Customer Reviews

The Egyptologist

5 star:		(41)
4 star:		(31)
3 star:		(25)
2 star:		(21)
1 star:		(26)

 

 

Negative reviews usually get dinged in the "helpfulness' department. I'll risk it anyway...At the very least I hope to be helpful even if you still want to read it- I'd at least like to adjust your expectations so you aren't as disappointed as I was/am.

I read the review for this in People magazine- I love books set among the pyramids, and the mystery/plot sounded intriguing. The review was really a rave, and seemed to imply that there might be some sort of a twist at the end...

Eh. There is. Well, there's supposed to be. But you figure it out pretty early on. An earlier reviewer here was generous and said you figure it out 1/2 through... but I don't think it takes that long. The book has a "get on w/ it" feel to it b/c you have it all figured out (even if you weren't really trying).

I don't think the intention is for you to figure it out. Instead, I think the dramatic tension is supposed to stem from the idea that you aren't (supposed to be) sure what happened to the missing (assumed murdered) people. But you are. So you are sorta bored.

This is a side note, but there isn't a single likable character in the entire story. This doesn't necessarily kill a story, but w/ a relatively nonmysterious mystery, little depth of Egypt in the 20s, and unlikable people... there's not much to root for. I had to force myself to finish it to see if I was missing something.

I wasn't.

If you want mysteries w/ some pretty good details of Egyptology, the Amelia Peabody series is amusing. It's certainly not high art (more light reading), but more interesting than this book.

Letters, diaries, and journal entries are used to winning effect in Arthur Phillips' second novel following the much-praised "Prague." Let's get this over with-I hated "Prague". Really hated it. But "The Egyptologist" could not be more different. This is a delightful book, full of complex, flawed, unreliable characters who keep you glued to the page as you try to figure out what in heaven's name they're up to. Add lots of interesting archeological and ancient Egyptian lore, good 1920's period settings, and a great ending, and you have quite a treat in store.

As Howard Carter is discovering King Tut's fabulous tomb, Ralph Trilipush is over the next sand dune digging for the tomb of King Atum-hadu, whose hieroglyphic [slick stuff] (translated with great vigor) obsesses him. Ralph is staking his professional reputation and his fiancée's considerable fortune on finding this tomb, and in fact, may have knocked several people off to get to it. At least, that's the belief of an intrepid Australian detective who is traveling the world looking for a murderer, or maybe a serial murder, or maybe even Ralph Trilipush. The layered construction gives Phillips plenty of opportunity for narrative shenanigans and he relishes them all.

I try to avoid comparing books, but the satisfaction I got from "The Egyptologist" reminded of the pleasure of reading A. S. Byatt's "Possession." No, the books are not similar and no, this is not another "Possession", but Phillips has the same respect for his readers' intelligence and he expects you to be able to hang on for the hairpin turns. The result is a smart, teasing, clever, and highly enjoyable novel.

