John Barth.
The novel unforlds in a series of seemingly unrelated narratives, each written in a different style -- indeed, in a different genre. There is an obituary for a Scottish scientist and Nobel Prize winner, written by a colleague who clearly relishes his death. Early in the century, a train in the Scottish Highlands heads down the wrong track during a winter snowstorm, and the passengers are forced to abandon the train, resulting in the death -- or is it murder? -- of one of them. An inane publisher's reader summarizes the plot of a tacky hospital romance novel, which ends in a gory murder all too reminiscent of Jack the Ripper. Even a report on a contemporary academic controversy explodes into a scandal of plagiarism, shattered reputations, paranoia, and suicide -- or is it murder made to look as such?
As Palliser deftly teases out each new situation, it becomes clear that they are all variations on a single outrageous a distinguished figure in some intellectual pursuit -- science, literature, academia -- becomes obsessed with the success of a rival and schemes his demise, only to botch the job out of sheer monomania. Like the scorpion that stings itself to death, each plotter becomes a victim of his own plot; each betrayer changes places with the betrayed in an intricate dance of deception, revenge, and revelation.
A challenging, engrossing, utterly original work of art, Betrayals is also pure joy to read -- a book that will make you laugh out loud, turn pages madly in pursuit of the next plot twist, and above all, marvel at the supreme ingenuity of a fictional puzzle in which the unlikeliest pieces fit together perfectly.
The novel unforlds in a series of seemingly unrelated narratives, each written in a different style -- indeed, in a different genre. There is an obituary for a Scottish scientist and Nobel Prize winner, written by a colleague who clearly relishes his death. Early in the century, a train in the Scottish Highlands heads down the wrong track during a winter snowstorm, and the passengers are forced to abandon the train, resulting in the death -- or is it murder? -- of one of them. An inane publisher's reader summarizes the plot of a tacky hospital romance novel, which ends in a gory murder all too reminiscent of Jack the Ripper. Even a report on a contemporary academic controversy explodes into a scandal of plagiarism, shattered reputations, paranoia, and suicide -- or is it murder made to look as such?
As Palliser deftly teases out each new situation, it becomes clear that they are all variations on a single outrageous a distinguished figure in some intellectual pursuit -- science, literature, academia -- becomes obsessed with the success of a rival and schemes his demise, only to botch the job out of sheer monomania. Like the scorpion that stings itself to death, each plotter becomes a victim of his own plot; each betrayer changes places with the betrayed in an intricate dance of deception, revenge, and revelation.
A challenging, engrossing, utterly original work of art, Betrayals is also pure joy to read -- a book that will make you laugh out loud, turn pages madly in pursuit of the next plot twist, and above all, marvel at the supreme ingenuity of a fictional puzzle in which the unlikeliest pieces fit together perfectly.
368 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
9 people are currently reading
486 people want to read
About the author
Charles Palliser
32 books205 followersCharles 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.
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.
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Displaying 1 - 28 of 28 reviews
December 27, 2016
Did you enjoy House of Leaves? How about A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters? Do you like puzzles? Murder mysteries?
Betrayals is a collection of seemingly disparate narratives: an obituary for a scientist written by a colleague who seems to delight in his rival's passing; the tale of four passengers stranded on a snowbound train, seemingly told by two very different people, with the stories the passengers tell one another to stave off cold and fear embedded within in it Canterbury-style; a somewhat unfavorable report on a manuscript that blends romance, horror, and references to Jack the Ripper; an account of a creepy academic cult of personality involving deconstruction, semiotics, psychology, buggery, and murder (also including references to both a Kipling story in which a boy's tongue is cut out and an Arab tale of revenge); a tale of a sultan's vengeance, translated from Arabic; a story, told to hotel guests by an old judge, that includes the perfect murder and how a parson's regret over the death of a boy leads to his suicide; the diary of a bookshop clerk who is obsessed with Jack the Ripper and the Armytage death, has difficulty telling fact from fiction, and befriends a professor/writer who is spins outlandish theories about the soap that comes on before his favorite detective show, which is currently embroiled in the investigation of a string of serial killings that appear connected to a stage play dealing with a number of historical figured, including Oscar Wilde, Sherlock Holmes, Gladstone, and Jack the Ripper; a series of letters from the author of successful potboilers to the less successful author of war novels who is seeking feedback on his new work, a story of sex, violence, and corruption in old Hollywood; an account of a once-successful author who met his downfall when he attempted to appropriate the work of another man in a complex scenario involving a book in which a once-successful author meets his downfall by attempting to appropriate the work of another man in a complex scenario involving a book in which a once-successful author meets his downfall by attempting to appropriate the work of another man (yes, seriously); a review of the book Down on Whores, published soon after the death of its author, a professor/writer who is believed to have been behind a series of murders and attacks; a summary of a controversial thinker's interpretation of a Kipling tale in which a boy's tongue is cut out; a goddman Index of Names that might have been helpful to know about from the very beginning.
