- HHhH by Laurent Binet
I have already talked rather extensively on my disappointment with this book following glowing reviews on this thread, so it will probably come as no surprise that I hated every page of it. Apologies to its fans.
When I started reading it, I was hoping for an Operation Mincemeat or at least a historical novel of substance. What I got was a collection of minor and often irrelevant anecdotes, written by a self-important, navel-gazing, flippant, unreliable narrator who thinks flip-flopping all around the place makes his writing speshul. Wolf Hall written by a teenager, complete with the same hateworthy present tense and bad grammar. Bad translation was just the icing on the (bitter) cake.
Despite all the "Ooh I read so much on this topic. Ooh look, I have this document and that document in front of me right now" crooning, I didn't get the impression that the author knows much about this period and the organisation behind Heydrich's assassination. The details we are told about are mostly irrelevant, stuff nobody really cares to know about - what the house was like, what kind of dresses someone liked to wear, etc. Meanwhile, the story itself is neglected and is only picked up once in a while, when the author grows tired of whining about the stuff going on in his own life.
I can hardly explain how badly this book grated with me, but perhaps some examples would help:
I tell myself that everything can be useful, that I must immerse myself in a period to understand its spirit – and the thread of knowledge, once you pull at it, continues unravelling on its own. The vastness of the information I amass ends up frightening me. >>> Don't be frightened, little boy. We'll protect you. 
I’ll have to resist the temptation to flaunt my knowledge by writing too many details for this or that scene that I’ve researched too much, I must admit that in this case – regarding Heydrich’s birthplace – my knowledge is a bit sketchy. There are two towns in Germany called Halle, and I don’t even know which one I’m talking about. For the time being, I think it’s not important. We’ll see. >>> Oh yes. You sound really knowledgeable on the subject.
THERE IS NOTHING more artificial in a historical narrative than this kind of dialogue >>> Why did you write it then? WHY?
But that particular day he takes a beating in the first round. Who is his opponent? I haven’t been able to find out. I imagine a left-hander: quick, clever, dark-haired. Perhaps not Jewish – that would be a bit much – but maybe a quarter Jewish. >>> Why make up ridiculous stuff like this? Who cares about the color of his opponent's hair color? Why mention Jewish heritage at all, especially if you don't know that he had any?
faithful to my long-held disgust for realistic novels, I say to myself: Yuk! >>> And you dare write a historical one??? 
I’VE BEEN TALKING rubbish, the victim of both a faulty memory and an overactive imagination. In fact, the head of the British secret service at this time was called ‘C’ – not ‘M’ as in James Bond. Heydrich too called himself ‘C’, and not ‘H’. >>> The book is full of crap like this. He says one thing and then corrects himself literally on the next page. Yes, he has been talking rubbish. A lot if it. Fucking bullshit artist 
At 9:00 a.m., the first German tank enters the city. 84 ACTUALLY I DON’T know if it was a tank that first entered Prague. >>> Another example of the continuous flip-flopping and bullshit.
Natacha’s sister is getting married, but I’m not invited to the wedding. Natacha called me a ‘little shit’. I don’t think she can bear me anymore. My life is in ruins. >>> I'm with Natacha. I really am.
The Nazis love burning books, but not files. German efficiency? Who knows if the SA didn’t wipe their asses with some of those precious archives. >>> How did this book win an award? HOW??? I despair.
I’m all too aware that my two heroes are late making their entrance. But perhaps it’s no bad thing if they have to wait. Perhaps it will give them more substance. Perhaps the mark they’ve made in history and on my memory might imprint itself even more profoundly in these pages. Perhaps this long wait in the antechamber of my brain will restore some of their reality, and not just vulgar plausibility. Perhaps, perhaps … but nothing could be less sure! >>> For the sake of all that is literary, what on God's green Earth are you rambling about???
If anyone is in doubt, I'm not recommending this book 