The Egyptologist was heading straight for a two rating until the last 40 pages or so and while I'm not sure I can recommend the book just to get to that ending, I will say the writing (if not the plot outcome which was a bit predictable) redeemed the book, though only to a point. The story is told through several layering devices: diaries, journals, and letters by the Egyptologist Ralph Trilipush and letters by the Australian detective Harold Ferrell who is trying to prove Trilipush to be at best a fraud and at worst a murderer. Neither narrator is reliable, adding some more layers of complexity to the story, as well as some humor.
The basic story is that Trilipush has convinced his fiancee's father to bankroll (at some risk to himself) his amateur dig in Egypt to find the tomb of Atum-hadu, the king-pornographic poet who may or may not have existed. Round the corner from his own dig and working on his own relatively minor and sure to be disappointing excavation (according to Trilipush) is Howard Carter (the tomb is King Tut's). Meanwhile, in a more complicated side-story, Ferrel is digging up (sorry) Trilipush's own past, or at least trying to, both for his own reasons and for various clients who have differing reasons of their own. Mixed into this are several strange disappearances, missing or falsified records, professional jealousies, etc.
The book starts of quite well, an enjoyable and interesting ride, both for the characters and the egyptology. But it slows greatly through the middle and there were several times I debated whether it was worth picking up and continuing. Events and characterizations start to become repetitive without moving the story along, outcomes start to become pretty predictable, and one begins to think simply reading every fifth page or so would get you to the same place with no great loss. The close of the book is not particularly surprising or rewarding in terms of plot or character, but the writing surges forward to new heights. On one level this is a problem as one of the more beautiful passages is hard to accept coming from the narrator as he's been portrayed. On the other hand, it's such great writing that you're willing to ignore the messenger. It would have been nice to have gotten to that point much more quickly, but good as that section is with regard to the writing, I'm not sure I can say it's worth reading the whole book. I would rather the author had kept that writing and saved it for another work.
The settings, for such exotic placement, are surprisingly flat (part of that is the narrative voice). Plot, as mentioned, is a bit repetitive and predictable. The true enjoyment comes from the narrative voice, especially that of Trillipush, though it loses its appeal after running in the same tone for so long. Outside of the two main narrators, other characters are pretty two-dimensional.
Overall, it's an interestingly constructed book with characters that are fun at first, but it just didn't hold interest for much of it. I wouldn't recommend it personally, but if you do pick it up, before putting it down at least check out the last 20 pages or so.

This book is one of the best I've ever read, if not the best.

I wanted to chime in with an observation, because I was surprised to see that so many people were disappointed by this book because they were able to figure out the twist early on, and knew what happened to the missing characters almost from the beginning.

Here's why that surprised me: if you *don't* figure those things out, you miss the entire point of the book, and there's no way you can enjoy what the story is actually about. This book isn't about the mystery of Paul Caldwell. Rather, it's a masterful exploration of self-delusion, self-deception, and how we create the things we need to believe about ourselves in order to get through our lives. Some of the characters don't realize they are lying to themselves. Some do (or do they?). But to a degree, they all (as do we all) see things that aren't there.

My book club read and discussed this book. Three of the members thought this book was about the mystery, and didn't like it. Three thought it was about an exploration of how we filter and create our own realities, and loved it. By the end of the discussion, the first three said that now that they'd heard what the other three saw in it, they wanted to go back and re-read it again; they said that what we saw was a much more interesting side to the book, and that while they hadn't seen it at first, they wanted to explore it after hearing us talk about it.

So, based on their experience, I'm writing to pass that on to anyone who is on the fence about the book due to reading these reviews...If you go into this book looking for more than a mystery, you'll find a great read. If the themes I've talked about don't interest you, you may be disappointed. But otherwise, I think you'll find a lot to think about here.

While "The Egyptologist" is not without its flaws, an average three-star rating is the result of its having been dragged down by misunderstanding and unfair judgment. Agreed: the uncovering of a false identity is telegraphed early in the story, and so is not a huge shock when it is later explicitly disclosed. However, this is NOT the much-vaunted twist, and so those readers who judge it overrated because they "solved the mystery" on page 50 have quite missed the point. This is not a mystery story: it doesn't purport to be, and isn't sold as such, and a reader who believes private detective Harold Farrell when he calls it one is guilty of believing too readily in a fictional character -- doesn't that speak WELL of the book?

It is, rather, a damning portrait of man's quest for immortality: he wants to be remembered, and what's more, he wants to decide precisely HOW he wants to be remembered. While Ralph M. Trilipush, our titular Egyptologist has the knowledge, the narcissism, and the forum (in the form of letters and private notes) to elucidate in great detail how immortality was pursued by the Egyptian kings, he provides quite a different example of how one might seek it in our own age. Ferrell has this in common with him: both men wish to preserve their name and their works through publishing their stories, in their own words -- though each is guilty of twisting the facts to suit their needs, with varying degrees of awareness.

The Egyptian kings, explains Trilipush, believed that, when the tomb was sealed, the occupant returned to life, living forever with all that was sealed within. What would be the value to the king, then, if it was not his own body in the sarcophagus? This is the question our narrators fail to ask themselves when they offer up for immortality not themselves, but merely a fictional surrogate. Apparently, some reviewers share that failing.

