I do like a bit of fanciful historical fiction. The narrator finds the titular book, which is unique and strange and possibly magical, and tries to find out about its provenance. The tale goes back to a convict transported to Australia and how he comes to have a job painting pictures of fish. His life is, unsurprisingly, horrific. His situation is Kafkaesque, but he is much more relaxed and accepting than Josef K: his lighthearted and matter-of-fact tone makes the nastiness bearable. The events stray into magical realism in parts, and the shifting points of view mix things up – is the narrator the discoverer of the book or is it Gould the convict? Or is Gould really the convict? After the journey he goes through it’s hard to say.
