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recuerdo's review
adventurous
challenging
dark
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
kellytsak's review
4.0
7 1/2 is unlike any other book I have read to date, an intelligent and intriguing book where being able to determine where the story of the author and the story of 'Paul' begin and end. The whole book is based on the sensual and this is exactly true of the story here. The descriptions of everything from nature to the characters and their experiences are languid and lyrical. There is also the difficulty to determine where the borders of each character begin and end are blurred and intermingle like 2 lovers wrapped together in passion.
At times the book is confronting and stark, so may not be to everyone's taste but is definitely worth reading. This book will remain with me and I will be left analysing it for some time to come (a book hangover if you please).
At times the book is confronting and stark, so may not be to everyone's taste but is definitely worth reading. This book will remain with me and I will be left analysing it for some time to come (a book hangover if you please).
stanro's review against another edition
4.5
I’ve read most of Christos Tsiolkas’ novels and found him an engaging and challenging author. His books are rarely comfortable.
I’ve written much of this review as I read the book. This is a reader’s journey not a literary review.
I love the flash of personal recognition of place, of experience, of culture, in a book or film.
On 12 December after a pleasant lunch in Abbottsford with friends (that’s you two, Jenny and Mary), I found myself stopped in Burnley Street Richmond. It is a street that I don’t often traverse these days, but over my 50 years of driving, have done so many times. And I am next to the Greek Orthodox church building with its triptych of colourful decorations, idly commenting on it to my wife.
15 minutes into this latest book by Christos Tsiolkas, 7 1/2, I am taken within that same church, now identified as the Holy Trinity Church, to a Sunday mass of his main character’s childhood.
I have to pause to say this is complicated to write about. There is Tsiolkas, author of this book, writing semi-autobiographically as Christos/Chris, who is writing a piece to be called “Sweet Thing” about a character, Paul. There seems to be three points of view, though the line between Tsiolkas and Christos is very unclear at times.
Tsiolkas/Christos is wrestling with his writing. His art. What is this book he is writing to be about? What story will he tell? What will his coastal retreat to write, produce?
This is a book that if it were a play, would be breaking the fourth wall between performance and audience. He writes of a writer named Chris/tos who imagines a film he wants to make, which he will call “Sweet Thing” after a Van Morrison song. Or will it form a play, or a novel? And how would a scene be treated differently in the different forms?
It’s a very theoretical book at times - it’s the proudly intellectual Tsiolkas after all, even if retreating from his intellectualism in search of beauty. And so self-conscious. He seems to be struggling to hit his straps. Will this ever gain momentum or will the struggle constantly impede my enjoyment?
Certainly Tsiolkas can describe a scene so well, that my senses become engaged. But there are long gaps between seemingly brief snatches of that beauty.
So is this a book evocative of beauty, or an intellectual book about desiring to write about beauty? Or is this an attempt at being beautiful?
It has all these elements, in flux, within a semi-autobiographical framework.
Though Christos keeps saying he wants to write of beauty, the book I find myself reading is about the struggle to write. I am reminded of a statement to the effect that you don’t really want to know how sausages are made. Maybe I don’t want to know how a writer creates?
Tsiolkas is a visceralist, a corporealist. He writes of the body, mainly of his own but sometimes of another’s. Hair, skin, scent, posture, gait, it’s exudations and excrementations, signs of age, signs of development or decay.
He decries how the English language is poor for dealing appreciatively with the body as an object of lust - lust for another or for self-lust framed around the image of another. That I’m reminded of that saying about sausages tells me something about a lack of beauty, so far.
He writes of his own (or Christos’) body, of his first(?) experience of masturbating, being moved to it by the sight of his honorary uncle asleep in a nearby beachside deckchair.
And the book which Christos is writing is populated and fleshed out by snatches of the character’s “memories” of people and actors. I laughed when Christos named a character in the novel he is “writing” partly after James Garner - a laconic actor whose combination of good looks and insouciance I’ve always enjoyed.
At about 40% in, I know I’ll finish the book within a further three days. Will I embrace it? Will it be a book of beauty?
Now around 60%. So much resonates - from first sighting as a child, of my father’s naked body and how it differed from my 10 year-old’s, to his sympathetic reading of Machiavelli. (To avoid any concerned misinterpretation, it was an innocent sighting with nothing further occurring or intended.)
