With such a profusion of characters – there are dozens in addition to the principals listed above – all are left somewhat thinly sketched; shallow archetypes of little interest. Alcibiades’ and Lysis’ dramatic arcs seem rushed and underdeveloped. Nicias is pure caricature. Only Atys, the delusional priest of Cybele, has any of the depth that Daniel Chavarria would like to believe all his characters are vested with. If only this were simply the story of Atys, and Chavarria hadn’t felt the need to make him one of a multitude, it would be a better piece all round. Instead we read long passages of dull prose about less interesting players and when the priest does crop up again, he only serves to highlight how poor is the rest of the fare on offer. The book as a whole is unbalanced, lurching through bits of plot and labouring over others, and spluttering to an abrupt end rather than reaching any kind of conclusion. (Admittedly part of the reason for this is that all the real characters in the story had their own destinies in life at odds with any neat or dramatic conclusion the author may have wished, but this is explanation rather than excuse, and doesn’t make for a better read).

All the characters are unsympathetic creatures: vain, arrogant, self-interested, mean and spiteful; it is difficult to empathise with any of them. When Nicias and Alcibiades clash we do not care who comes out on top, and such scenes are merely played for laughs – though not enough laughs, and this isn’t meant to be comedy. Delight is taken when Socrates shows off his intelligence, but unfortunately his moral and philosophical convictions are completely absent from the piece – it is the showmanship that is triumphed. It is a book without heart.

There are good qualities. Chavarria is content to allow his Greeks to inhabit their world without falling into the trap – as too many historical novelists do – of showing off his knowledge of the period and ramming facts down our throats to the detriment of the plot. What we learn of Athens is gleaned through observation of the characters in their environment, not through reading dry prose, and Chavarria neither lectures nor insults the intelligence. A glossary is supplied for those who wish to learn more, but the Author’s Note reminds us that this is a novel, not a treatise.

And he likes to play with language, chopping between tenses and senses to represent the viewpoints and mental states of different characters. But ultimately the sex scenes are the most joyfully written, clearly the focus of the author’s attention in compiling this – the delight taken in describing Lysis’ orgasms as she dances before the priesthood of Aphrodite is palpable. Perhaps the tag of ‘posh porn’ applied by the blurb is really the most apt description, although even then it hardly titillates.

At the end of the day, ‘The Eye of Cybele’ is reasonably fun to read, but recedes from the consciousness the moment the book is put down, and does not bother to trouble it again. It took me an inordinate amount of time to read this and I can’t say I shall bother to read Chavarria’s other work. It’s not that it’s bad, just that it isn’t good.

Tim West is a philosophy graduate living in Edinburgh. Ill-equipped for the realities of the outside world, he patiently awaits the day the government stops boycotting the Arts and gives him some money to return to university, or ‘the womb’ as he is often inclined to think of it. Having said that, all or most of his pleasures derive from exploring outside the outside world, and he is a keen traveller, devoting all spare cash to heading off around the globe in search of excitement and treasure. His likes include coffee and old books, and his dislikes include pragmatists.

© 2005 Laura Hird All rights reserved.