New York, by Edward Rutherford. ✔✔

This was a long read - 866 pages -and it could've been shorter, like so many other books written by men. Why is that, I wonder? I read it for a couple of weeks before going to Toronto, then renewed it at the library so I could finish it when I got back home. At 866 pages, I wasn't going to lug it onto an airplane, and anyway, the book was so heavy, they'd probably have either taken it away from me, or put one of those pink tickets on it and stowed it under the cabin!

I can't really say why I stuck with it, because it wasn't all that wonderful - I'd give it two stars I guess. I enjoyed the first part, with the Dutch and the natives living close by each other, then later the British invading and trying to impose their laws on the New World. The geography of the area, and how it developed into the huge city it is now was interesting, too, as was the obvious importance of money- getting it, maintaining it, keeping others from getting it, taking it away from others, hiding it from spouses, using and mis-using it.

I think the author really captured the essence of New York and the people who have lived there for hundreds of years, but his characters, all basically members of one family, were not particularly colorful: the real star was the city itself- valid enough I guess, considering the title of the book.

Of all the books written by Rutherford, I still think his first, Sarum, was his best. I started reading Russka, but there were too many characters to keep straight and I couldn't be bothered continuing. I read about half of London, but I was still teaching then, and long books were too onerous a burden for me at that time. I read about thirty pages of The Princes of Ireland before I decided I much preferred Frank Delaney's "Ireland", so I quit reading it. I've never read a book about New York, so I pushed through to the end, and I did learn a few things, so I guess it wasn't completely in vain!