I’m at 80% now. Christos has wrenched us from the clutches of the story he has written about Paul, (why Paul again, given Damascus, I muse briefly), to engage in a “dinkus” (having only heard the word, I had to look it up to ensure I spelt it correctly) about the safety of Tsiolkas/Christos’ upbringing in contrast to that of Paul’s. (Did we raise our now-adult children in safety? Am I brave enough to ask? What if they answer “No.”? I know a bit of not growing up in safety.)
Tsiolkas/Christos then riffs again, this time laugh-out-loud amusingly, on the Greek willingness to non-sexually admire and even compliment the body of another. This is something not done in Anglo cultures.
So is the book about beauty? Or is it still an intellectual exploration of beauty; where it is found and how it is expressed? I’m leaning towards beauty being where you find it - “take it where you find it” as Van Morrison (whose song “Sweet Thing” inspires the book that Christos is writing about Paul) sings. Is beauty in the eye of the beholder? I’m starting to see beauty here.
And now it’s been finished for a few hours. Hard to reflect on it while we prepare to host 18 at ours for Christmas and cope with a likely Covid infection of one of our (not living with us but due to attend from today, Christmas Eve) sons.
I found it a satisfying ending, with its increased blurring of Christos with Tsiolkas. Its beauty was found in the eye of this beholder. And maybe in yours? I highly recommend it.
I’ve written much of this review as I read the book. This is a reader’s journey not a literary review.
I love the flash of personal recognition of place, of experience, of culture, in a book or film.
On 12 December after a pleasant lunch in Abbottsford with friends (that’s you two, Jenny and Mary), I found myself stopped in Burnley Street Richmond. It is a street that I don’t often traverse these days, but over my 50 years of driving, have done so many times. And I am next to the Greek Orthodox church building with its triptych of colourful decorations, idly commenting on it to my wife.
15 minutes into this latest book by Christos Tsiolkas, 7 1/2, I am taken within that same church, now identified as the Holy Trinity Church, to a Sunday mass of his main character’s childhood.
I have to pause to say this is complicated to write about. There is Tsiolkas, author of this book, writing semi-autobiographically as Christos/Chris, who is writing a piece to be called “Sweet Thing” about a character, Paul. There seems to be three points of view, though the line between Tsiolkas and Christos is very unclear at times.
Tsiolkas/Christos is wrestling with his writing. His art. What is this book he is writing to be about? What story will he tell? What will his coastal retreat to write, produce?
This is a book that if it were a play, would be breaking the fourth wall between performance and audience. He writes of a writer named Chris/tos who imagines a film he wants to make, which he will call “Sweet Thing” after a Van Morrison song. Or will it form a play, or a novel? And how would a scene be treated differently in the different forms?
It’s a very theoretical book at times - it’s the proudly intellectual Tsiolkas after all, even if retreating from his intellectualism in search of beauty. And so self-conscious. He seems to be struggling to hit his straps. Will this ever gain momentum or will the struggle constantly impede my enjoyment?
Certainly Tsiolkas can describe a scene so well, that my senses become engaged. But there are long gaps between seemingly brief snatches of that beauty.
So is this a book evocative of beauty, or an intellectual book about desiring to write about beauty? Or is this an attempt at being beautiful?
It has all these elements, in flux, within a semi-autobiographical framework.
Though Christos keeps saying he wants to write of beauty, the book I find myself reading is about the struggle to write. I am reminded of a statement to the effect that you don’t really want to know how sausages are made. Maybe I don’t want to know how a writer creates?
Tsiolkas is a visceralist, a corporealist. He writes of the body, mainly of his own but sometimes of another’s. Hair, skin, scent, posture, gait, it’s exudations and excrementations, signs of age, signs of development or decay.
He decries how the English language is poor for dealing appreciatively with the body as an object of lust - lust for another or for self-lust framed around the image of another. That I’m reminded of that saying about sausages tells me something about a lack of beauty, so far.
He writes of his own (or Christos’) body, of his first(?) experience of masturbating, being moved to it by the sight of his honorary uncle asleep in a nearby beachside deckchair.
And the book which Christos is writing is populated and fleshed out by snatches of the character’s “memories” of people and actors. I laughed when Christos named a character in the novel he is “writing” partly after James Garner - a laconic actor whose combination of good looks and insouciance I’ve always enjoyed.
