Virtuoso

Caroline Alexander's Iliad is miraculous. It has the rhythms and even the lineation of the original Homeric text. Its language conveys the precise meaning of the Greek in a sinewy yet propulsive style that drives the reader inexorably forward. In my judgement, this new translation is far superior to the familiar and admired work of Lattimore, Fitzgerald and Fagles

Of the many new translations of Homer’s poem that have come out in the past two or three years, perhaps the most highly readable is Caroline Alexander’s. Thought to be the first woman to have Englished the poem, Alexander embraces Matthew Arnold’s four essential Homeric qualities: rapidity, plainness of style, simplicity of ideas and nobility of manner, in lines that ebb and flow with the tide of battle. The book wears its learning lightly, the introduction pitching the Iliad as the ultimate anti-war poem.

The Homeric Iliad originates from a rich tradition of performing song. It was meant to be heard. True to the living word of the original Greek, Caroline Alexander’s new translation invites us to engage directly with this tradition. When I read her verses I can almost hear the music of Homeric performance.

Caroline Alexander has done admirably in rendering the meaning of the Homeric text faithfully and suitably dignified language. The format gives a genuine sense of reading a verse epic. Her line-numbers match the Greek, which will make this version convenient for use by college teachers and students

This powerful and readable version of the Iliad is modern without sacrificing the accuracy, energy, or the seriousness of the original. It is a toss-up between Alexander’s translation and Lattimore’s version

There is an epic poise to this new translation, whose varied line lengths ebb and flow with the tides of battle… Translucent, readable and recitable.

Wry, unexpected, and funny ... A really lovely book

[A] poignant picture book, with skilled crayon and wash illustrations ... The story of a working-class hero

A beautifully-crafted tale ... An ode to the unsung hero

A tender fireside story about an ageing labourer ... A witty, affectionate book

[The Gritterman] reminds me of those classic books you find super comforting as a child, but seem kind of sad or sinister when you view them through adult eyes. The soundtrack is full of glimmering, atmospheric instrumentals with narrations from Paul Whitehouse, and Orlando's voice sounds beautiful spread over a piano

One of the top 12 reads of Christmas

A quintessentially British story with a tender, powerful look at ageing

Reminiscent of Raymond Briggs, a song for the unsung hero

Roddy Doyle has a kind of genius for the literary selfie, for projecting himself and his generation onto the page. His novels, including his latest, Smile, are a brilliant depiction of the condition of men such as he – liberal, self-made Dubliners of is generation and his self-deprecating character – he’s approaching 60. His male conversations in pubs… are masterly in that they sound like transcripts of real men talking… There’s genius in his banality.

Smile’s grimy, unsentimental truth-telling is overturned at the end by a devastating narrative twist… It actually serves to magnify, not obscure, this hugely moving tale of a ravaged life.

No one is better than Doyle at capturing the casual rudeness, hidden affection and dark wit of pub banter… What Roddy Doyle is attempting here is something much more ambitious, a book which, when you come to the final page, makes you gasp and turn straight back to the beginning… What is certain is that this is a novel which isn’t afraid to examine the consequences of abuse; what a long and permanent stain it may cast over a man’s entire life. Nor does it shy away from how a mind unhinged can secure itself to celebrity in search of self-esteem and meaning.

Roddy Doyle’s ostensibly simplistic, effortless style mines the depths of human emotion without recourse to any pretension, literary or otherwise. He is the Beatles of Irish literature. His dialogue is tuneful to a fault – capturing not only the wit, but also the woeful banality of daily chat. I read The Van at an early age and took it from there; his familiar and instantly engaging style is music to my ears. His latest novel, Smile, is a great pleasure to read. Here again his genius is apparent, this time on the obscure functioning of male friendships.

Smile shapes up as a bittersweet story, typically well-observed and smartly-voiced, of a middle-aged, moderately screwed-up guy whose separation and solitude sends him on a journey through memory towards the sufferings of his childhood. Then, for all the assurance that nothing “supernatural” has happened, the floorboards of social realism suddenly give way beneath our feet. Shockingly, we’re in an uncanny place that might have been furnished by Henry James at his spookiest.

This book is a brutal confrontation with reality… The plot twist in the book’s final pages is genuinely shocking… But with it the book is elevated to a brilliant and deeply moving level. Finally, this is a compelling exploration of the utter devastation of institutional abuse.

Smile is an undoubtedly fine novel, displaying Doyle’s famed mastery of dialogue and ventriloquist-like ability to assume the identities of his characters… The novel’s strength lies in Doyle’s precise yet impressionistic evocation of the workings of memory and trauma. Childhood trauma is rendered in a manner that is at once harshly exact and vexingly evasive… Doyle’s prose is both impeccable and confounding, leading the reader into folly as much as clarification… A timely and stunningly poignant novel wrought with great wit and pathos.

