Midday, 13th May, 1784
An earthquake in Peru tears up the white streets of Arequipa. As the dust settles, a young girl with fanaticism already branded on her face arrives at the devastated convent of Santa Catalina. At the same moment, oceans away in Venice, the infant Minguillo Fasan tears his way out of his mother's womb. The great Palazzo Espagnol, built on Peruvian silver and New World drugs, has an heir.

Twelve years later, Venice is in Napoleon's sights and Minguillo, who has already contrived to lose one sibling, is listening to the birth-cries of his new sister Marcella, a delicate, soft-skinned threat to his inheritance. Meanwhile, at Santa Catalina, the scarred young girl has become Sor Loreta, whose craving for sainthood is taking a decidedly sinister turn.

Minguillo's livid jealousy will condemn his sister to a series of fates as a cripple, a madwoman and a nun. But Marcella Fasan is not quite the soft target Minguillo imagines. Aided by a loyal servant, an irascible portrait painter, a young doctor obsessed with skin, a warhorse of a Scottish merchant and a cigar-smoking pornographer nun, Marcella pits her sense of humour, her clever pencil and her fierce heart against Minguillo's pitiless machinations. Her journey takes her from Napoleon's shamed Venice to the last picaresque days of colonial Peru – where the fanatical Sor Loreta has plans of her own for the young girl from Venice …

'Rich, involving and brilliantly imagined.'
Fanny Blake, Woman and Home Magazine

'If it doesn't scoop all the prizes, we live in an unjust world. It's an absolute corker… It's years since I enjoyed a novel this much – or felt such strong envy of an author for having the breadth and richness of imagination to create such a world. AN Wilson, Reader's Digest

'This is, essentially, a love story told by a delightfully riotous collection of characters and voices…Fantastically gripping.' Eithne Farry, Marie Claire

'A witty, exciting, over-the-top page-turner which becomes increasingly addictive …Quite unlike anything else around – and all the better for that.' John Harding, Daily Mail

'Colourful, intoxicating and brutal. She 

'This book is fabulous - funny, horrific, subversive - in short a wholly addictive read.  I don't think I have enjoyed anything as much since Perfume.' Joanne Harris

'The Book of Human Skin is Michelle Lovric's fourth novel for adults, I am eager to read her backlist on the strength of it … the storytelling is superb … The Book of Human Skin feels epic in scope and has rich historical detail, while the narrative is cleverly handled with multiple viewpoints. Really a fantastic read, which does get under the skin.'
Emma Giacon, Book content manager, Amazon

'I cracked open The Book of Human Skin with the same frisson of apprehension and attraction that I remember on first meeting the Brothers Grimm with their cast of mesmerizingly cruel villains, resourceful  heroines, penniless lovers, loyal servants, and the downright mad. You know no good will come of it. The best you can hope for—given a stage set with poison, flaying, torture, and plague—is that luck will intervene somehow and allow good to prevail. But how? I could not stop my fingers from turning the pages of this deliciously horrid tale with its terrors holy and unholy, its pleasures delightful and diabolical, and danger crowding on every side.  But Lovric really saved the greatest surprise for the pages of notes that follow her tale: she is not making this up. Many of what seem like her most extreme and fantastical inventions are – appallingly— derived from the pages of history and our own deeply questionable obsessions, preoccupations, beliefs, and delusions. Disturbing? Certainly.' Pauline Holdstock, author of Beyond Measure

'… a fiendishly gripping plot full of comically sadistic twists and turns.'
Tina Jackson, Metro, April 2010

'Could I just do a little dance? Would you mind? I loved The Book of Human Skin. It's truly wonderful - vivid, immediate, clever, peopled with wonderful characters, the sweep of history and the power of landscape. When you finish it, you really do want to stand up, do a little jig, and say, hey, that was fantastic. Told through multiple narrators, it's about skin - how a person's life is written upon it, how other people get under it, how we use and abuse it. Minguillo collects skin. Doctor Santo takes care of skin. Sor Loreta abuses hers in holy anorexia and scourging. And Marcella's skin is luminous enough to show her core of radiant inner beauty, no matter what horrors are perpetrated upon her.

It's a massive book in scope, strength and history and it took me a week to read it - not because it was dense or difficult, but because rushing would have felt like such a disservice. The research is absolutely awesome and there's such a powerful intelligence behind it, but these things don't interfere with the characters or narrative and there's never a feeling - as there is with some books - that you might not really be quite good enough to read it. Lovric bundles up her cleverness and her knowledge and uses it to delight, not confound. Fans will be glad to learn that the artist Cecilia Cornaro from previous Lovric books gets a great supporting role - and indeed there isn't a character that will leave you unmoved. It has some of the clearest fictional voices that I've read in a very long time. My favourite was Gianni's - rough, goodhearted, self-deprecating, and the kind of friend we all wish we had.
   