Are you with me? Probably not. I have a burning desire to read this book again, with other people. I need a book club, or a class, or at the very least a partner.
Do you like crimes? Do you like puzzles? Are you feeling post-modern?
"To exist is to be betrayed, since we exist for others only by virtue of what we betray of ourselves to them."
Betrayals is a collection of seemingly disparate narratives: an obituary for a scientist written by a colleague who seems to delight in his rival's passing; the tale of four passengers stranded on a snowbound train, seemingly told by two very different people, with the stories the passengers tell one another to stave off cold and fear embedded within in it Canterbury-style; a somewhat unfavorable report on a manuscript that blends romance, horror, and references to Jack the Ripper; an account of a creepy academic cult of personality involving deconstruction, semiotics, psychology, buggery, and murder (also including references to both a Kipling story in which a boy's tongue is cut out and an Arab tale of revenge); a tale of a sultan's vengeance, translated from Arabic; a story, told to hotel guests by an old judge, that includes the perfect murder and how a parson's regret over the death of a boy leads to his suicide; the diary of a bookshop clerk who is obsessed with Jack the Ripper and the Armytage death, has difficulty telling fact from fiction, and befriends a professor/writer who is spins outlandish theories about the soap that comes on before his favorite detective show, which is currently embroiled in the investigation of a string of serial killings that appear connected to a stage play dealing with a number of historical figured, including Oscar Wilde, Sherlock Holmes, Gladstone, and Jack the Ripper; a series of letters from the author of successful potboilers to the less successful author of war novels who is seeking feedback on his new work, a story of sex, violence, and corruption in old Hollywood; an account of a once-successful author who met his downfall when he attempted to appropriate the work of another man in a complex scenario involving a book in which a once-successful author meets his downfall by attempting to appropriate the work of another man in a complex scenario involving a book in which a once-successful author meets his downfall by attempting to appropriate the work of another man (yes, seriously); a review of the book Down on Whores, published soon after the death of its author, a professor/writer who is believed to have been behind a series of murders and attacks; a summary of a controversial thinker's interpretation of a Kipling tale in which a boy's tongue is cut out; a goddman Index of Names that might have been helpful to know about from the very beginning.
Are you with me? Probably not. I have a burning desire to read this book again, with other people. I need a book club, or a class, or at the very least a partner.
Do you like crimes? Do you like puzzles? Are you feeling post-modern?
"To exist is to be betrayed, since we exist for others only by virtue of what we betray of ourselves to them."
September 6, 2025
This was the most fun – and the funniest – book I’ve read for some time. It’s also, like so many good things, very difficult to describe or categorise. It’s made up of ten deeply interlinked stories in which the same characters and plotlines – murder mysteries, fables, literary scandals – repeatedly reappear in slightly altered guises. It’s laced with clues and ‘slips of the tongue’ both literal and figurative (which are, also, clues); there are so many people (or versions of them) in the book that it has not a cast of characters, but an index of characters. It changes genre and form with every new chapter. I found it so enjoyable to read, pleasurably dense, playful, smart.
If I was making up a comparison to market this book, I’d say something like: a Janice Hallett novel in the style of Pale Fire, or Agatha Christie meets House of Leaves. Also remined me a lot of The Unauthorised Biography of Ezra Maas. An absolute riot. This is my first Palliser (although I think I once had an unsuccessful stab at The Quincunx years ago), and will definitely not be my last.
If I was making up a comparison to market this book, I’d say something like: a Janice Hallett novel in the style of Pale Fire, or Agatha Christie meets House of Leaves. Also remined me a lot of The Unauthorised Biography of Ezra Maas. An absolute riot. This is my first Palliser (although I think I once had an unsuccessful stab at The Quincunx years ago), and will definitely not be my last.
October 31, 2014
So, Father's Day - also Bloomsday, it turns out - what's a doting Dad to do? Me, I spent most of it on the porch enjoying the low clouds, the cool breeze, the distant cries of unicyclists on the Square and read Betrayals by Charles Palliser. Eventually I went inside and read it some more, because the grey clouds did what grey clouds do and chased even the unicyclists away.