In a story told entirely by unreliable narrators, it is to the Arthur Phillips's credit that their distortions are so readily apparent to the reader, even in those cases that the narrator deludes himself. His mastery of different voices, and their various self-delusions, is brilliant. I have the benefit of reviewing the Unabridged Audio CD of this book, in which of course there really ARE different voices, each excellently acted to bring to life these flawed, frustrated characters (although I can't help hearing Trilipush as older than he is) in a way that the book's different typefaces might, perhaps, not. It's an enjoyable and engaging first read, and rewarding the second time around, full of new revelation and insight, the puzzle of two men imprisoned by their own bizarre versions of the so-called Tomb Paradox and their attempts to pass from life into legend. Recommended with a solid four stars.

This was the first book that I had read by Phillips, so I had no preconceived notions prior to reading it. I thoroughly enjoyed the dark humor and Phillips' style of allowing the characters to reveal their own weaknesses and darkest, innermost secrets through their writing. This is, after all, written as a historical account, piecing together letters and journal entries from the various characters in chronological order to tell the story, but it comes across as something so much more personal to all involved.

I will not disagree with those reviewers who have complained that the "mystery" was too easy to figure out. But that did not detract from the book; rather, I enjoyed the sense that I had throughout the read that even though I knew what the truth must be, I had to keep reading just to see if things were really as I feared - because the truth was deeply disturbing. This took nothing away from the book for me - in fact, it enhanced it. Anyway, the outcome is not quite as obvious as others have suggested, since there are multiple possible explanations up to the end. Even in the end, Phillips does not come right out and tell us the secrets, but allows us to draw our own conclusions.

The characters are funny, outrageous, fascinating. Ferrell's dim-witted self-importance and Trilipush's attempt to portray the high-class British facade, even as he regresses into utter filth and squalor, are often humorous.

In addition to all of this, the most enjoyable, and gut-wrenching, part of the book for me was the profound human desire of acceptance that is unveiled - how neglect, mistreatment, and disappointment can mold an innocent young person into a deeply troubled adult.

I recommend this book to those who enjoy historical novels, as well as mystery-lovers. This one is certainly creative. I further recommend the audio recording of the novel even over the book, as the narrators do a great job in nailing down the personalities of the characters, and they truly bring the story to life.

Ralph M. Trilipush is an Oxford-educated scholar who's spent his professional career studying the pornographic poetry of XIIIth Dynasty Egyptian king Atum-hadu ("Atum-Is-Aroused"; you can imagine the hieroglyphic spelling of his name!), a monarch who many scholars don't believe even existed. Now, with his rich fiancee's father backing him financially, Trilipush is headed to Egypt in search of the visionary king's tomb. His archaeological sojourn to Egypt mirrors that of Howard Carter, who in 1922 is in his sixth season of digging for King Tut-Ankh-Amen's tomb.

Trilipush's desire to find King Atum-hadu's tomb borders on obsession--in fact, he IS obsessed with discovering the burial place of his pornographic prince. Australian detective Harold Ferrell, who's on the payroll of some pretty powerful men, believes that Trilipush is so obsessed, he's actually killed two people to get closer to the discovery of the tomb--and he'll stop at nothing to prove Trilipush's guilt.

The novel is told in three voices: letters to Trilipush from his opium-addicted fiancee Margaret; letters Ferrell writes in a nursing home in 1954 to Margaret's nephew; and, the portion given the majority of the novel, Trilipush's journal. These multiple perspectives relay three different versions of events, and it is up to the reader to determine who is telling the truth, who is outright lying, who has misinterpreted the facts, and who has shamelessly embellished the truth.

I was completely dazzled by this novel. The beauty of THE EGYPTOLOGIST is not in its so-called "mystery," but in the execution of that mystery. Yes, we readers figure out pretty quickly how the storylines are connected (at least in a general sense)--but what's special about the novel, what keeps us reading, is not the desire to find out what really happened. Rather, what makes THE EGYPTOLOGIST a brilliant piece of fiction is the way Phillips unravels his tale; it's nothing short of genius. He put us in a position of omniscience; we readers can sit back and revel at the absurdity (and complexity) of his characters, watching as their motivations are revealed and their intentions unravel. Phillips' humor is subtle and clever--he almost teases us--and he clearly respects his readers' intelligence. This is a novel I would have loved to have read for a college class; it's one of the best examples of the unreliable narrator I can think of.