Highly, highly recommended.  Jill Murphy, The Bookbag website, April 2010

'Five years after The Remedy comes the author's new novel for adults. This time she steps out of her Venice/London comfort zones and sets the action half in Venice and half in Peru, in the late 18th Century. The story tells of a Venetian merchant's family, where the father's frequent trips to Arequipa leaves behind a son whose behaviour goes beyond evil and a daughter whose goodness is surprisingly strong enough to cope. Things getting much worse is what the novel is all about, so I'll not give much more away. But as the plot develops the Santa Catalina convent in Arequipa (see photo right, by Graham Morrison) is a considerable centre of the action - the cloistered life being a not unusual theme in the author's works. The story is told by the main characters, in their own voices, and even in different fonts. Ms L's ability to well, be these different characters borders on the spooky - this is writing to relish and, I'd hazard, a good big notch up from her previous work in power and range. You'll need a pretty unsqueamish taste for fleshy concerns and visceral detail too, as physical afflictions and infections are dealt with in unflinching detail. The life of a person being written on their skin is a major theme here - the clue's there in the title. Venetian detail takes a back seat to the narrative sweep this time, but the city is still an essential element, with no other place possible for the plot's purposes. Fans of Michelle Lovric's previous work will revel in the reappearance of Cecilia Cornaro, the heroine of Carnevale, as a very central character. This novel will worm its way into your brain, get under your skin, and if your heart isn't faint it's in for more than a fair amount of activity too.'
Jeff Cotton, fictionalcities.com

'I am a big fan of Michelle Lovric's work for both adults and children (her Undrowned Child was my book of 2009 by a country mile), so when the lovely Kate from Bloomsbury sent me a review copy of The Book of Human Skin, I was really looking forward to getting stuck into another densely woven, evocative story.

So, Lovric starts her tale with ''This is going to be a little uncomfortable'', and she isn't kidding.  From sadism and violence, to insanity, to body dysmorphia and worse, Lovric takes the reader from 18thC Venice (she is devoted to the city and there is no one who writes about Venice with a darker or more delicate touch) to a Peruvian convent.  The story is told by a bizarre cast of characters, creating a chattering cacophany of distinct voices clamouring to be heard.  Whilst this does not make for the most easily accessible of narratives, this is definitely one to stick with and the pages soon turn themselves. 

The story is fascinating, and Lovric's knowledge of Venice's trading empire shines through: the Fasan family, where her story centres, are traders in Peruvian silver and also Peruvian drugs.  When only son Minguillo's inheritance is compromised by his sadism, which borders on insanity, his little sister Marcella is set to benefit.  Minguillo begins a campaign not only to weaken his sister's mind, but destroy her personality.  It is not enough that he drives her to incontinence through terror, he cripples her and later compromises her sanity.  The things Minguillo does to Marcella are brutal and bear the special character of sibling torture and yet it is the little things Lovric throws in regarding his treatment of animals or distant, irrelevant figures that deepens the reader's knowledge of the chasm of awfulness that is Minguillo Fasan.

Add to this story a terrifying, passive-aggressive Holy anorexic (one of the most unpleasant characters I have encountered between the pages of a book), a doctor obsessed with human skin, a loyal servant, a Scottish merchant and a cigar-smoking nun and you have an especially Lovric sort of read.  The book is ambitious, and the story not without snags, but her knowledge of setting, period and the essential weakness and isolation of human nature makes it a triumph.  She is a pitiless writer, who revels in creating a cast of lovable rabbits, then setting a mink loose amongst them and watching it go about its feral business.  Remember, it's going to be a little uncomfortable ...' Lucy Inglis, Georgian London website, May 2010

'For summer reading enthusiasts, this book should come with a warning: only to be read at the beach with a flagon of sunscreen to protect your tender human tissue because you will be mesmerized by this ornately wrought story set in late-18th-century Venice and Peru. As Minguillo Fasan, the villain of Michelle Lovric's fourth novel might say: Dear Reader, be completely assured you will fall in love with this gorgeously diabolical story of love, murder and obsession …

Lovric, whose third novel. The Remedy, was long-listed for the Orange Prize, has created a stunning book that combines masterful writing, meticulous historical research and an enviable ability to create characters so real that reading is akin to gliding through Venice in a gondola and observing up-close these lives and machinations. It's a deeply atmospheric novel, with Napoleon meandering through the pages like a vein, as the story flows through ancient convents, sailing vessels, lunatic asylums, mountains and grand Venetian mansions.

The author is a piece of exotica herself, dividing her time between a converted wharf in London and a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice. When Lovric isn't writing her own fiction, she compiles anthologies and belongs to the Disinfected Mail Study Circle, an organization that studies antique letters contaminated with horrible diseases such as smallpox and the plague, and the efforts of port officials to disinfect them. The very inspiration for this story came out of an offer from a Venetian ephemera dealer who offered to sell the author a smoked and vinegared letter from 1789.

The Book of Human Skin is a lavish historical narrative with dramatic landscape and intricate plot that unfolds through multiple narrative voices, each offering a different perspective. Some are determined to save Marcella, and others are bent on her destruction. There are brother and sister, Minguillo and Marcella, the delusional and sinister nun Sor Loreta, the warm-hearted manservant Gianni delle Boccole, and the good doctor, Santo Aldobrandini, the quiet and impoverished lover of Marcella. In the hands of a lesser writer, the numerous points of view could be downright confusing, but Lovric presents a complete and complex portrait of each character.

Each character keeps a journal, and the five principal characters each have his or her own font. Initially a bit distracting, this device provides a visual texture to each distinct voice in this bizarre cast of characters, allowing them to inhabit their own skin, if you will, throughout the story. There is great sense of intimacy and confidence with each character, as they share their secrets and desires. Humour also courses through the story, at times perverse and at times warm and tender, when seen through the eyes of gentle Gianni, who risks his life time and again to stand between Marcella and her demented brother.

Simply put, this is a book about skin, skin as a metaphor for humanity, how humanity is contained, manifests and is perceived. As Doctor Santo records in his journal: “Perhaps this is why I have always loved the skin: because it is both the story and the storyteller.” Marcella's skin radiates an unearthly purity while Lor Loreta ravages her skin in deluded acts of faux humility. Minguillo's skin is hideously scarred from acne and it is he who introduces the reader to anthropodermic bibliopegy, otherwise known as the practice of binding books in human skin, of which he is a collector. Some people will get under our skin, some will tear pieces off, some will preserve and protect our skin. Ultimately, the story shows how lives are painted upon our very skin, that we become a tapestry for all to see, perhaps to covet, perhaps to despair, or perhaps to worship.