Betrayals was an unalloyed pleasure from first to last, and a reread at that. Since at least two of the disparate ten chapters are devoted in part to abstruse literary theory where the pleasure of reading is likened to an orgasm and reader and text can be, in assorted variations, phallic or emasculated, and in demanding answers from this book I'm being authoritatively phallic and in concealing these answers the book is being deceitfully phallic or silent and phallic or wordless and emasculated and, yes it's wall to wall phalluses at times, wrestling with phalluses, worshipping phalluses and occasionally lopping the unfortunate phalluses off. Let us ponder for a moment the similarity of phallus and fallacy. I bet Derrida liked that one.
So much for the literary theory sections, which also, it should be stated, incorporates poisonous academic rivalry, half-mad, half-depraved philosophers, murder, suicide, attempted murder and even a spot of plagiarism. This isn't even the start, that would be the obituary with the little sting in the tail, something of a theme with this book, then there's the Christie-esque story of travellers caught in a snowstorm and some tales within tales. Mysteries, murders, betrayals, lies, confessions and a parade of the least reliable narrators this side of Pinnochio's nose, constantly betraying themselves and each other with slip-ups, omissions and general cluelessness. In fact, the only narrator prone to telling the truth is the diarist in the longest, arguably central, chapter, and he has some difficulty telling fact from fiction, and befriends someone with a tendency to blend fiction with fact.
This is a reread from me, and fortunately I remembered that you will not end this book with the mysteries solved. Some, yes, some, no, some you're not too sure of. Perhaps the text supplies you with everything you need, perhaps not, I certainly haven't worked it out yet if it does. What it is is immensely clever and fun, pastiching a variety of modern genres, satirising the worlds of academia and publishing, interrogating the divide between true crime and fictional crime as well as high art and entertainment. You'll either run a mile from this or find it the most fun you can have on a rainy Father's Bloomsday when the unicyclists are out, but if you work out who lured the old lady to her doom and why, please let me know.
Betrayals was an unalloyed pleasure from first to last, and a reread at that. Since at least two of the disparate ten chapters are devoted in part to abstruse literary theory where the pleasure of reading is likened to an orgasm and reader and text can be, in assorted variations, phallic or emasculated, and in demanding answers from this book I'm being authoritatively phallic and in concealing these answers the book is being deceitfully phallic or silent and phallic or wordless and emasculated and, yes it's wall to wall phalluses at times, wrestling with phalluses, worshipping phalluses and occasionally lopping the unfortunate phalluses off. Let us ponder for a moment the similarity of phallus and fallacy. I bet Derrida liked that one.
So much for the literary theory sections, which also, it should be stated, incorporates poisonous academic rivalry, half-mad, half-depraved philosophers, murder, suicide, attempted murder and even a spot of plagiarism. This isn't even the start, that would be the obituary with the little sting in the tail, something of a theme with this book, then there's the Christie-esque story of travellers caught in a snowstorm and some tales within tales. Mysteries, murders, betrayals, lies, confessions and a parade of the least reliable narrators this side of Pinnochio's nose, constantly betraying themselves and each other with slip-ups, omissions and general cluelessness. In fact, the only narrator prone to telling the truth is the diarist in the longest, arguably central, chapter, and he has some difficulty telling fact from fiction, and befriends someone with a tendency to blend fiction with fact.
This is a reread from me, and fortunately I remembered that you will not end this book with the mysteries solved. Some, yes, some, no, some you're not too sure of. Perhaps the text supplies you with everything you need, perhaps not, I certainly haven't worked it out yet if it does. What it is is immensely clever and fun, pastiching a variety of modern genres, satirising the worlds of academia and publishing, interrogating the divide between true crime and fictional crime as well as high art and entertainment. You'll either run a mile from this or find it the most fun you can have on a rainy Father's Bloomsday when the unicyclists are out, but if you work out who lured the old lady to her doom and why, please let me know.
September 14, 2024
Convoluted to say the least - enjoyed some of the stories more so than others but overall didn't quite manage to retain my interest throughout.
February 6, 2019
"...a keen sense of comedy about the post-structuralist school which allows the reader to act as a creative detective..." So read the press quotation of the paperback copy of the book - and still I decided to read it. Despite studying English Literature to degree level I could not explain post-structuralism to you. However I am glad I continued to read 'Betrayals'.
It is a series of short stories, often with stories embedded within them, which range in style and period and format (including obituary, diary and script reader's notes). And scenarios, themes, related characters echo across them but the references are elliptical, never concrete. However I found it an enjoyable and fun reading experience, not the high-art conceptual trickery suggested above. The fourth chapter about the scandal-struck French thinker Galvanauskas was the toughest to read - a bit too arch and philosophical as well as second hand reportage - but elsewhere clever pastiche and parody of different genres and the shifting formats and styles kept me engaged. I felt playfully entertained rather than played with. I never felt patronised or that Palliser was showing off. If you are looking for epic Dickensian sweep as per 'The Quincunx' this may not be for you but it has a lot to recommend it (even if I may have missed a lot of the allusions and the post-structuralism!).