This is an unsettling and ultimately bleak examination of institutionalised abuse in Ireland, a subject which offers very little to smile about.

Achingly sad and ruefully perceptive, exquisitely balancing anger with sympathy.

With a queasily gripping, insidiously sad narrative, and an ending that completely rewires everything you thought you knew, Doyle delivers through the paralysed character of Victor a devastating verdict on present-day Ireland, still imprisoned by an ugly past.

There’s a moment right at the start of Roddy Doyle’s new book, Smile, that will make you shiver – dark undercurrents under a banal exterior… More experimental in form, and with less humour than you might expect from Doyle, Smile is the 59-year-old author’s attempt to shake us out of complacency… For my part, the book’s triumph rests on Doyle’s ability to reflect how Victor’s experience of abuse has unmoored him from the people around him.

In a sharply observed novel, Doyle explores memory, relationships and sanity.

Smile has all the features for which Roddy Doyle has become famous: the razor-sharp dialogue, the humour and the superb evocation of childhood – but this is a novel unlike any he has written before.

The final pages of the novel are shocking, and they turn everything preceding it on its head. It’s testament to the power of Doyle’s writing that the ending is deeply moving, and so very sad.

One that stuck with me for a long, long time after I had finished it… This is one of my favourite books of the year so far. How the story ultimately plays out left me satisfied, cold and off-balance. A rare thing.

A surprise. It’s unsettling and evocative, but not what you’d expect from the beloved author… The wit and sharp dialogue are classic Doyle, but the dark, unexpected ending will linger long in the mind. A brilliant read.

Who writes the lives, hopes, dreams, sorrows and failures of ordinary people with greater insight, empathy and humanity than Roddy Doyle?... It’s as profound, funny, sad and shocking as anything Roddy has ever written.

So cleverly written we are caught up in the narrative and the final reveal is deeply disturbing. Doyle has again proved himself an author who can create the sense of time and place that takes the reader into the backstreet bars of Dublin and shows the dangerous undertow of life in Ireland.

This is a performance few writers could carry off: a novel constructed entirely from bar stool chatter and scraps of memory. But you can’t turn away. It’s like watching a building collapse in slow motion… Doyle has perfected a narrative technique that’s elliptical without feeling coy.

[Doyle] experiments with time, adding an edgy dream-like quality to the writing… There is no shortage of the author’s trademark dialogue where the men chat about their favourite topics, basically pilfering of Doyle’s own Two Pints Facebook wheeze… Smile is a precise perceptive study of male vulnerability and quietly portrays the stunted life of a lonely, damaged man.

It’s a captivating story that has all the features his readers love him for: razor-sharp dialogue, humour and warm evocations.

In contrast to the manic colloquial energy of Doyle’s early work, this novel, his eleventh, feels moody and spare – a meditation on how wisdom wounds.

An unforgettable journey into Ireland’s darkest past.

A welcome return to form by the master of bittersweet black comedy, dialogue and drama… A profoundly moving, occasionally disturbing and important read.

A profound examination of the stories we tell other people – and ourselves.

Fans of Doyle's previous bestsellers, including The Commitments and Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, will not be disappointed.

Doyle captures the febrile atmosphere of being at school perfectly

A raw, powerful and compelling story

A novel of great humour and creativity

A fitting tribute to a play built on magic and illusion. It’s a celebration of theatre, yes, but just as much a celebration of learning and teaching. Atwood’s spellbinding adaptation is a testament to Shakespeare’s lasting relevance.

Atwood’s novel reflects the play’s multifaceted nature… A fun and imaginative novel.

Atwood unrolls a dazzling remake of The Tempest… Ebullient comedy and keen perceptiveness combine in a bravura fictional tribute to Shakespeare.

A passionately original, heady, often musical modern remix.

I’d love to wake up on Christmas morning with Margaret Atwood’s Hag-Seed nestled in my stocking.

[A] highlight.

[Hag-Seed is] particularly clever and witty, with layer upon layer of correspondences with the original text waiting to be teased out by readers.

What’s impressive here is not just 77-year-old Atwood’s undimmed brilliance but the sheer effort she puts into the project… An absorbing read but also an erudite examination and explanation of the play’s themes. Not to be missed.

[It] would make an amazing Christmas present.

Atwood brings forth a cast of characters that comfortably inhabit their own world but often burst out of the page in song and rhyme. It is a playful piece of writing, tempered by grief and revenge and the bitterness that can consume, but ultimately this is a book full of the joys of redemption and hope. Wonderful.

Cleverly done… Very complex, like a set of Russian dolls. But it works amazingly well.

Delightfully crazy.

Rich and inventive… The play-within-a-play tripe is audaciously Shakespearean, and so is Atwood’s free-ranging imagination and witty way with language.

Masterful… Clever, funny and tender

She casts The Tempest adrift in a prison and makes a magisterial case for the timeless, classless relevance of Shakespeare’s plays.

I am in awe of Atwood

A real must read