The book begins and ends with Minguillo's warning to the reader, that they might be a bit uncomfortable. And let there be an added caveat: Lovric's dark tale of familial woe and colonial intrigue will imprint upon the Dear Reader's skin in the way only a classic can.' Christy Ann Conlin, Globe and Mail, June 2010

'THE BOOK OF HUMAN SKIN is gripping, absorbing, distressing, amusing, and impossible to put down. The reader is warned at the outset that ''This is going to be a little uncomfortable'', and sometimes it is. The world it evokes seems at times the work of a fevered imagination, but it is all based on sound research. (Do not skip the Historical Notes at the end; you may be amazed at what turns out, after all, to be simple fact.) Though it reminded me at times of TRISTRAM SHANDY, the Marquis de Sade, and THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO, it is thoroughly contemporary and full of surprises, not the least of which are the reality that lies behind those staples of Gothic fiction, the nunnery and the madhouse. In short, it is not quite like anything I've read before and how rare is that!' Yvonne Klein, reviewingtheevidence.com, June 2010

'Insidious, disturbing and very, very cleverly written ... Schizophrenic in style; the narrative is splayed out from various perspectives and in numerous, distinctive voices; each of which benefit from subtle cues through their unique textual font … As the story turns on the idea of a book inhabited within human skin; so the novel itself is strikingly clothed: a bright red cover with dark black tinged pages conjures up blood and death and fits perfectly the macabre quirkiness of its contents. Lovric is a master storyteller. With effortless artistry, she creates a pervasive tale with the smallest and simplest of strokes.' thetruthaboutbooks.com, April 2010

'Lovric's vivid new novel is a tale of fanaticism and bitter rivalry.'
Susan Osborne, Reviews editor of Waterstones Books Quarterly

'Heed Lovric's warning: ''This is going to be a little uncomfortable.'' The ''gentle reader'' is given ample opportunity to back out, but from the first page it was already too late for me. I was entranced. This may not be a book for everyone as it pushes the reader into the depths of pathologically immoral, corrupt and diseased minds, and yet at its heart it is a soulful love story … Lovric plays the role of ringmaster masterfully with a sideshow of characters who are often beautifully but sometimes regrettably human. Unique and poetically tragic, The Book of Human Skin had me reading with sinful pleasure in its darkness, and revelling in its fable-like beauty.' Bookseller and Publisher magazine, Australia, July 2010

'This is going to be a little uncomfortable ...

And so begins this mesmerizing novel by Michelle Lovric. The Book of Human Skin is not for those with a weak stomach, or for those who cover their eyes during horror films. This book is dark, grim, and cringe-worthy; and it's a great read. The Book of Human Skin features a wide cast of characters, from loving, devoted and kind to hateful, repulsive and insane …There is a love story and a mystery in this novel as well; basically it has everything. I highly recommend The Book of Human Skin. Just don't expect it to be comfortable.'
mynovelreviews.blogspot.com, July, 2010

'Perhaps one of the creepiest, most bizarrely interesting books of this century so far, The Book of Human Skin is both romantic and horrifying in its humour.

The title suggests it all, really. And it does make you rethink the enjoyment you may feel in reading a book cover to cover.

But what Lovric does that is so unusual is combine something truly disturbing, truly difficult to swallow, with a tried and true love story …

It would be possible to go on and on about this book, as it has many layers, including social, cultural, religious and familial aspects throughout its 476 pages. It is breathtaking, uncomfortable, and exceptionally unique in the contemporary canon of literature.'
Victoria Oldham www.suite101.com 

'The exhibition [Skin, at the Wellcome Collection until 26 September 2010] comprehensively illustrates Lovric's book. Skin is the main character in her comic, gothic horror story: a black'n'white, good'n'evil story. The distinctive skins of the five voices of the book are constantly on display, even depicted by different typefaces on the paper skins of the book. As his own erupts in crops of maggoty pimples, the garrulous Minguillo Fasan pursues an obsessive desire to torment his beautiful and pusillanimous sister, Marcella, almost, but not quite, to the point of death. In balancing the evil characters, the other crazed lunatic, Sor Loreta, is determined to toy with her own life and masochistically destroys her skin in her madly competitive desire to appear holier than thou. And then there is the all-too-necessary resectioning of skin that the sympathetic young surgeon Dr Santo Aldobrandini has to practise, not to mention the bruises, wounds, diseases and other evidence of grotesque abuse witnessed by the noble servant Gianni delle Boccole. Nevertheless, the appalling Minguillo Fasan apparently has some redeeming characteristics: his love of his Venetian palazzo and of his books. As the story peels apart, this passion for books is revealed to be yet another grotesque compulsion, but one that rather satisfyingly supplies his nemesis. The author artfully implies this is not a nice book, and as she pulls us in, horrified and intrigued, we, the readers, become complicit in Fasan's crimes. Indeed, it's a truly nasty book …The exhibition and Lovric's novel each make it plain that skin is the principal component of our identity, both hiding and betraying our inner selves.'
Caroline Ash, Science, August 2010

‘Set at the turn of the 19th century in Venice and Peru, The Book of Human Skin is a compellingly macabre and horrific read. I couldn’t put it down – just couldn’t stop turning the eloquently written pages! … Definitely my favourite read of 2011 so far and on my favourite authors list.’  A Nice Cuppa  Char blog, February 2011

