Working my way through David Mitchell's back catalogue I arrive at his second novel, the one that steals its title from Lennon, hence my reluctance to read it earlier.
I'm glad I left number9dream till last as it's my least favourite so far. It starts strong, introducing Eiji, a 19-year old Japanese Billy Liar type who's searching for his unknown father. The story mixes fantasy and reality in entertaining fashion so you're never entirely sure whether what's happening is really happening, or just the product of Eiji's overactive Manga-fuelled imagination.
So far so good, and while many of Mitchell's books alternate between different characters, time streams, realities etc., this one appears to stick firmly with Eiji's story... until about half way through when Mitchell veers off on multiple tangents unrelated to the main plot. That was a little too late for my brain to cope with though, and unlike the intricately woven variations of Ghostwritten or Cloud Atlas, I found the diversions in number9dream to be unnecessary distractions that eventually killed my interest in Eiji's story completely.
Mitchell's writing is as crisp and clever and beautiful as ever, so there's still much to admire here... just nothing to sweep me away in quite the same fashion as his other books. It certainly won't dissuade me from reading his latest, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.
