Quite honestly, the Ackroyd was a bust. It wasn’t poorly written, just oh so dull. The trouble with translating very old stories from the original French is that you end up with quite odd prose. Stiff and abrupt. I found it very tiresome indeed and didn’t enjoy it at all.
On to three and four. Both by the same author (I am such an idiot for not seeing this would happen) but very promising. I’ve read about half of the first, which is about the emergence of Biafra in the 60s. A young boy from a rural village goes to work in the house of a university lecturer and the story follows his life with the family, veering off with a few other characters (and time periods) every now and then. It’s a horrific account of civil war but the way it’s told is so beautiful. Quite spare description, but so effective. I like it so much that I want to lend it to my mam but I can’t because it’s a library book.
~obeys library rules and strokes library card~