'Short, sharp chapters, multi-voiced with the first-person villain exceptionally well portrayed. It is difficult to write successfully about one so dislikeable but Michelle succeeds admirably. We are at the turn of the 18th century in Venice and Peru. Highly recommended.' Sarah Broadhurst, Bookseller, May 2011

'Lovric has a passion for the history of Venice and of medicine, and her encyclopaedic knowledge of these two subjects enrich this, her fourth adult novel. Exquisite and inventive similes and metaphors finesse her disturbingly clever narrative: forsaking even ‘whores so ugly that they had to give change’, Fasan reports after his marriage to a fat heiress, "I worked my wife like a peasant works the plough".'  Gay Linch, Transnational Literature, May 2011

'Some historical books set out to give insight into an event, a real-life character or an era – think of Girl with a Pearl Earring or Arthur & George. In others, the author accepts that the past is a foreign country, so you might as well do things differently and let the imagination run riot – Süskind’s Perfume, say, or Jeanette Winterson’s The Passion.

The Book of Human Skin, with its cast of grotesques led by an evil brother who collects books bound in human hide and an anorexic self-harming nun with her one eye fixed firmly on sainthood, falls unapologetically into the second category, even if the Orange Prize-longlisted author includes 30-odd pages of historical notes to assure us that she has done her research.

The setting is Venice and Peru at the time of the Napoleonic Wars. When the psychopathic Minguillo Fasan discovers that he has been disinherited in favour of his sister, Marcella, his bullying torture turns into murderous violence. He cripples her in a shooting accident, has her declared mad and sells her into a South American convent, where she falls into the hands of the even crazier Sor Loreta. But their devilish plans are thwarted by Marcella’s devoted friends, led by her impoverished admirer, the doctor Santo, and Minguillo’s servant, Gianni. The story is told in bite-sized chunks by their separate voices (each one, rather archly, given its own typeface).

The plot, in which coincidence and a missing will play their parts, ultimately holds few surprises: true love triumphs and the bad bleed as a result of their wicked obsessions, but it is all entertainingly done, with some ingenious twists on the way.

You won’t be reading this for background on Napoleon’s campaigns in southern Europe or 18^th-century smallpox epidemics, but you could do a lot worse on the beach this summer.' Paul Dunn, The Times, June 2011

'Michelle Lovric’s deliciously macabre tale is played out against the exotic backdrops of eighteenth century Venice and Peru.  Twisted Minguillo Fasan, collector of books bound in human leather, plots to overturn his father’s will, destroy his sister Marcella and inherit the decaying, gothic Palazzo Espagnol. There are a myriad of characters and plot strands at play including a psychotic delusional nun, a prioress with a penchant for Rossini, the trade in dangerously fraudulent cosmetics, a missing will, letters passed in cobbled boots, poisoned sword tips, Napoleon’s march against Europe, a portrait painter’s affair with Lord Byron and of course the path of true love. As with the best historical fiction invented characters stroll through real events and rub shoulders with legendry figures. Michelle Lovric’s research is meticulous and results in a rich and vibrant picture of a bygone age which is the perfect setting for her fantastical characters. The number of voices at work means it takes a little while to establish what is going on, but it is worth it. Wickedly funny and totally absorbing, this is a great read. If you enjoy Mervyn Peake or the magic realism of Gabriel Garcia Marquez you will love this.' Sally Hughes, We Love This Book blog, July 2011

'...what it’s really about is pain, in all its guises: physical and mental, direct and consequential, as well as its legacy, its inevitability, its endurance, and the sweet and twisted pleasure that it can sometimes afford. I’m aware that that doesn’t make it sound much fun, but it is; this book is witty and delectable, ripe with gleeful insistence at the ostentation of the characters - of which, Minguillo included, there are some humdingers - and the fantastical audacity of the plot line (which, as Lovric’s research summary insists, was not so fantastical at all), which sees Marcella’s life turned by degree into a living hell. 

It’s rich and nasty and draws you in like an illness, but never becomes too much as you are always being switched to a different viewpoint (there are four) and a new perspective on the connoisseurship of suffering. And when you are reminded quite as often as we are throughout the book, from the first page to the 466th, that ‘this is going to be a little uncomfortable’, you slip into a different mindset, I think, where you are both repelled and compelled by the revolting events on the page. I know I was. ‘Pain never finishes, does it?’ Minguillo remarks with glee and, with this book as the proof, the ‘yes’ comes easily and stays. There is some horrifically dark comedy, a profusion of touching and sad moments and a hope that everything will turn out right and Minguillo will get his comeuppance, which all combine to make a wonderfully vivid and dynamic whole.

Minguillo’s characterisation is magnificently riotous and seductive. He’s a superlative villain: complex, colourful and self-reverential, mad as a box of frogs, of course, and shot through with savage black humour and a wry wink of knowing. He’s totally aware of the extreme reprehensibility of his actions, but takes a sadistic pleasure in them that is quite intoxicating. Listening to him in first-person also makes you fascinatingly complicit, as he himself mentions at the book’s close (‘Did I not take you, as promised, on a long walk in the dark, and did you not choose me as your guide, by reading on? ...And so, Dear Reader, my crimes became yours.’) I had chills; it was like hanging out with a witty version of Ferdinand from The Duchess of Malfi and somehow enjoying it.