It is a series of short stories, often with stories embedded within them, which range in style and period and format (including obituary, diary and script reader's notes). And scenarios, themes, related characters echo across them but the references are elliptical, never concrete. However I found it an enjoyable and fun reading experience, not the high-art conceptual trickery suggested above. The fourth chapter about the scandal-struck French thinker Galvanauskas was the toughest to read - a bit too arch and philosophical as well as second hand reportage - but elsewhere clever pastiche and parody of different genres and the shifting formats and styles kept me engaged. I felt playfully entertained rather than played with. I never felt patronised or that Palliser was showing off. If you are looking for epic Dickensian sweep as per 'The Quincunx' this may not be for you but it has a lot to recommend it (even if I may have missed a lot of the allusions and the post-structuralism!).
July 28, 2022
Though brilliant in the embedded plot twists and intertwining, I felt that the author was 'Too Clever by Half' and lost me (and most readers I'm sure). I felt that I caught some but not all of the inter-relationships between the separate stories in this novel. This left me frustrated that there were connections I know I should have seen, but that I didn't connect and so I only understood the top two-thirds of the total plot twists and tricks.
I think this is a very well written book, but to be appreciated, I think it would be wise to read in a literature class when sub-plots and plot connections are brought into the light of day. Otherwise, I fear many will feel as I do that it was just too convoluted to grasp completely.
I think this is a very well written book, but to be appreciated, I think it would be wise to read in a literature class when sub-plots and plot connections are brought into the light of day. Otherwise, I fear many will feel as I do that it was just too convoluted to grasp completely.
August 5, 2018
What a book! I am what could be described as an endurance reader and it has taken me 3 months to read it, when I normally read a book a week. I have finally finished the book but am still ploughing through the pages and pages of lists of the characters at the end, trying to make sense of it all. The stories were so complicated that most of the time I actually felt stressed trying to understand what was going on, especially Chapter 7 which was quite incomprehensible to me. (I wish I had not read it on kindle because I often felt the need to look back to check on previous chapters).I kept feeling that it was all very clever but I was just not getting it. It was funny in places and quite shocking in others and so different to Palliser's other books which I have loved. I am not quite sure what to make of the book to be honest and feel I should have given myself 5 stars for finishing it but nevertheless feel it deserves 3 stars for his achievement of finally bringing all the myriad threads together at the end!
PS I have just bought a hard copy - not finished with it yet!
PS I have just bought a hard copy - not finished with it yet!
July 17, 2009
I loved Charles Palliser's The Quincunx and so I bought this slimmer novel in hopes that he would rekindle some of the magic I found in the earlier book. A couple of weeks ago my wife was looking for a new book and, although I hadn't yet read this, I gave it to her. She laughed her way through it and after finishing it she insisted I read it immediately. Naturally I did so and after finishing it she asked me,"well did you like it?" I replied, "No, it was terrible." To which I received the rejoinder, "now maybe you'll be more careful in what you recommend."
I guess it goes to show that even a favorite author can strike on a path that one might not like. And a valuable lesson it was too.
I guess it goes to show that even a favorite author can strike on a path that one might not like. And a valuable lesson it was too.
July 6, 2016
Nabokovian, macabre, witty; the reviewer who called this a "labyrinthine pastiche" was spot on. Wickedly clever - too clever by half, as one character's book is called - and tangled in a gloriously elaborate tangle of murder, deceit, storytelling, and, of course, betrayals. I was completely fascinated by this book and kept flipping back pages to return to clues and foreshadowing moments sprinkled through earlier chapters, or just to giggle knowingly over sly callbacks and connections. A deviously brilliant eyebrow-raise at the range of genres and ways we tell stories.
July 5, 2014
A clever set of related documents - newspaper clippings, diaries, book chapters, letters - that shed partial light on a "famous" Scottish murder mystery. Very, very funny and addictive. Do not read this book if you like to close the final page and feel that you've wrapped the story up! I'm still thinking about it - and I've read this book twice!
January 25, 2017
I don't really know what to say.
A series of stories start name dropping each other throughout the narrative.
Extremely interesting, but ultimately frustrating. I only understood about
half of the connections and those, tenuously at best. Still, another great from Mr. Palliser.
A series of stories start name dropping each other throughout the narrative.
Extremely interesting, but ultimately frustrating. I only understood about
half of the connections and those, tenuously at best. Still, another great from Mr. Palliser.
