The Cat's Table

4 stars for now, but I'm still dealing with the last 30 pages. I am increasingly bothered by Ondaatje's almost over-the-top romanticism. He writes beautifully, and his ability to create space with words reminds me how much he loves film (and I suspect would like to create some himself), but he's almost Spielbergian in his privileging of sentimentality, adventure and love. Plus I'm kind of pissed at a deus ex machina that is first excused by a “I couldn't help myself, I'm a writer” and then when he can make it work – doesn't. I'm sure he has his narrative reasons, which others will point out, but it sure pissed me off.