It wasn’t without a little dread that I began Beryl Bainbridge’s Booker Prize nominated historical fiction, Master Georgie. Having loved the other works by her that I’ve read, Injury Time and An Awfully Big Adventure, a little nagging voice kept saying “she’s going to disappoint you, just you wait”.

Cynical? Certainly. Unfounded? No. Master Georgie left much wanting.

The title character’s story is told through three different perspectives: adopted sister Myrtle who has  carried a torch for him since coming into the family; Dr Potter, who, as a geologist, is just as much of a doctor as Ross from Friends; and George’s young protege, a photographer’s assistant/fire-eater, Pompey Jones. While I have nothing against this narrating technique (Wuthering Heights anyone?), the distance it forces between the reader and George is frustrating.

George Hardy the surgeon, packs up this mismatched entourage and sails them to the Crimea, to mend wounded soldiers.

While Bainbridge’s clever manipulation of writing devices makes for a story that is full of imagery and wholly transports the reader to the Crimean-War era, it just wasn’t enough.

There was none of An Awfully Big Adventure’s perfect timing or Injury Time’s perfect comedy. Okay that’s an exaggeration. But I’m speaking as someone who feels betrayed by a beloved author.

Maybe I expected too much.

The blurb says, “Beryl Bainbridge exposes her enigmatic hero as tenderly and unsparingly as she reveals the filth and misery of war.” The filth and misery part of this sentence rings true, but she did a pretty lousy job of exposing the ‘hero’ if he remained enigmatic.

Enough of the book-bashing from me for a moment. It’s a gritty and death-filled story from 1850s England, written earnestly. Whenever Myrtle gets her turn to narrate, she’s adorably infatuated, but somehow remains a perfectly sensible character.

Overall, it was simply a disappointment. This is why I don’t like to read too much of the same author.

One last thing – Followers on Twitter and Facebook may be aware of my ice-nine references competition. The winner was promised a copy of the next book I reviewed. Um, Mr. Winner, you don’t have to get this book if you don’t want.