A book of seven fictionaly short stories, each unexpected in theme, and written in a manner that the reader has no obvious signs that point towards their conclusions. Beautiful prose. A quick, but satisfying read. ( )

Interesting to hear his voice in its early stages of development. No, that's not right, the voice is the same, but the ideas grew. ( )

Along with several other prizes, Continent won Jim Crace the Whitbread First Novel of the Year Award, which must have been something of a surprise to him considering that this is not a novel but a collection of short stories. Despite being his debut work - novel or not - this book represents a mature and intelligent beginning to Crace's career.

There are two things about Continent that stood out for me as a reader. The first is the quality of the writing. Crace avoids the great error practiced by many authors today, which is to be ornamental and flowery under the guise of being "poetic." This excruciating emphasis of style over substance is too often the misguided product of creative writing programs. Students in these programs should instead study Crace's style to get an idea of what good writing is like: poetic in places, certainly, but also possessing a level of restraint and understatement that lends muscle and nuance to his prose. There is no unsightly narrative flab on display here.

The other thing that stands out is Crace's intelligence. Continent does not possess any recurring characters or plot lines, but the stories - with the exception of the second story "The World with One Eye Shut," easily the weakest piece in here - are linked by the common theme of the ambiguity of change and progress. The opening piece "Talking Skull," for instance, is told from the perspective of Lowbro, an educated young man whose father has made a fortune from selling the milk of hermaphrodite cows to a superstitious populace. Torn between his family history and the enlightened perspective his education has brought him, Lowbro is faced with difficult decisions about how to manage his future.

Crace's repeated message that the arrival of modernity has, beneath its glittering surface, numerous drawbacks that cannot be undone is a message that stretches all the way back to Jean-Jacques Rousseau. But Crace is never simplistic or hackneyed in his treatment of these problems: the conflict between modern and ancient in each story is like a coin that is turned over and over, allowing the reader to see the qualities and flaws of each side. The objects of the old superstitions that appear in these stories - magical milk, sexual rituals, electricity, horse-riding traditions, calligraphy - are thus always presented ambiguously. The benefits of science and progress, Crace shows, can come at a high price, a trade-off that is reflected, in turn, by the mixture of profound wisdom and superstitious ignorance that characterizes pre-modern cultures.

It is hard not compare Crace's stories in Continent to both Franz Kafka and Jorge Luis Borges, although these two influences are fused together in an original way that belies mere imitation. There is, for instance, Crace's decision, reflected in the title of his book, to set his stories in a kind of utopia in which particular settings are sometimes suggested ("Sins and Virtues," for instance, is clearly set somewhere in the Middle East) but never clearly defined, a strategy that both Kafka and Borges use to great effect. But the most important aspect of their influence lies in Crace's fusion of fiction and philosophy - not using literature as a didactic vehicle, but as a mode of critical inquiry, searching and questioning as the narrative snakes forward, always willing to double back and, if necessary, bite its own tail.

Continent is a solid book, but not a perfect one, and it is in the area of unity and purpose that I have my biggest reservations about it. The second story is glaringly out of place in the collection, as I have already noted, and I am bemused at what Crace was trying to do by suggesting that this fictional continent is somehow a variation on our own world - it's not, and this strategy of suggesting a parallel world seems to me a distraction from the book's real themes. That said, there was plenty to like in this collection, and it makes me looking forward to seeing whether Crace has fulfilled the promise evident in his debut work. ( )

I'm not entirely sure what to make of this first book. Jim Crace is a versatile writer - I have read five of his books and they are all very different. In this one he imagines a hybrid, mostly third world continent, much of which resembles Africa but which also has elements that are more South American and there is possibly a bit of Asia there too.

The setting is the only tangible link between the seven short stories that comprise this novella. The stories vary in tone and content, which makes it difficult to grasp the whole and the unifying themes.

It is largely about the nature of progress and civilisation, and what is lost in its acquisition. He explores many elements of less developed societies and the ways in which they cope with the new, finding humour in places and darker elements in others.

An interesting read but probably not his best work. ( )

First book of Crace, showered by the literary critics with many prizes/awards. I struggled with the seven stories – already the distinctive voice of Crace shines through, but I simply could not place the stories, not in time, not in geography, not in landscape, not in social fabric. At times it seemed a typical development context, a rural outpost in an African colonial setting? Post-colonial perhaps? There is cars, there is electricity, both arrive at the same time in a rural outpost? Only by the sixth story, for some reason, I started to suspect we are talking Australia – Continent. But then no. It is the seventh (virtual) continent and the seven stories are all to do with seven main characters who are ambiguous, hovering between the real and the magical.

I like the sixth story about a guy who introduces electricity in the village and installs all kinds of nick-knacks and gadgets in his guesthouse. When the Minister arrives to inaugurate the arrival of electricity and modern times, things go horribly wrong – a huge fan that swings above the crowd at the room’s ceiling winds out of control, supposedly killing many, including the bored Minister who moved to the ‘eye of the storm’, a place of safety in his metier, but not when the fan snaps off…

The first story (‘talking skull’) sets a gentrified youth seemingly against his superstitious father, who sells milk from freemartins as a cure for infertility and other ills. The youth acts as quite the rich boy in town where he studies, but is scolded for his stylish way of living back in the village (‘chatter, chatter’). Somehow the boy manages to connect both worlds, reviving his father’s business in a modern touristy way once the latter has passed away.

The fourth story (‘on heat’) is almost as impressive as the sixth. It is about a creepy naturalist ethnographer who in the 1920s studies some forest tribe, whose wives happen to be on heat collectively, once every year, when they engage in one big orgy, resulting in a birth wave nine months later. But I feel Crace could have gone even more creepy – the daughter who tells us about the whole story could have been the result of a dalliance, or been an adopted ‘wildling’ child.

What can we learn from Crace? Short answer: how to write. In a concise and crisp manner. Close to the voice and skin of a protagonist. Creating an atmosphere of seclusion. Of simple things and grand illusion. Of repetition. Of mantra. ‘My sadness is stronger than your drink. Nothing can relieve it. Nothing. A trace of tin. Nothing’ (from the seventh story on an isolated mining prospector suffering from insomnia). ( )