February 3, 2026
I am a bit puzzled by some of it, Horatio said. What is M’Lay up to? And what's Doctor Watson doing out at night like that? And what's Fiammetta's involvement with everyone else?
Biggert said: Search me, pal. Nobody ever understands these f— king plots. Not even the f—king writer. Most of this stuff about minor characters he brings in turns out to be nothing but red herrings.
I read Charles Palliser's bestselling 1991 novel The Quincunx some 30 years or so ago. At face value it was a recreation of the Victorian mystery/detective novel of the form perfected by Wilkie Collins, taken to a new level of plot and psychological complexity. But in an afterword to the second edition, he expressed some surprise that the novel had been read that way, intented it to be a more ironic reconstruction of the form, breaching the implied contract between reader and narrator, and with deliberate ambiguities which ought to have alerted the attentive reader that there was an alternative explanation to the plot. I must admit I didn't take the invitation to re-read the 800+ pages in the light of that information, and in those pre-internet days I lacked a Goodreads forum to discuss different interpretations, but as I recall the question arose as to whether the narrator/hero John, seeking to claim his birthright, was as deluded as Christopher Banks in Ishiguro's later When We Were Orphans and/or less of an innocent caught in a conspiracy as he implied and/or being manipulated by others in these beliefs.
Which is all a preamble to say that Betrayals, Palliser's third novel from 1993, is - perhaps as a reaction? - rather more explicit in its intentions and deliberately comic.
In consists of ten pieces in a variety of styles - including a parody of Taggart; Victorian parlour tales; a reader's report on a novel; an academic discussion of semiotics; an obituary - all of which revolve around tales of betrayals, and typically ones where the tables are turned. But the stories are connected in odd ways - the story told as a fictional tale in one, reappears in a slightly altered form as a real happening in another, and toward the end even the stories themselves are nested - a popular novelist steals the work of another writer; but that work is about a popular novelist who steals the work of another writer, the stolen work a book about a popular novelist who steals the work of another writer ...
It's all very cleverly done, leaving lots of puzzles for the reader, some resolved and some not (a 'helpful' index of characters at the end of the book only adds to the confusion if anything given the same underlying characters features in different names).
Perhaps the novel's one weakness was the longest section - 130 of the 330 pages - which, although cleverly done did outstay it's welcome, which was a shame as in many respects it was the most interestingly constructed (the narrator trying to solve both one of the mysteries fictionalised in another chapter and the Jack the Ripper and Bible John cases at the same time; while also watching two horribly convulted TV programmes which he initially assumes are real-life rather than fiction; completely failing to understand much of what he hears (see below); and also, almost in passing, becoming a serial killer himself).
While we were going down Hyndland Road, Horatio suddenly said something I didn't understand about remembering the soap. Then he said, You're probably wondering why I watch Gargunnock Braes. (Which I was.) It's actually a complex text about appearance and the endless play of signs and so on. He said something about "semi-optics." Then he started on about someone called Echo-now there's another funny name!—who is also a whodunnit-writer and as well as that is something called a semi-optician. I said I hoped he never examined my eyes because he'd only be half right, but Horatio didn't seem to see the joke. (Sometimes I think he doesn't have a very good sense of humor.) Anyway, he was going on about logic and deduction and mattresses and he said watching Gargunnock Braes was crucial to his work on the logical mattress (!) of murder. I found it very interesting, though to be absolutely frank I didn't understand all of it.
But a very worthwhile read.
Biggert said: Search me, pal. Nobody ever understands these f— king plots. Not even the f—king writer. Most of this stuff about minor characters he brings in turns out to be nothing but red herrings.
I read Charles Palliser's bestselling 1991 novel The Quincunx some 30 years or so ago. At face value it was a recreation of the Victorian mystery/detective novel of the form perfected by Wilkie Collins, taken to a new level of plot and psychological complexity. But in an afterword to the second edition, he expressed some surprise that the novel had been read that way, intented it to be a more ironic reconstruction of the form, breaching the implied contract between reader and narrator, and with deliberate ambiguities which ought to have alerted the attentive reader that there was an alternative explanation to the plot. I must admit I didn't take the invitation to re-read the 800+ pages in the light of that information, and in those pre-internet days I lacked a Goodreads forum to discuss different interpretations, but as I recall the question arose as to whether the narrator/hero John, seeking to claim his birthright, was as deluded as Christopher Banks in Ishiguro's later When We Were Orphans and/or less of an innocent caught in a conspiracy as he implied and/or being manipulated by others in these beliefs.