His is also the perverse obsession that gives the book its name, that is, collecting books bound in you-guessed-it, and also gives the text its most enduring motif: that of human skin. This Lovric uses beautifully. In brief: Minguillo fetishes skin as an inanimate part of his grim library, but is, as I’ve hopefully illustrated by now, psychopathiclly unable to empathize or love; Santo, the doctor, loves skin as diagnostic tool and falls for Marcella upon seeing her pale and luminous skin; Sor Loreta, the fanatical Peruvian nun whose story runs parallel to the narrations of Marcella, Minguillo and Gianni, Minguillo’s valet, scours, scalds and flagellates her skin into a deformed and hideous mess as proof of her religious fervour (I’m sure it’s not onomatopoeic coincidence that it’s ‘Sore’ Loreta; gross); and in the end it’s a character with a different skin colour, in a country obsessed with skin colour (tambo, criollos, mestizos, mulatas, moriscas, sambas and sambos, negros and negras, to name but a few of the labels applied to those without limpieza de sangre), that leads Marcella to eventual rescue and salvation.' Lyndsay Wheble, Tolstoy is my Cat blog, July 2011

'This is essentially a story about a young doctor who gets obsessed by skin! But it's also a historical book. It's set in Peru and then moveson to Venice. It is the most literary of the books and is very challenging. It's hard to sum up but it's very funny.' Amanda Ross, Daily Express Saturday magazine, July 2011

'Epic story of a Venetian merchant.' Heat magazine, July 2011

'Sounds gross right? Well it pretty much is - it is also marvellous and stuffed full with villainy. This story is told by 5 different people, aristocrats Marcella and Minguillo Fasan, medical assistant doctor Santo, Peruvian nun Lor Soreto and manservant Gianni. Michelle Lovric stitches her book together with these five strands and by doing so she sculptures a 3D story that can be approached by every angle. Only releasing information in teasing snippets, she leaves the reader willing her to reveal more … This is a great commuter book, the chapters are in bite-size chunks so you've got time to chomp on a few chapters before you need to hop off the train. I'm giving this book a 8/10, it is repulsively seductive and unnaturally charming.' Charlotte Chase’s blog, August 2011

‘This is Michelle Lovric’s fourth novel for adults and like the first three, it focuses on semi-fantastical historical settings, with larger-than-life characters. She favours the later eighteenth and early nineteenth century and individuals and societies on the cusp of enormous change. The Book of Human Skin has a split setting – Venice and Peru – and a multi-spectrum narrative, which moves between five different points of view, with many other voices woven into them. The lack of one omniscient narrator keeps the reader on their toes as all the characters are capable of deceiving themselves, each other and ultimately, the reader.

It is worth saying at the outset that the book of human skin is what it suggests. The novel’s central male villain, the grotesque sociopathic Minguillo Fasan, enjoys a particularly horrible form of bibliomania, even going so far as to have a copy of Pride and Prejudice bound in a slice of skin from a woman who died of puerperal fever. Michelle Lovric’s note at the end of the novel tells us that there is no suggestion that this object existed, but that it wasn’t unknown for books to be bound in human leather. Minguillo would certainly have wanted one; he has a collector’s eye for a rare object and the irony of a romantic novel, by A Lady, wrapped in part of one would have appealed to his misogyny and his grim sense of humour. In his time, death in childbed befell many women, an unseemly fact quite at odds with the traditional happy ending.

However if he holds women in contempt, he’s not very keen on men either, a trait he shares with the equally appalling Sor Loreta. Like Minguillo, Loreta loathes everybody but is less honest about it. It is not the business of a nun to hate anyone and Loreta prides herself on how much more pious, righteous and worthy she is than those around her, even, (especially) her sister nuns. When we first meet her, she is a horrible little girl, enjoying the spectacle of a man’s death by torture. She goes from strength to strength in a career full of spite, jealousy and hysterical fanaticism that is at times hard to read about. Another character suggests that she has Sapphic tendencies. However, they couldn’t be more wrong. Her fixation on the very masculine figures of God and Jesus has an erotic dimension – in many respects, she recalls personalities such as St Teresa of Avila – and she refers to Jesus as her Heavenly Bridegroom. Her devotion to Him drives her to extremes that are narcissistic, stomach-churning and far out of keeping with the Christian humility expected of a nun.

There is a downside to these two horrific creations. While the narrative fizzes with horrible energy while they are on the page, it loses something when they are not. They are so appalling that the other main characters tend to be somewhat flat alongside them, as if the narrative doesn’t have the room for them to have their flaws as well. Marcella, Minguillo’s sister, is not the victim he hoped she was, but she is essentially good, possibly more so than she should be, given what she has to go through. It’s very hard to imagine anyone who had to grow up with Minguillo being as virtuous as Marcella apparently is. Having said that, Michelle Lovric tends to write the sort of novels where heroes and heroines are somewhat beside the point. If her villains take centre stage, it might be that she intends them to, backed up with a cast of interesting lesser characters – a Puccini-loving prioress, a pornographer-nun and a grumpy artist who was a central character in an earlier novel.

Both Venice and Cuzco in Peru emerge as strong settings, full of character, life and seething with as much corruption as Lovric’s readers would expect. In both places, status, wealth and power mean everything, even as the two societies are in the process of huge change. Venice was central to the Enlightenment and was also a flashpoint of the Napoleonic Wars. It was part of the Austrian Empire for the period covered by the novel and up till 1866, when it became part of the Kingdom of Italy. In the meantime, Peru was in the process of shaking off European rule, as its Spanish settlers became Spanish Peruvians. In both cases, hanging onto established norms and privileges was part of the process and also an impediment to change. The changes they were going through are reflected in the characters – that of Minguillo, full of aristocratic ego and entitlement, of Santo, part of the emerging professional classes and of the women, especially Marcella and Loreta, seeking to define themselves as individuals in their own right. Lovric reflects all that, with varying levels of success, but ultimately, offers the reader a memorable, gripping, if not always likeable novel.’ Vulpes Libris, September 2011

'I picked up this book because it’s called The Book of Human Skin. 

