Reading The Magician by Colm Tóibín was a unique experience for me. It was the first time I had read Tóibin, whom two of my friends had once recommended to me, and I loved the style in which he wrote. The language he employed was simple but thought-provokin’, and gentle but powerful. Rid of too many big words, the piece was narrated in a rather documentary-like manner, by which I mean everybody will find it informative, formal and, most importantly, easy to leaf thru.
But the thing I want to say the most is the nonfictionality I have found in this story. Although biographical novels is no longer a novel notion, this book is the first novel in this genre I have ever read. The name of Thomas Mann cannot be more familiar to us, but how many would know about his personal life, his usual experiences? And this is where I think the charm of biographic novels lies. Whilst enjoyin’ the routine activity of reading a novel, the readers get to farmiliarise themselves with one or more specific historical characters, whose Wikipœdic entries we may find anything but boring, and thus our impression of whom would otherwise stay vague forever. After reading The Magician, I became interested not only in Thomas Manns, but in his family members and many other less important historical figures that had popped up in the work, e.g. Christopher Isherwood. And that many other characters, whose name we all know but would not connect with the eponymous protagonist[index = i], show up randomly to be involved in zir[index = i] affairs is an interesting aspect I love about biographical novels.
P.S. I finished the book three days ago, on a night when I should be working on my Creative Writing (and other courses’) assignments, and eventually, I did not start doing it until after midnight. However, after I finished the last page, I did not feel tired, but excited, and I did my homework in a very elated mood because of the solace brought by the masterpiece.