The Singularities

annoyed, and sought for a ready-­made moniker instead. The choice was bewilderingly wide, from John Smith to Rudolf of Ruritania. In the end, though, he hit on what he believes is just the thing.

The simple pleasure of being free, or at large, anyway, is tempered by a dab of disappointment. He had always foreseen his release in the jet-­and-­nickel glamour of the gangster films of his youth. There would be a big blank wooden gate in which a much smaller, postern gate would open inwards and he would step briskly out, in double-­breasted flannel and a broad tie, with his few belongings tied up in a brown-­paper parcel under his arm and a tight cold smile notched in place at one corner of his mouth, and walk across a no-­man s-land of cobbles and raked shadows to where a flash car awaits, with a toothpick-­chewing thug at the wheel, and lolling on the plump back seat a platinum blonde in a white fur stole and seamed stockings, smoking an insolent cigarette. Or something like that, if something can be said to be like something else; the Brahma theory, as we know, puts even self-­identity in doubt. But whatever potential there might have been for picturesque drama on the day was dissipated by the fact that the process of being released had been surreptitiously set in train long before the moment came when they shot back the bolts and flung the cell door wide and withdrew to a safe distance, bullwhips and pump-­action sawn-­offs at the ready ­I exaggerate, of course. What I mean is that some years previously a directive had come from on high that he might be let out occasionally, for weekends and selected public holidays, on the quiet, and on the understanding that no precedents should be considered set thereby. Stressful outings they proved to be, he would have been better off staying safely inside. Then he was transferred from Anvil Hill, where the hammer of the

capaciousness of Banville s unique imagination . . . Banville is one of the most substantial Irish writers of the past 50 years. In this book, as in others, he has created a work that meditates in highly sophisticated ways on the nature of reality, existence, knowledge, art, love, and death. His continued experimentalism marks him out as the most eminent innovator in Irish fiction of the last 50 years.
Eoghan Smith, Irish Times

A beguiling book . . . Astonishingly lovely.
Claire Allfree, Daily Mail

Full of exquisite prose, humour and stunning flights of fancy, [Banville s literary novels] have secured his reputation as one of the best stylists of his generation . . . The book is a pleasure to read. There is a descriptive verve, too . . . He seems to have had the time of his life writing this novel.
Ian Critchley, Literary Review

John Banville is a marvellous and rewarding novelist . . . You read him at least, I read him for the prose, the richness of the characterization, all the better for seldom being fully fleshed-out, for the glittering and sometimes mischievous intelligence, and most of all for his uncanny ability to render mood and atmosphere into verbal pictures . . . Nobody does this sort of thing better . . . He is a magician, really.
Allan Massie, The Scotsman

This novel is essence of Banville . . . There is the usual sumptuous style . . . He retains a brilliant grasp of imagery . . . There is a welcome sense of playfulness . . . Banville is clearly having a lot of fun.
John Self, Daily Telegraph

A feast for Banville superfans and newbies alike, The Singularities is a multiverse triumph.
Adrienne Westenfeld, Esquire (Best Books of Fall)
 
Banville gives readers an exquisite and mischievously voyeuristic view into the lives of others . . . Banville s crisp wit, sardonic humor, and unique style will keep readers on edge, smiling and questioning, entranced and thoroughly entertained until the very end.
George Kendall, Booklist (starred)

Banville s poetical fiction explores the implications of the theory of singularity through the human perception of memory, loss, and guilt, even as he slyly braids together characters and themes from his past novels into a meta-narrative about the haunting implications of parallel universes.
Library Journal (starred)
 
An intriguing puzzle box . . . Banville seems simply to revel in the delights of creativity, piling up wordplay and allusions (to Joyce, Flaubert, Lewis Carroll, Nabokov), playing the god of his literary realm, and all this with constant flashes of exquisite writing.
Kirkus Reviews
 
An artful and atmospheric story of redemption . . . With penetrating psychological insight, Banville tracks the private struggles of these mismatched trespassers . . . The book boasts some of Banville s greatest prose . . . A fine addition to a brilliant body of work.
Publishers Weekly