I’ve got a huge soft spot for Lovecraftian horror. The whole idea of horror coming from being confronted with the truth really appeals to me. I can’t think of anything more terrifying than being confronted with a reality which is not only utterly alien, but completely hostile.

So, when I saw the title, I immediately thought, "Ooh, I wonder if that’s got something to do with the Necronomicon" I picked it up, and no. It didn’t. Then I read the blurb and got even more excited.

I’ve got a thing for gothic. I don’t mind the kind of gothic I had a thing for when I was fifteen, when I subsisted on angst, baggy jeans and eyeliner. I mean nuns, mysterious men, blood feuds, horrible secrets and all that jazz. A brother trying to ruin his sister, by crippling her, sending her to an asylum and finally making her a nun? That is so up my alley that I’m almost tempted to make a rude joke that isn’t even remotely funny.

And really, this book delivered. It was a bit rough getting into it at first, I have to admit. The story is told through a number of different narratives: Minguillo, his sister Marcella, her friend and servant Gianni, Dr Santo, and Sor Loreta, the batshit crazy nun. Some narratives are more engaging than others. Marcella was a bit dull as a character, but the crap she’s put through by her entertainingly horrible brother keep her narratives going. Minguillo was engrossing, although a bit too obnoxious at times. Sor Loreta was fantastic - I would quite happily read a whole book of her insanity. Gianni was fantastic too, one of the warmest characters I’ve read in a while. Dr Santo was only amusing when he went on about Napoleon.

For all the awfulness in this book (and it’s fantastic awfulness, just to be clear), there is also a lot of twee fluff. Now, don’t get me wrong: I like twee. I’m twee as fuck, myself. But some of the tweeness was a bit much for me. Marcella was a bit too nice to really grab my attention, and Santo was a bit too insipid for me to be really interested in him. I understand that with such amazing supporting characters, it’s hard for a couple in love to take centre stage AND be every bit as "holy shit? Really? Awesome!" as the rest, as the book would get a bit too cluttered with madness and awesomeness. It would probably also detract from the amazing cast of supporting characters.

It’s not until I was thinking of the book as a whole that I realized this, though. Sure, the protagonist and her love interested were a bit too dull and tragic and "woe is me" for my liking, but I didn’t notice while I was reading. The story is fantastically gothic, with all the trimmings and trappings that I was hoping for. Although Minguillo cheerfully progresses from disturbed child to a truly disturbing psychopathic entrepreneur, there are some really horrific moments. I first typed out "horrific scenes", but that isn’t entirely true. Harrowing things happen, but they’re all the more haunting for not being played out in front of the reader’s eyes.

On the whole, I really enjoyed this book. It was decadent and funny and engaging, using some of my favourite gothic tropes to create an interesting and engaging narrative. I would have enjoyed a stronger female protagonist, but alas - I can’t think of many of those in "authentic" gothic novels either, and the presence of other fantastic female characters does make up for that. I’m definitely glad I picked it up, even if the titular book of human skin didn’t have anything to do with shoggoths.' 'Scrapegoat', Tumblr, October 2, 2011

'I say: I can’t even know where or how to begin to describe how much I loved this because it came in so many layers. So I’m going to try to split it up and we’ll see how it goes.

First of all this consists of five characters telling their own version of the same tale in the form of diary entries, if you will – all with a different font.

Minguillo Fasan: the evil brother, who was constantly addressing the audience, which I liked for the most part (some of it was a bit over the top, but then again, he was some kind of crazy). I liked reading his parts simply because it was chilling to see how far down the path of crazy he descended. Just when I thought that he would let things be, he went to stir up more and more trouble. His font was extremely small and quite the strain on my eyes, but we managed.

Marcella Fasan: Minguillo’s sister; the good and innocent one; constantly suffering for the sake of others. I really liked her, and it was disturbing to follow her thought process at times because she was such a martyr.

Gianni delle Boccole: a servant in the Fasan home, whose parts were written in vernacular (which I hate) and it took me a while to understand some of the words. He was the archetypal big, strong, and kind oaf sort of person, who did play an integral part in the plot, and I liked him, he was just not that exciting.

Doctor Santo Aldobrandini: his parts were somewhat repugnant at times when he went into great detail about skin diseases (his biggest interest) and his accounts of what he did as a doctor while on the battle field. He also went into medical detail about Napoleon’s various maladies, which was far more information than I ever wanted to know.

Sor Loreta: the crazy nun, who went on and on about how good she was and what sinners everyone else were; completely obsessed with martyrdom, and various canonized nuns, she made my skin crawl. The way that she spoke of seeing angels, hearing voices and the lengths she went to prove her love of god were downright disturbing.

I’m not sure that I can claim to love the way Lovric writes since it was five different styles, but my word is she talented. The way she weaved all these lives together is ridiculously impressive; especially since it took a while before they all came together in a poetically just end. I must also mention that I’m not sure why, but there’s something about adding real characters into a work of fiction that somehow enhances the reading experience for me. Like knowing that there are nuns that really do disfigure themselves like Sor Loreta; that the saints mentioned were real; and also the integration of Tupac Amary II in the plot.

At one point in the novel Minguillo comes across a copy of a book that is said to have been bound in the skin of Tupac Amaru II, and he later becomes obsessed with finding more of its kind.

Needless to say, I was hooked all the way through reading this, and even “had to” read while I was volunteering at the indie cinema, completely ignoring my customers.

It happens.

