Oh dear. This is one of the most unfortunate books I’ve read in quite some time. Sebastian Faulks has a name in popular historical fiction and Human Traces, which seemed to promise a fascinating tale of two 19th century pioneers of psychiatry – a subject I have a strong interest in – gave me high hopes for a quality read. It is clear that Faulks is a functional writer who knows how to construct a novel, but while the subject has obviously been meticulously researched I found the prose somewhat bland – even dull. Our view into the subject of mental healthcare is quite interesting – but that stands in strong contrast to the characters, which largely lack life and dimension. The narrative is increasing boring as the book progresses, and one becomes frustrated with a group of characters who seem little more than mannequins which gesture feebly to historical observations. Ultimately, the story really goes nowhere and there is a lack of any kind of satisfying conclusion, or enlightenment about its subject. As if Faulks himself grew bored of the book, an ill-fitting sub-plot relating to the Great War is shoehorned in towards the end, and while this was more engaging than the rest of the story, it is a case of far too little and far too late. At 609 pages, perhaps this story would have worked better had it been half its length. I couldn’t recommend this novel to anyone.