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1 of 1 copy available
1 of 1 copy available

In the sixteenth century, on the island of Uranienborg, the pioneering Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe is undertaking an elaborate study of the night sky

A great mind and a formidable personality, Brahe is also the world's most illustrious noseless man of his time. Told by Brahe and his assistants—a filthy cast of characters—Sublunar is both novel and almanac. Alongside sexual deviancy, spankings, ruminations on a new nose—flesh, wood, or gold?—Brahe (a choleric and capricious character) and his peculiar helpers ("I would rather watch her globes tonight than icy stars") take painstainking measurements that will revolutionize astronomy, long before the invention of the telescope. Meanwhile the plague rages in Europe...
The second in Voetmann's triptych of historical novels, Sublunar is as visceral, absurd, and tragic as its predecessor Awake, but with a special nocturnal glow and a lunatic-edged gaze trained on the moon and the stars.

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    • Kirkus

      June 1, 2023
      This second volume in a trilogy--following Awake (2021)--is a strange assortment of impressions touching on astronomer Tycho Brahe. The son of a Danish nobleman, Brahe gained royal funding to build an observatory on an island then known as Hven, where he also pursued alchemical projects and had a dwarf jester named Jeppe. Danish author Voetmann alludes to biographical details, but as in Awake--which concerned Pliny the Elder--the ostensible subject is often secondary. The short chapters alternate among excerpts from an assistant's almanac of astronomical, meteorological, and personal observations; vignettes about two associates of Brahe's--Erik Lange and Falk G�ye; letters written by the astronomer to his dead brother; and other diversions. Voetmann is a thoughtful writer whose prose at times becomes lyrical, and it's nicely rendered by the translator. While the trilogy so far focuses on historical figures (the third book is said to deal with an obscure 11th-century German mystic), Voetmann suggests that these distant lives are elusive in fact or fiction but may be illuminated by imagining what happens in the penumbra of their achievements. The narrative's first words, "Dark and clear commixed," establish a motif echoed when Brahe, renowned for the accuracy of his celestial measurements, writes of Hven that "no other place on Earth has such poor visibility." Meanwhile, daily life persists with a clarity revealing much that is odd, trivial, or grotesque. A man frozen dead mid-defecation has "excrement only halfway expelled from his bowels." The almanac's narrator also mentions his affair with the man who shares his bed, including Jeppe's urging them on. Children are beaten bloody on Good Friday to commemorate Christ's suffering. And yet, Brahe "discerned the secrets of the universe from this soup tureen of a country during the brief and rare moments when the lid was raised and heaven could be espied." A disjointed narrative but also arresting and memorable.

      COPYRIGHT(2023) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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