Which is all a preamble to say that Betrayals, Palliser's third novel from 1993, is - perhaps as a reaction? - rather more explicit in its intentions and deliberately comic.
In consists of ten pieces in a variety of styles - including a parody of Taggart; Victorian parlour tales; a reader's report on a novel; an academic discussion of semiotics; an obituary - all of which revolve around tales of betrayals, and typically ones where the tables are turned. But the stories are connected in odd ways - the story told as a fictional tale in one, reappears in a slightly altered form as a real happening in another, and toward the end even the stories themselves are nested - a popular novelist steals the work of another writer; but that work is about a popular novelist who steals the work of another writer, the stolen work a book about a popular novelist who steals the work of another writer ...
It's all very cleverly done, leaving lots of puzzles for the reader, some resolved and some not (a 'helpful' index of characters at the end of the book only adds to the confusion if anything given the same underlying characters features in different names).
Perhaps the novel's one weakness was the longest section - 130 of the 330 pages - which, although cleverly done did outstay it's welcome, which was a shame as in many respects it was the most interestingly constructed (the narrator trying to solve both one of the mysteries fictionalised in another chapter and the Jack the Ripper and Bible John cases at the same time; while also watching two horribly convulted TV programmes which he initially assumes are real-life rather than fiction; completely failing to understand much of what he hears (see below); and also, almost in passing, becoming a serial killer himself).
While we were going down Hyndland Road, Horatio suddenly said something I didn't understand about remembering the soap. Then he said, You're probably wondering why I watch Gargunnock Braes. (Which I was.) It's actually a complex text about appearance and the endless play of signs and so on. He said something about "semi-optics." Then he started on about someone called Echo-now there's another funny name!—who is also a whodunnit-writer and as well as that is something called a semi-optician. I said I hoped he never examined my eyes because he'd only be half right, but Horatio didn't seem to see the joke. (Sometimes I think he doesn't have a very good sense of humor.) Anyway, he was going on about logic and deduction and mattresses and he said watching Gargunnock Braes was crucial to his work on the logical mattress (!) of murder. I found it very interesting, though to be absolutely frank I didn't understand all of it.
But a very worthwhile read.
March 6, 2014
snow
Christmas
Opening - Professor Ritchie writes: So small is the world of immunotoxinology that it is not surprising - though somewhat ironic - that it should fall to myself to write the obituary of William Herbert Dugdale. The fact that I have outlived him is an irony that his mordant sense of humour might have equipped him to appreciate.*
The fun starts with that little star at the end of the above opening, for it denotes a very telling footnote.
Somewhere, and I think it is attributed to Twain, there is a quote which about being smart is SO secondary to being intelligent and this is round about where this tale is.
Quincunx (1989) - 5*
The Sensationist (1991) - 1* (an experiment((?)) that didn't chuff me up at all)
Betrayals (1994) - back to the Gothic riddles - 3*(just)
Christmas
Opening - Professor Ritchie writes: So small is the world of immunotoxinology that it is not surprising - though somewhat ironic - that it should fall to myself to write the obituary of William Herbert Dugdale. The fact that I have outlived him is an irony that his mordant sense of humour might have equipped him to appreciate.*
The fun starts with that little star at the end of the above opening, for it denotes a very telling footnote.
Somewhere, and I think it is attributed to Twain, there is a quote which about being smart is SO secondary to being intelligent and this is round about where this tale is.
Quincunx (1989) - 5*
The Sensationist (1991) - 1* (an experiment((?)) that didn't chuff me up at all)
Betrayals (1994) - back to the Gothic riddles - 3*(just)
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 26, 2021
This is hilarious and twisty. I absolutely love it. If the site allowed half-ratings, I think I'd have gone with a 4.5 just because the ending wasn't quite as strong as I wanted (or perhaps it would be more accurate to say in the way that I wanted), but on the whole this is just a wonderful set of interlocking narratives. They seem disconnected from each other and then begin to connect in quite bizarre ways. It's honestly one very long English major joke about deconstructionism and other literary theories, and I think it would probably be even more hilarious to someone who knows more about and digs those theories more (and the end would probably be more meaningful to that person).
August 11, 2021
This is ostensibly a collection of short pieces in different styles, each dealing with a betrayal of some sort, often recursively, with stories within stories looping back on themselves. It gradually becomes apparent that the pieces are all connected, revealing two oblique murder mysteries.
It's intriguing and clever and frequently archly funny, but by the time I reached the chapter near the end about a disgraced politician who writes a novel about a disgraced politician who writes a novel about a disgraced politician I was exhausted by it.
