Edward Docx, The Calligrapher

The Calligrapher, by the seemingly pseudonymous "Edward Docx," is a book I don't think I'd have picked up in a shop, since -- like all of us -- I judge books by their covers.  This one has the look of a literary romance, with the pen, the bed, and the pairs of shoes.  Hardly my style.  No monsters, no grim settings, no apparent darkness at all.  But the book was recommended (and given) by a friend whose taste is impeccable, so I gave it a try.

It is brilliant.  And there are monsters.  They are just shaped like beautiful people.

The novel is centered on Jasper Jackson, a talented calligrapher and therefore a living anachronism.  He was raised by his grandmother, who is a scholar of medieval manuscripts, and as a child he was punished by being made to copy out Latin texts in various formal scripts.  He has grown into a rather finicky playboy.  Perhaps as a result of his careful study of the painstaking art of calligraphy -- an art form with very little tolerance for error -- he has become a perfectionist in many quarters of his life.  There is a proper way to make a cup of tea (loose leaves, never bags), of coffee (espresso only), a proper way to prepare a dinner, and, most importantly, a proper way to carry on multiple affairs, while deluding one's loving, faithful girlfriend.

Jasper excels at all of these things.  He is something of a professional.  Until he slips, and makes the grandest of rookie mistakes:  he falls in love.

Throughout the novel, Jasper is working on a private commission of the love poems of John Donne, and each chapter takes its title and framing structure from one of Donne's complex, fraught poems of love.  This might have been merely a clever trick, but Docx turns many of these poems into rich points of contemplation, poignant reflection, and, increasingly, menace, sorrow, and loss.

The Calligrapher is bitingly funny, compelling, and beautiful.  And damn, I didn't see that ending coming.  Well worth the read.  And thank you, Suzanne!