In The Untouchable, Banville has found his ideal story, one that matches his singular obsessions to the narrative voice he has mastered in his previous work. In retrospect, however, it is tempting to see them as a series of studies for the large-scale masterpiece of The Untouchable, a brilliant, satisfying novel based on fact that reminds us why fiction is a matter of life and death as much as the scaling of any summit, the navigation of any storm at sea. It can also travel inward to irrelevance, and the Irish writer John Banville’s three previous novels-all lustrous, recalcitrant displays of verbosity and intellect, the vaguely sinister texts of a small cult of fans-seemed to be heading, albeit intriguingly, in that direction. In the current rage for memoir and documentary adventure, it is easy to forget the seeming paradox that fiction, when masterfully written, can always journey closest to the truth.
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