THE EGYPTOLOGIST may not turn out to be what you expected--but keep reading. Rather than just writing a murder mystery taking place in Egypt, Phillips has crafted a fine piece of literature, one that calls into question the way we trust our narrators, one that relies on clever literary mechanisms to reveal the truth. A brilliant, rewarding novel--you're in for a treat with this one!

I will not go into the plot since everyone else seems to have already. I also think the author assumed we'd figure out early on what some reviewers think was supposed to be a surprise. My primary concern with the book is that both primary narrators are obsessive-compulsives and are by their very natures loquacious (to put it mildly). To have edited them down would have gone against their basic characters; to leave it all in (as the author has) does get tedious. It spite of the fact that I found the middle third somewhat rough going, the last third fully redeemed the rest. Ralph's description of the tomb works on several levels and I found that by the end I had some sympathy for him. Given all that, I can only give it three stars but I would still recommend it.

I haven't read Prague, so I can't really make comparisons between that book and The Egyptologist. All I really can do is say how immensely I enjoyed this book. With just the right kind of ironic humor, Arthur Phillps tries to capture the life of an egyptologist, Ralph M. Trlipush, in the latter pater of the year 1922.

An eccentric old man named Barnabas Davies dies, with the intent to find, and compensate, illegitimate children he has scattered all over the world. The investigation leads to one Paul Caldwell of Sydney, Australia, born in the early 1890's and vanished mysteriously in the Egyptian dessert in the First World War. Who was Paul Caldwell? And who is (or was) Ralph Trilipush, the supposed English professor of Egyptology at Harvard University and engaged to the American heiress, Margaret Finneran? Through diary entries and letters, the author follows two stories: Trilipush's, as he prepares to uncover the tomb of an ancient Egyptian pharoah named Atum-hadu; and that of an Australian detective, Harold Ferrell as he recounts his story from a retiring home in the 1950's. The various perspectives each of these two narrators have on the events contained herein are fascinating. Personal bias really and truly does have an effect on the way we view the world.

"Just how secret is secret enough?" is a question Trilipush poses on the matter of Atum-hadu and his buried tomb; but that same question might easily be asked of Trilipush's own life. Ralph gives us marvelous, self-centered accounts of growing up in Trilipush Hall in Kent, which, as the reader will find, are untrue; might also his account of discovering the tomb prove to be a fabrication? There are also mixed accounts of Trilipush's education, as well as his sexuality. The more one plunges into the story line, the more one finds that the stories of Ralph Trilipush and his Egyptian king are remarkably similar. Both seek to achieve immortality through a "third birth." This book is filled with Egyptian lore and trivia, as well as the fictional account of the life of Atum-hadu.

On the flip side is the story of Trilipush's fiancee, Margaret Finneran, and her father, who owns a department store chain in Boston. Both of these characters keep secrets from Trilipush which threaten to destroy the relationship between the egyptologist and the American girl.

What I thought was marvelous was the deprecating way in which Trilipush describes Howard Carter, who at the moment this narrative takes place uncovers the tomb of Tutankhamen. Lord Carnarvon is secretly called "Lord Cashbags." I also loved the comments Trilipush makes about American tourists and the Egyptian natives.

There is, of course, the highly-touted "mystery," which can easily be solved. But the mystery is NOT the point of this novel. This excellent book is a detailed account of a man struggling with his own identity.

Different, engaging and fun ... but somewhere in the middle I lost interest but keep reading and found the groove again. Sassy, snarky, the attitude may put off some but I quite liked it. Many shifts and shudders of a good kind. Oscar Wilde would have been entertained, maybe flattered, by one of the tropes therein. Perhaps a bit too long. The voices are marvelous.