I don’t remember who recommended G. K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday to me. That’s a shame, because I’d like a word with them.
At its best, The Man Who Was Thursday reminded me of Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. Both of them have surreal elements and convey an eerie sense of unease. I didn’t like Bulgakov’s novel either, but unlike Chesterton’s, I can understand others could find it enjoyable or insightful.
The Man Who Was Thursday doesn’t work as political satire, because it merely uses politics as scenery while failing to engage with any political substance. It doesn’t work as a novel because the plot is predictable and the characters aren’t original. It doesn’t work as a work of humor because it’s not funny. It’s creepy and boring at the same time.
One of the novel’s redeeming features is that once in a while, it’s possible to hear Chesterton talk through his characters. I don’t know much about Chesterton, but from what I can glean from his biography, he seems to have been a decent and insightful fellow. Chesterton’s fence is a principle that I’ve appreciated for a long time. Even so, it’ll be some time before I’m ready to try any of his other works.
Nehaveigur 