Every so often, you find yourself picking up a book and wanting to read it not because you've heard the title before, not because you're drawn to the setting or the location, the genre or the style of writing, but just because the concept is so intriguing that you feel you just have to know more.
Cold Earth is one such book; a book that promises to be an apocalyptic tale about a virus sweeping over the earth while a team of people in a remote location cope with isolation and survival in the face of it all. I couldn't wait to start it.
A group of six archaeologists all assemble in the West Coast of Greenland to research lost Viking settlements; their team is led by Yianni, a professional archaeologist, who receives a large amount of funding for a dig to find out how medieval settlers, once present on Greenland, may have disappeared. He brings with him four archaeologists - two men and two women - and a further woman, Nina, his unrequited love interest.
And it is Nina who begins the narrative. A petulant and immature character whose only interest is Victorian literature (and certainly not the dig), Nina epitomises high-maintanence, and her introspective self-absorbed whines really do get rather old rather quickly. Of course, it doesn't help that she is the sole character to narrate the story until about a third of the way into the book; and by this point, with little to no mention of the deadly virus which one is assured is the focus of this 'apocalyptic' book, it's easy to begin to wonder whether it's worth the read after all; whether there's somehow been some awful mix-up between the published blurb and the actual content.
But then at last, in a break from focussing on Nina's increasing insanity and hallucinations as she struggles to cope with Greenland, Ruth takes over, and things improve for the next third of the novel - well, at least somewhat. An upbeat American, Ruth is much more likeable as a character; but, unfortunately, her 100-page narrative is primarily used by Moss to describe Nina's hallucinations from the view of another character - hallucinations which are neither fully addressed nor explained in the remaining third of the book. Indeed, devoting more than half of the narrative to Nina's troubles just seems a little pointless; set the scene before introducing the idea of the virus and of isolation, yes, but is there really a need to spend two-thirds of the book scene-setting and dwelling on Nina's growing insanity, leaving just under 100 pages for the remaining four characters to rather suddenly describe the effects of the virus?
It has to be said, though, that when the virus storyline really kicks in, it's rather good; and, if you can resist the urge fifty pages before the end to skip to the last paragraph, you ought to be commended on your strength of character. Their internet connection breaks down, they hear of the virus, food runs low, and then the team are left, it seems, to die - and thus emerges an interesting few pages which say a lot about survival, about characters, and, if you're prepared to look deep enough, about something much deeper. It is, of course, spoiled slightly by the fact that Nina is back to narrate the final chapter, and I'm afraid that not even an intriguing twist could save me from the deep frustration that she should be left to finish the book, as she began it, when one of the other more interesting characters could, I'm sure, have offered more worthwhile insights.
I wanted to like this book. I really did, and perhaps if my only qualm had been the construction and preoccupation with Nina's character, I may have been able to conclude that the book was a very worthwhile read nonetheless. But Nina's character wasn't my only issue. The language was, perhaps purposely so, sparse, emotionless and hollow in places; some characters were overdeveloped while more interesting characters were hardly explored at all; the twist at the end really made little sense and was just a further source of frustration; and, for a novel which takes two-thirds of the narrative to set the scene, the location of Greenland and the details of the camp, surroundings and even the dig remained surprisingly unexplored.
It has to be said, Cold Earth was excellent in places - but I'm beginning to think my expectations were too high. It was billed as an apocalyptic, gripping novel which offers some real food for thought on issues of survival and the traces we leave behind, and I think I was hoping for a 28 Days Later-come-Lord of the Flies affair. Silly me, perhaps; it is most certainly not that. What it is, however, is an interesting piece of work which is perhaps purposely slow and frustrating up until the final fifty tense pages, which really do have something quite profound to say about themes of survival, love - and, in a deeper sense - society, and the nature of humanity beyond that.
And it is an incredibly short novel, Cold Earth - at a little under 300 pages, you can't help but think that if Moss had taken the time to extend the novel; to make the dull scene-setting with the rather dull case study of Nina's insanity a half or a third of the book rather than two-thirds, it may have made the novel into the gripping apocalyptic narrative it is billed to be.
A unique and interesting read, so much so that it's almost worth persevering through the first 200 pages for the intrigue of the final 100; almost, I'm afraid, but not quite.
2/5
I'll be honest; the cover of this book is what initially drew me to it. Such a beautiful image, such a sense of freedom.
I didn't know much about Rupert Brooke before reading the book, and so this novel seemed like a perfect opportunity to explore this literary figure. A war poet, Brooke was often hailed as "the most handsome man in England", and was associated with charisma, gossip, wit and an ambiguous sexuality; he was romantically linked with both men and women, and several of them, before his death while on active service in 1915.