It's intriguing and clever and frequently archly funny, but by the time I reached the chapter near the end about a disgraced politician who writes a novel about a disgraced politician who writes a novel about a disgraced politician I was exhausted by it.
July 17, 2024
This book is a story inside a story inside a story, where the story twists & turns through many characters, & then back around to the first. It's fascinating, murder, mystery, African myths, & Jack the Ripper all figure in this story as it layers & layers throughout.
March 15, 2020
clever writing but got bored after 100 pages with the cleverness in combination with the traditional story telling, even though superficially the form was supposed to be varied ...
July 18, 2021
Stories within stories within stories. New stories revising old stories that revised older stories. An author writing a book about an author writing a book about an author writing a book. And a savage satire of post-modern literary criticism and structuralism. With plenty of betrayals and murders to keep the action going.
The shorter narratives work best (the one very long chapter was too repetitive and tedious at times to read). Were it not for that fault, a four-star read.
The shorter narratives work best (the one very long chapter was too repetitive and tedious at times to read). Were it not for that fault, a four-star read.
January 25, 2025
A monster of a writing exercise, a whodunit but not what you think, a spoof on different styles (and notably a chapter written by a bad writer, absolutely stunning), a very complex story where hints and clues are given but you've got to keep your eyes open...and you've got to keep the whole novel in your mind as each chapter can be/is/should be related to another, or others.
A complex book in that sense.
But a WHOLE LOT OF FUN.
A complex book in that sense.
But a WHOLE LOT OF FUN.
October 27, 2022
I oscillated between thinking Palliser was over ambitious and confused to thinking he was a genius while reading this, but ultimately settled on the latter. Worth sticking with it even when parts feel impenetrable; it is all the richer for those bits! Dark, funny, very strange, and massively enjoyable.
August 17, 2019
At times clever and delightful, at other times slow and dull - I can't decide if I really liked this book or not.
Read
December 30, 2024An impishly fun strange loop of a book. I only wish there was an online community (like exists for the Quinqunx) to help me puzzle out all its mysteries
January 9, 2025
One of the best books I have ever read. I wanted it to never end.
August 4, 2009
Il est interdit à quiconque, sous peine des sanctions les plus graves, de déflorer l'histoire de ce livre. On avancera donc ici avec une extrême précaution…
On confirmera simplement, pour tous ceux qui seraient tentés, en cours de lecture, de prendre ce récit pour un recueil de nouvelles, que l'ouvrage qu'ils ont entre les mains est bien un roman.
Oh, certes, un roman un peu compliqué, tout en fausses pistes, fausses portes et fausses barbes (mais les cadavres et les crimes sont vrais).
Plusieurs histoires ont l'air de partir dans tous les sens et les personnages peuvent s'absenter sans crier gare, mais c'est pour mieux se retrouver — au chapitre 7 — …et se trahir (dans toutes les acceptions qu'on voudra bien donner à ce terme) un peu plus tard.
Un professeur rédige après la mort de l'un de ses confrères une notice nécrologique qui tourne au règlement de comptes venimeux…
Cinq voyageurs réunis par hasard dans un train sont témoins d'un crime que chacun d'eux a peut-être quelques bonnes raisons de commettre…
Les uns et les autres racontent des histoires à dormir debout mais où une terrible vérité semble se faire jour.
Un professeur (encore !) enseigne une nouvelle théorie de la fiction, mais ses élèves doivent s'engager par écrit à ne rien divulguer des découvertes du maître…
La rédaction d'une biographie vaut à un témoin un peu trop curieux de se retrouver égorgé…
Un « serial killer » s'en prend aux infirmières sous le regard vide du vieil Esculape…
Un homme politique doué pour la littérature écrit un roman entièrement plagié sur le manuscrit d'un pauvre auteur qu'il empoisonnera pour plus de sûreté — en quoi il se trompe lourdement.
Moralité de tout cela : on n'est jamais si bien trahi que par soi-même.
On l'aura compris, Trahisons est un roman vertigineux, gouverné par un humour féroce.
Roman farci de culture aussi : toute l'Angleterre de la Belle Époque semble s'y être donné rendez-vous par figures mythiques interposées — Sherlock Holmes, Oscar Wilde, Jack l'Éventreur…
Enfin, par-delà l'histoire et ses chausse-trapes, nous est instillé ce soupçon : à quoi bon inventer des théories du roman puisque chaque roman réussi se doit de déjouer notre attente, de violenter les règles du savoir-écrire comme du savoir-vivre, et subvertir par-dessus tout le discours des professeurs (Palliser, ne l'oublions pas, enseigne à ses heures la littérature à l'université !).
