Encyclopaedia Of Snow

Rating:
Summary: The only time snow has made one melt
Review: It has the structure of an encyclopedia, it has the sincerity of a new born and an intensity somewhat overshadowed by Miano's simplicity. 'Snow' is a book I will certainly treasure, it is all I expected yet nothing like what I had previously imagined. Readers are taken along a story, seemingly unconnected except for their semantic field (love) but realise at the conclusion that the structure has been well thought out and there is a sensitive and moving tale that has the capabilities to melt even the coldest of hearts.

Rating:
Summary: Brilliantly Flawed
Review: Ordinarily themes might be said to live embedded in the guts of a story. In Miano's work, the story lives in the guts of the theme. This requires, formidably, that the reader relearn how to experience story.
As its title suggests, the novel is structured like an encyclopaedia, with entries on diverse subjects, most of which relate to snow, others to the life of the narrator, or compiler, of the book, and the lives of characters living in the geographical locale from which the author hails. The former pieces are beautifully realised, well researched and quite random, united only by their theme. The effect is kaleidoscopic - rather like passing through a snowstorm, in fact. The latter are prose events describing disturbing scenes of emotional fracture, or expressing a quiet optimism in the mutually strengthening powers of friendship. Humour pokes throughout.
It is important, I think, to step back from discussions of audaciousness, of astonishing debuts and just have fun for goodness sake. The book may be read a number of different ways. It can be read from start to finish, as one might read Oliver Twist. It can be read randomly, as one might leaf through an encyclopaedia when one ought to be doing something more constructive, and it can be read following the cross-references that footnote many entries, as one might act on a treasure hunt (with the obvious exception of Pepys, this is the only work of literature that is best kept next to the toilet). There is no best way to read it.
The trouble is, one almost wishes there were - this book is so different (or rather perfectly true and representative of its theme), that it becomes very important to the reader to behave properly and do the book justice. This burden, if you are not able to relax into it, is sometimes a worry. (There is a river near the Grand Canyon that can be floated down quite happily if you lie on your back and relax - if you do not do this, if you struggle to stay afloat, then you bump miserably over mossy boulders - bear that in mind).
It is debatable whether or not this book is moving in its entirety, or moving only because of certain remembered moments. Most books are both, but I fear it is impossible to draw it all together for 'Snow, because there is no line to look back on, the path disappears behind you. I am not even sure that this book should be referred to as a single thing. In some senses, of course it is: it is bound in an elegantly designed cover and can be crammed into a suitcase. But there were efforts to bind the whole together and I do not believe they were successful or even necessary.
You will not get to the end of this book, because it has no end. It is like a labyrinth with no entrance and no centre. There are a succession of pointers, of glyphs, of rewards. There is no completion; but there is a completeness of discovery. As an exercise in the examination of a theme, it is an extraordinary and unique work.