To sum up this almost ludicrously long review, I loved this. The only reason it gets 4.5 instead of the full 5 is because of the vernacular in Gianni’s part, the sometimes annoyingly over familiar way Minguillo addressed the audience (his tiny font) and some ridiculous things that happened near the end of the novel.' Kill Me If I Stop blog, October 4, 2011

'I have just finished reading The Book of Human Skin, by Michelle Lovric, and seriously, I WANT YOU ALL TO READ THIS BOOK. It's the story of a deranged Venetian nobleman who systematically tortures his little sister, and along the way collects books bound in human skin. No, stay with me! It's told from the point of view of the man, his sister, a household servant, their doctor, and a man Peruvian nun, and it's strangely and hilariously engaging. It is way funnier than a book with that premise has any right to be, and I can't even describe it. The book just gleams, somehow - it's absolutely gripping, but well written, funny, and delightfully clever. It's like a fairy tale and an adventure story had a baby, raised it totally on historical fiction, then dressed it in satin and silk and fed it wine and good Italian coffee. I just really, really want everyone to read this book! I cheered, and laughed, and I almost ripped one of the pages, even though it was a library book. Seriously, read it. You will not be sorry.' 'The Lady of Shalott', Snarkfest, October 2, 2011

'Featuring some of the most deeply unpleasantly vicious characters ever to grace a page; the story does not shy away from describing some truly horrifying acts. In a few places, I rolled my eyes, disgusted at how OTT it was...then looked the particulars up and found out that these things used to actually happen.

The more foul/sexist/derogatory or inhumane the act; the more likely that it was in fact historically accurate - somewhat like the Handmaid's tale by Margaret Atwood – where every indignity suffered by the protagonist had actually occurred in our history.  

I quite enjoyed reading the different narrative threads, though if I’m totally honest with you, it took some time to get into. The book opens with the voices of Sor Loreta and Minguillo dominant. Their twisted world vision provides interesting perspectives though I personally preferred it when those of kinder intent started to take over the narration. For one thing; without the constant glorification of self; the story began to flow a lot more smoothly. For another; you feel like you're seeing a much more honest view of the world.

I think that Sor Loreta was my favourite character. Never before have I read a character that so deeply winded me up and thrilled me simultaneously. Her self-belief, arrogance and fanaticism, coupled with her distaste for all around her comes across clearly from the get go. Within seconds of starting her narrative; you forget all about relating to her and just enjoy trying to depict the world described without her deep-rooted hatred tingeing everything. Throughout the book every time I saw the font that indicated her particular thought patterns (really nice little structural touch there) I had this dirty little thrill of delight. It is endlessly fascinating to me that she was able to get away with so much for so long. It makes sense though – given the financial arrangement behind her cloistering – is that a word? I suppose if you pay for your insane daughter to be housed somewhere; you expect her to be let to her own devices as much as possible. You certainly don’t expect her to be up on charges or anything. Sor Loreta is, without doubt, an evil vicious cow. And I loved her for it …

The author clearly loves Venice and has researched the time frame backwards and forwards. I wasn’t three chapters in before I was just DYING to go for a visit. If she ain’t on the tourist board…she should be!!

A fantastic, disgusting and though provoking read. One that still manages to thrill and delight; even while you’re hiding behind the sofa or feel too disgusted to read on!

I haven't read any of Michelle Lovric before, but I will definitely be seeking out more of her work in the future.’  Leeds Book Club, December 8, 2011

'Skipping first-person points of view is notoriously hard to do without confusing the reader but Michelle Lovric pulls it off brilliantly - I never one had to check back because I doubled whose words I was reading. The five voices are very distinct, and distinguished by fairly unobtrusive changing typefaces: their wildly varying stories weave together neatly for the ending.' Gillian Philip, An Awfully Big Blog Adventure, February 2012

The Mourning Emporium

This sequel to Lovric’s atmospheric The Undrowned Child moves the action from the murky lagoon of Venice to the dark, narrow backstreets of Victorian London, where an evil plot to supplant the Royal succession threatens the country.

Teo, the Undrowned Child, and her partner Renzo are charged with saving the city, inhabited by drugged mermaids, pirates and talking bulldogs. Of course.

Wildly imaginative and action-packed, Lovric’s books stand out for their authentic historic detail and inventive use of language. A rambunctious romp for girls and boys who like fun with their fantasy. Laura Morris, Daily Mail, November 11^th, 2010

This is the second book from the acclaimed debut novelist, who wrote The Undrowned Child last year. The historical features and elements of Venice are clearly introduced at the beginning of this story. Every page turned pieces together yet another pictorial aspect of this great city and creates a lasting impression. In fact the more you read, the more you want to visit and explore this great wonder of a city. The historical detail, threaded throughout the story, creates a unique and rich back drop for the introduction of a number of wonderful and crazy characters … Starting off on a roller-coaster ride of words, the author has the amazing ability to tell a story with a poetic voice. Sometimes she invents intriguing new words or accents, in order to fit the character’s profile, which I really liked and found interesting.  Elements of the story are purely fantastical, with just a hint of truth to blend the story together …
This is a book to be enjoyed by lovers of great fictional writing. It has a lot going on from ghosts to talking animals and mermaids to blood-sucking leeches. Never mind the torture, battles and frolics to be found on the high sea. The author has made good use of her personal knowledge of both London and Venice to lift this adventure - infusing it with charm and character that you don't always find. This should surely tempt you to get your hands on a copy of this book. Mr Ripley’s Enchanted Books blogspot, November 19^th, 2010

'This is a swashbuckling, serious story with a great good vs evil storyline! If you like the His Dark Materials trilogy then you will love this!' theschoolrun.com, August 11th, 2010

'This time, Teo and Renzo have not one, but two, cities to save. And this sequel to The Undrowned Child sees them travel from Venice to floating orphanage, to pirate ship, to London, where il Traditore is in league with a minor member of the British royal family … It's as rousing and vivid a book as its predecessor - on the surface is a mix of swashbuckling and humour, but underlying the action is some truly awesome research and a vocabulary-busting turn of phrase.