Seule demeure après tout, entre les doigts de celui qui veut analyser l'oeuvre qu'on lui donne à lire et l'intérêt qu'il lui porte, cette buée dorée : le plaisir du texte, moyen et fin de toute littérature.
on ne se méfie jamais assez des livres et des histoires qui s'y racontent, et la littérature entretient avec la vie une liaison qui n'est décidément pas de tout repos. Ce que professait déjà, il y a un siècle de cela, le regretté Wilkie Collins (l'auteur de Pierre de lune et de La Dame en blanc), ici clairement désigné comme le maître de Palliser.
Confirmation étincelante du talent de Charles Palliser, l'auteur du Quinconce. Son nouveau roman, Trahisons, polar métaphysique en forme de labyrinthe, est à déguster frappé : comme un champagne… où l'auteur n'a pu se retenir d'instiller quelques gouttes d'un délicieux poison. (extrait - Phébus)
On confirmera simplement, pour tous ceux qui seraient tentés, en cours de lecture, de prendre ce récit pour un recueil de nouvelles, que l'ouvrage qu'ils ont entre les mains est bien un roman.
Oh, certes, un roman un peu compliqué, tout en fausses pistes, fausses portes et fausses barbes (mais les cadavres et les crimes sont vrais).
Plusieurs histoires ont l'air de partir dans tous les sens et les personnages peuvent s'absenter sans crier gare, mais c'est pour mieux se retrouver — au chapitre 7 — …et se trahir (dans toutes les acceptions qu'on voudra bien donner à ce terme) un peu plus tard.
Un professeur rédige après la mort de l'un de ses confrères une notice nécrologique qui tourne au règlement de comptes venimeux…
Cinq voyageurs réunis par hasard dans un train sont témoins d'un crime que chacun d'eux a peut-être quelques bonnes raisons de commettre…
Les uns et les autres racontent des histoires à dormir debout mais où une terrible vérité semble se faire jour.
Un professeur (encore !) enseigne une nouvelle théorie de la fiction, mais ses élèves doivent s'engager par écrit à ne rien divulguer des découvertes du maître…
La rédaction d'une biographie vaut à un témoin un peu trop curieux de se retrouver égorgé…
Un « serial killer » s'en prend aux infirmières sous le regard vide du vieil Esculape…
Un homme politique doué pour la littérature écrit un roman entièrement plagié sur le manuscrit d'un pauvre auteur qu'il empoisonnera pour plus de sûreté — en quoi il se trompe lourdement.
Moralité de tout cela : on n'est jamais si bien trahi que par soi-même.
On l'aura compris, Trahisons est un roman vertigineux, gouverné par un humour féroce.
Roman farci de culture aussi : toute l'Angleterre de la Belle Époque semble s'y être donné rendez-vous par figures mythiques interposées — Sherlock Holmes, Oscar Wilde, Jack l'Éventreur…
Enfin, par-delà l'histoire et ses chausse-trapes, nous est instillé ce soupçon : à quoi bon inventer des théories du roman puisque chaque roman réussi se doit de déjouer notre attente, de violenter les règles du savoir-écrire comme du savoir-vivre, et subvertir par-dessus tout le discours des professeurs (Palliser, ne l'oublions pas, enseigne à ses heures la littérature à l'université !).
Seule demeure après tout, entre les doigts de celui qui veut analyser l'oeuvre qu'on lui donne à lire et l'intérêt qu'il lui porte, cette buée dorée : le plaisir du texte, moyen et fin de toute littérature.
on ne se méfie jamais assez des livres et des histoires qui s'y racontent, et la littérature entretient avec la vie une liaison qui n'est décidément pas de tout repos. Ce que professait déjà, il y a un siècle de cela, le regretté Wilkie Collins (l'auteur de Pierre de lune et de La Dame en blanc), ici clairement désigné comme le maître de Palliser.
Confirmation étincelante du talent de Charles Palliser, l'auteur du Quinconce. Son nouveau roman, Trahisons, polar métaphysique en forme de labyrinthe, est à déguster frappé : comme un champagne… où l'auteur n'a pu se retenir d'instiller quelques gouttes d'un délicieux poison. (extrait - Phébus)
May 7, 2016
Charles Palliser wrote my most favorite book: The Quincunx. I actively sought out more of his works and this was it. This book was horrible in comparison that I couldn't even finish it. I highly suggest The Quincunx but, not this.
January 25, 2015
what a bloody disappointment
Read
October 21, 2013Eck. I can't really rate this because I actually abandoned this book. Too many freaky stories leading to some odd dreams.
October 13, 2015
There was a lot that I liked about this but it was so much work to try to piece everything together and I kind of got bored with it by the end of the book.
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