The book, not the movie.

Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, 2/5

After the disappointing discovery that this David Mitchell is the “wrong” David Mitchell and the marginal experience of reading his first book, Ghostwritten, I had not planned to read anything else by him.  However, I changed my mind when my old hold on Cloud Atlas finally came in at the library and I realised how many people were lined up, waiting to read it after me.

First, the positive: I love the opening sentence – “Beyond the Indian hamlet, upon a forlorn strand, I happened on a trail of recent footprints.”  Stylistically, Mitchell’s writing has matured, with a more unique voice and a very chewy vocabulary.  There are even a couple brilliantly poetic/philosophic sentences.

Unfortunately, the book’s framework relies on the same plot gimmicks as Ghostwritten, making Mitchell seem like the sort of diminutive equine that is only capable of one trick.  Instead of the added depth and skill of execution that I expected from a more experienced Mitchell, Cloud Atlas seemed to compound the faults of Ghostwritten.  The connections between the stories are laboured and glaring, the plot seemed ultimately pointless, the characters/scenarios preachy and the vignettes cliched.