The novel focuses mainly on Brooke's period living in Grant-chester, where Brooke lodged for three years on and off, before embarking on a journey to Tahiti, where he is said to have fathered a child. It is this wonderful rumour which sparks a great starting point for the book; a letter is written from Brooke's apparent Tahitian child, seeking information about his years in Grant-chester. And so enter the wonderfully yet unrealistically named Nell Golightly; a fictional creation of Dawson's, she is a maid in the vicarage where Brooke takes his lodgings.
Brooke's time in Grant-chester is, by all accounts, eventful: losing his virginity to an old male school friend, pursuing several well-to-do ladies, rather a lot of naked swimming, and, one would assume, writing poetry - although this is an avenue rarely explored within the book.
And Nell Golightly, what of her? She is a bee-keeper's daughter; an orphan, with many younger siblings to look after, she is working at the vicarage as a maid. Strong, sensible - and yet, inevitably, she falls in love with Rupert Brooke, and he with her (bet you didn't see that coming); they manage a lot of naked swimming together, and even a quick kiss, amidst his string of other romantic encounters with wealthy young women.
I do appreciate that the author required a voice from which the reader could get to know the young Rupert Brooke, and a voice which, indeed, could write back to his supposed illegitimate child. Nell Golightly, though, who falls so quickly under his spell, loses her headstrong ability rather swiftly; I suppose she is impressionistic, and so we can forgive her that... but from her set-up in the novel, I would've liked to see her with a little more backbone, please.
But maybe I'm just being defensive of poor little Nell because I don't want to see her fall in love with Rupert Brooke.
Here's the thing: I'm not even sure I like Brooke. Arrogant, ignorant, so totally self-centred, he's overly idealistic and by half-way through the novel I wondered if he would ever take his head out the clouds and look around at real life (apparently not). He is surrounded by the Edwardian class system, beautifully and accurately portrayed by the author, and, indeed, if he stopped to look around he would find some very real and very depressing sights. Sadly, all he manages to pay attention to in this novel are his string of meaningless relationships, which the reader must suffer through, and it is a little disheartening to witness the continual hurting of poor Nell, so desperately in love with him, although at times one does wonder why.
There are some beautiful moments in this book; the descriptions of some scenes are breathtaking, soft and romantic, and some tender scenes between Nell and Brooke, in which they discuss life's great mysteries and challenges, are truly touching; although a little unlikely, given their master-servant relationship, and his apparent attitude to the women in his life.
So now I know, apparently, a little more about Rupert Brooke. Is it a good novel, worth a read? Undoubtedly, if only for its poetic-like descriptions. But if Dawson's portrayal of Brooke is accurate, then I can't help feeling like I'd have been happier not to know about him. Enigmatic, charismatic, idealistic, yes, those are the stereotypes he carries; but after the novel I feel I can add arrogant, pompous and ignorant to that list - I'm afraid, not exactly redeeming qualities.
3/5
This is an amazing book, and has recently seemed to gain a huge amount of accolade - which, as I discovered, is well-deserved. From the first page, this fanastic novel transported me away from my dull packed train to the seemingly wonderful yet depressing world of Berlin at the turn of the century.
The novel follows the ever-changing life of Lilly Aphrodite (possibly the most wonderful name for a heroine that I've ever come across), complexly juxtaposing desperation and poverty with glamour and fame. Although a work of fiction, the book is nonetheless historically realistic and offers the reader a highly plausible insight into the capital of Germany under the Weimar Republic. It was, by all accounts, a time of extreme hardship, which to the author's credit, Lilly's life reflects - she is raised in an orphanage, raped by wealthy employers, and spends much of the novel surviving on next to no food. While this admittedly could have made for a rather dreary read (indeed, at times it's hard not to feel quite depressed by the girl's desperate situation), the author offers the reader some light relief in its uplifting focus on Lilly's career, as she emerges as a glamorous and successful black and white film actress.
Ultimately, it is with this increasing portrayal of her infamy in society that the novel begins to lose its sense of realism and probably its high level of impact upon the reader, but all in all this story offers a powerful message about growing up in a time and place which seems to be all too often overlooked in literature. Lilly lives in desperately hard circumstances, and her story is predominantly one of extreme suffering, mixed with a passionate yet ultimately failing romance, and rather a lot of glitz and glamour.
Beautifully written, this is really one of those books that you just need to read.
4/5
Every so often, you find yourself picking up a book and wanting to read it not because you've heard the title before, not because you're drawn to the setting or the location, the genre or the style of writing, but just because the concept is so intriguing that you feel you just have to know more. 