Once again, the supporting cast adds sparkle after sparkle. I was most glad to reacquaint myself with Venice's curry-loving, salty-tongued mermaids and I shared their disgust in their London counterparts - languid, fussy, uptight melusines they are, addled on Victorian London's various quackeries … Turtledove, a kindhearted, orphan-saving, talking bulldog, was my other favourite. He's as memorable as any Narnian creation.

There are ghosts, talking animals, pirates, orphans, heroes and villains in world ''between the linings'', but there's also a vivid and utterly accurate historical picture of London and Venice at the time. There's pace and tension, and there's a genuine and robust sense of humour underlying it all.' Jill Murphy, thebookbag.co.uk, August 2010

'I was laughing out loud on the tube this morning ... and I am gripped once again by Michelle Lovric's depiction of Venice & evil and am waiting impatiently for my lunch break to return to Venice, Teo, Renzo ... mermaids, cats and the rest ...' Sue Chambers, of the Harrods in-store bookshop, Waterstones

'The Mourning Emporium is Michelle Lovric's sequel to The Undrowned Child, which was my book of 2009. ... Teo and Renzo are back in The Mourning Emporium and facing not only the return of Tiepolo and his baddened magic, but a change of scene when they are kidnapped aboard barely sea-worthy pirate ship the Scilla and end up in London as Queen Victoria dies.  There they find more mermaids, Venetian zookymen, a talking, waistcoat-wearing bulldog called Turtledove and The Mourning Emporium of Tristesse and Ganorus. ... This book is a pleasure and I sincerely recommend it.' Lucy Inglis, Georgian London website

'Beautifully written and skilfully told, this story succeeds on most every level. It will make you laugh, and cry, and flinch. It will leave you entirely satisfied.' Essie Fox, Virtual Victorian blogspot

'Queen Victoria is dying and, in an Australian penal colony, a Pretender, Harold Hoskins, is planning to seize the British throne with the help of an army of ghost-convicts, vampiric sea-creatures and spying seabirds. In league with him is Bajomonte Tiepolo, the ghost of a mediaeval Venetian traitor who has already brought Venice to its knees by inducing an ice-storm and heavy flooding. Sailing from Venice to save London from the same fate are young Teo and her friend, Renzo, who have certain advantages over most adults, including the ability to talk to animals and see ghosts. This summary provides only a flavour of the immense detail and intricate mythologies contained in this book, the second of a trilogy set in a fantastical alternative to the years around 1900. ... These incidents are supported by ripely eccentric characterisations and humorous dialogue ... Lovric also demonstrates great descriptive verve – the British coast 'opens like a grim grey smile in the water' – and clearly has a precise understanding of the geographies of both Venice and London, potentially encouraging her readers to turn to their maps. The book will appeal to all readers who appreciate adventure, fantasy and humour, although the centrality of Teo, albeit disguised as a boy for much of the time, may particularly attract female readers. Its sharp characterisation and direct dialogue make it accessible for those of 11 upwards.' Ruth Taylor, Books for Keeps website

'Plenty of humour here (‘cast asparagus’) and some new loveable characters, mostly animal. Sleeping with squirrels is a new trend for the cold. Seems they can keep you warm. White rats. Ew. Fat weasels. The whole zoo.  Great story, and Teo is another of those likeable heroines in fiction.' Ann Giles, Bookwitch blog, December 10^th

'The Mourning Emporium is the sequel to the even more fantastic The Undrowned Child ... The Undrowned Child proved to be one of those sublime reads that stayed with me for weeks after. The author lives in Venice and her knowledge of and passion for the city and its history and mythology shines through on every single page - I'm not sure I have ever read another book where the elements of historical fact and the fantasy creations of the author were so finely blended together as they are in this one. In my opinion Ms Lovric possesses great skill in two key areas -  the ability to produce a rich prose with great attention to detail without slowing down the pace of the story; and the other is her character development. In the first of these two books she delivers two fantastic main characters - the quirky orphan Teodora and the initially pompous and arrogant Renzo - as well as a vast supporting cast of colourful characters.
      Fortunately, having only read this a few months ago, I did not have long to wait for more. Although the book works very well as a stand alone novel ...  it turned out to be everything I had hoped for in a sequel ... Again, Michelle Lovric demonstrates great adeptness at creating characters that the reader will both love and hate. Miss Uish is one of the latter - she is truly cruel and a detestable woman who should join the likes of Miss Trunchbull and Cruella de Vil as a character that readers spend the whole book looking forward to reading about whatever nasty demise the author has in store for them. The story eventually takes our heroes to London, again giving the opportunity to flex her creative muscles and produce a host of very different, and very Victorian English, supporting characters from the ones we saw in the first book. The most enjoyable and noteworthy example of this is Turtledove, a talking bulldog with something of the Fagin about him, although far more kindly in the way he treats the waifs and strays in his care.' The Bookzone (for boys), December 4th

'Time for some magic. Michelle Lovric's The Mourning Emporium (Orion, £9.99) is a sequel to The Undrowned Child but works as a stand-alone. Teo and Renzo have magical powers and are trying to defeat Il Traditore, who has flooded Venice in 1900. Mermaids, nuns, cormorants, seagulls, Syrian cats and vampire eels add to the action as it shifts to London and back to Venice. It's a big-cast world of adventures, frights and near misses clearly influenced by Philip Pullman, Charles Dickens and CS Lewis.' Susan Elkin, Independent, December 19th