At about 40% in, I know I’ll finish the book within a further three days. Will I embrace it? Will it be a book of beauty?
Now around 60%. So much resonates - from first sighting as a child, of my father’s naked body and how it differed from my 10 year-old’s, to his sympathetic reading of Machiavelli. (To avoid any concerned misinterpretation, it was an innocent sighting with nothing further occurring or intended.)
I’m at 80% now. Christos has wrenched us from the clutches of the story he has written about Paul, (why Paul again, given Damascus, I muse briefly), to engage in a “dinkus” (having only heard the word, I had to look it up to ensure I spelt it correctly) about the safety of Tsiolkas/Christos’ upbringing in contrast to that of Paul’s. (Did we raise our now-adult children in safety? Am I brave enough to ask? What if they answer “No.”? I know a bit of not growing up in safety.)
Tsiolkas/Christos then riffs again, this time laugh-out-loud amusingly, on the Greek willingness to non-sexually admire and even compliment the body of another. This is something not done in Anglo cultures.
So is the book about beauty? Or is it still an intellectual exploration of beauty; where it is found and how it is expressed? I’m leaning towards beauty being where you find it - “take it where you find it” as Van Morrison (whose song “Sweet Thing” inspires the book that Christos is writing about Paul) sings. Is beauty in the eye of the beholder? I’m starting to see beauty here.
And now it’s been finished for a few hours. Hard to reflect on it while we prepare to host 18 at ours for Christmas and cope with a likely Covid infection of one of our (not living with us but due to attend from today, Christmas Eve) sons.
I found it a satisfying ending, with its increased blurring of Christos with Tsiolkas. Its beauty was found in the eye of this beholder. And maybe in yours? I highly recommend it.
zordrac's review
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
1.0
curatoriallyyours's review
dark
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.0
There’s no doubt that Christos Tsiolkas can sometimes write well but some of the content of this book was so cringey (I’m so glad I don’t need to read about a man appreciating the smell of his own armpits anymore now that I’m done with this book), pretentious or downright wrong. I originally gave this three stars because there were some touching moments at the end of the book but on reflection I’ve downgraded it to a two star rating because it honestly was too little too late. Some of the descriptions of nature were delectable in this book but it wasn’t enough to make up for the disgust I felt far too many times.
nobodyatall's review
2.0
Parts of it are gorgeous but he keep whinging about how the modern novel is just people whinging about how hard their life is and that they should just suck it up and I just can't be arsed
jgwc54e5's review
5.0
In this book Christos Tsiolkas weaves together three different narratives. It’s part memoir, he recalls his childhood, his greek heritage, his early experiences with regards to his sexuality and lots of other memories. Then there’s the strand following the author staying at a cottage attempting to write his next novel and lastly is the novel itself, the story of Paul, an old porn star who returns to the US to spend a weekend with a wealthy man. Initially I was worried that I wouldn’t enjoy this book like his previous books as the author says he doesn’t want to write about “rage and justice and politics” but I was soon immersed in the writing, before I knew it I was 100pages in. From writing about his memories, he shows how characters come into being. How music, art, and the natural world feed into it too. The novel parts were hard to look away from. In a seedier and uglier environment, there is still beauty. Tsiolkas always finds the humanity in his characters. While the author says he just wants to write about beauty, there is of course much more. How can there not be? Class, race, sexuality, the migrant experience, poverty, art, music, education, literature, climate change(several references to the bushfires) are all here. So in the end, yes, it’s a book about beauty but also home and belonging and I enjoyed reading it.
alonsonm's review
5.0
I have never read a book like this before and it blew my mind to see how Tsiolkas was able to blend autofiction and meta so organically. This really is one of a kind book.
keepingupwiththepenguins's review
3.0
I’m quite skeptical of writers writing about writers, and I must say Tsiolkas’s latest hasn’t done much to change my mind. He goes the full Martin Amis with his main character: a mid-50s gay Greek writer named Christos Tsiolkas. I wanted to be generous in my reading, but this is really just one long lament about The Modern World. It’s more masterfully written than a forwarded chain email that’s been scanned by Norton Anti-Virus, but the vibe is the same.
My full review of 7 1/2 can be found on Keeping Up With The Penguins.
My full review of 7 1/2 can be found on Keeping Up With The Penguins.