It's hard to describe David Mitchell's writing without falling into hyperbole. I will simply say that I think that he is one of the greatest living novelists in the English language, and leave it at that. His most recent book, "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet" demonstrates the creative and imaginative power of his writing, even when his work is grounded some minor details of history.
The title character - Jacob de Zoet - is a young man assigned to help weed out corruption in Dejima, the exclusive trading post the Dutch hold in Japan. He originally joined the Trading Company while saving money to woo his lady-love back in Europe, but when faced with the grim realities of institutionalized corruption, he essentially becomes marooned in Dejima. Meanwhile, a Japanese midwife, whom he has developed feelings for, mysteriously disappears into a secret monastery. Trying to stay true to his original idealism is tough, especially when faced with cultural isolation, finding out the horrible secret of the local monastery, and - oh - a British warship demanding the unconditional surrender of the trading post.
It's hard to get into the intricacies of what makes Mitchell's novel so great without ruining what are a lot of great plot twists. Of course, this leads me to the first thing that makes this novel so great: the plot. Each of the three parts of the book are distinct from one another in terms of style and structure, but all are woven together through the characters.
--The first section of the novel follows Jacob de Zoet exclusively as he acclimates to the daily grind in Dejima. Being so far from his homeland, Jacob struggles to remain true to his idealistic ambitions: he is tempted by the potential profits from joining the corruption he intends to stop, and he dances near infidelity as he falls for the lovely, if scarred, Japanese midwife. This second ends as Jacob watches the Orito (the midwife) carried away, seemingly against her will, to a secretive local monastery.
--The second second section shifts entirely away from Jacob's story and focuses instead on Uzaemon, a translator, and his doomed attempt to rescue Orito when he finds out the monastery's horrible cultish precepts. Rather than the interior character study of the first section, the second part of the book is more action driven.
--The third section bounces around from character to character. At one point, it's even told from the perspective of one of the servants in Dejima. It is about halfway through this section that the intricate web that Mitchell has woven begins to come together, although the presence of a British warship threatens to blow the whole business to splinters.
Mitchell is a master of the little and not-so-little details and textual features that raise his novel to the highest levels of literature. One that comes to mind, is the constant presence of the stone strategy game Go. Understanding the game of Go - in which players place black and white stones on a grid to try to out-maneuver and capture enemy pieces - is critical to unlocking so much of the novel's complexity. One of the key characters, Lord Abbott Enomoto - leader of the monastery - is repeatedly seen playing Go. Meanwhile, he, and the other political figures in Nagasaki, are playing a game of Go with each other, constantly trying to "capture" political influence on one another. Uzeamon plays, and loses, when he attempts to "capture" Orito back from Enomoto. Jacob and Penhaligon (captain of the British vessel) play a deadly game of Go in the final confrontation. Some of these moments of strategy and tactics are interpersonal, while some are played out on a much larger scale. There's also the fact that the pieces in Go are black and white - suggesting a contrast between good and evil - which implies a lot when that is applied to the characters and situations in the book that relate back to Go.
The shifting perspectives in the novel, although superficially spice up the novel, support the underlying meaning of the novel, as well. As the plot becomes more chaotic and intense, the point of view shifts more and more often. This would be simple enough to increase the dramatic effect, but Mitchell uses it to also enhance the reading experience. At some points, through free indirect discourse, the reader is aware of what certain characters are thinking. But, at other points, the reader is left completely in the dark. At one point, jumping between two separate locations - the perspective shifts just before a critical moment, leaving the reader and the characters wondering why something happened. (I have to be a little vague here or it will essentially ruin the climax.)
On top of all this, Mitchell's attention to historical detail in this novel is well documented. To start, the presence of Dejima in Nagasaki as Europe's only trading post with an otherwise culturally isolated Japan is based in history. The British siege of Dejima, part of the novel's dramatic rising action and climax, is also based relatively accurately on a historical event. It has been reported that Mitchell lost whole days of writing while doing research for a single sentence about a minute historical detail. (The example of this recorded on Wikipedia is Mitchell trying to determine whether a character would have used shaving cream or not.)
To sum it all up (which I should have probably done long before now): "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet" is a masterful piece of fiction which somehow (perhaps uniquely) balances between historical fiction and postmodern playfulness. I highly recommend it with the caveat that although the first chapters may seem dry, there are details contained therein which are critical to later sequences in the book. For those interested, based on my own somewhat limited reading, this is possibly Mitchell's most accessible book, and may be a good place to start.
Good luck, and happy reading! Seriously - enjoy this book because rarely does a reader find a book of this caliber. I'm relatively confident in my feeling that David Mitchell's work will prove to be some of the more lasting pieces of this age and era of literature. My words of recommendation here pale in comparison to Mitchell's work itself. (There goes that hyperbole again...)
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