This novel put me in mind of Nabokov... its distinguishing feature is wordplay, a bit of experiment with form, a cleverness. And a coldness, a sterility. Does anyone care about any of these characters? Can they produce genuine feeling in the reader? Are they doing anything or struggling with anything that engages the reader’s empathy? The character of Astrid, a 12 year old girl trying to emerge into her own, comes closest, but the other characters are a big “who cares?” Amber’s character just makes no sense whatsoever, and she’s the catalyst for most development, so that’s a big issue.

Perhaps I got a bit burned out on Nabokov-ian style after reading his entire corpus of novels. Cleverness is not enough. I want more humanity. This isn’t a badly written book by any means, but it’s not what I’m looking for. ( )

I just can't do the stream-of-consciousness thing right now. I remember loving [b:The Waves|46114|The Waves|Virginia Woolf|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1170313503s/46114.jpg|6057263], but maybe that part of me died during grad school.

The technology in "The Accidental" will strike some younger readers and hopelessly dated, and apparently the author has gone on to bigger and better things, but this one's still a novel that's well worth picking up. The writing, for one, is top-notch. Bad writers tend to use the same voice to transcribe the thoughts of all of their characters, and middling writers tend to write children as miniature adults. Smith's the rare writer that can give each of her characters -- pre-teen Astrid, moody teenager Magnus, and both of the adults in the Smart household -- voices that are unmistakably their own. Morose, haunted Magnus is beset by guilt while Astrid is in the first throes of thrilling adolescent discovery. Michael Smart is a posh British academic but far from a caricature. Eve frets and drifts, even as she finds herself on the brink of big-time literary fame. Smith never forgets that her characters see and talk about the world differently. Yes, that sounds like a pretty basic task if you're business is writing novels, but it's much harder to pull off than it sounds. By doing this, Smith, to put it bluntly, demonstrates that she's got the touch.

It would be easy to read "The Accidental" as a story about the fragility of British upper-class life and how one family's existence comes apart when Amber -- mysterious, impulsive, and strangely charismatic -- walks into their lives. But Smith also demonstrates her chops by not tying up all of her loose ends here. Amber's character stubbornly refuses analysis and even identification: we never even learn her last name, or whether or not Amber is indeed her real name. While each of the Smarts come off as a fully formed character, Amber remains, by contrast, entirely unknowable, a blank space that moves purposefully but chaotically through the story. It'd be easy to see her as a mere advantage-taker, and it's quite possible that that is all she is. But readers who go through this one carefully might conclude -- as I did -- that there's just enough about her behavior to call this judgment into question. The psychological needs that Amber satisfies in each member of the Smart family are, in the end, more real than anything we know about Amber herself. I can't help but respect authors who refuse to provide their readers with easy answers, and Smith's far too good a writer to simplify her story for the sake of a tidy ending. This one isn't perhaps, a life-changer, but it was the first novel of Smith's I'd ever read. It left no doubt in my mind that she's the real thing, and I hope that I'll be able to pick up more of her work soon. Recommended. ( )

No. This is NOT Literature. Trying to create a story of a problematic family and an enticing, mysterious stranger is all well and good. Describing intercourse with underage boys in horrifyingly heinous sentences, paragraphs, pages is completely UNACCEPTABLE. Throwing pseudo-intellectual, stream-of-consciousness passages is NOT Art. It is porn. And porn is NOT Literature. It is NOT Art. It is a degradation of human existence. It is NOT fashionable or feministic or any kind of "down with the patriarchy" nonsense. Ali Smith has done so much better. This novel is the definition of trash. And one more indication of the dubious criteria that dictate the Booker lists. For shame...Truly. When reviewers shamelessly gush about a novel, they take the writer's life and personal choices into account and pay little to no attention to the material itself. So, let's praise someone we ''like'' despite the fact that their latest work is absolute toilet-paper quality...

There is nothing ''postmodern'' or ''funny'' in this novel. All I found was a grotesque ugliness and a desperate attempt to appear ''modern'' and ''unique''...I suppose amateur readers who would like to appear ''educated'' and ''It'' may enjoy this. Seasoned readers beg to differ. ( )

The blurb on the inside of the book jacket sounded interesting and the first couple of chapters held my interest. I kept waiting for something to happen to reflect that book jacket blurb but for naught....... what a disappointment.. ( )