The Eighth Life (for Brilka) is a phenomenal novel – right up there with the best of the best. If it’s not my all-time favourite novel (and it might be) then it must be in the top three or four.

Set over more than a hundred years in Georgia, we follow six generations of the Jashi family. There is the patriarch, a chocolate maker who creates a mystical recipe for hot chocolate that tastes divine but curses those who drink it. Generation after generation, the Jashis partake of the chocolate.

The hundred years span the Great October Socialist Revolution, Stalin’s purges, the Great Patriotic War, the Czech uprisings, Perestroika, Georgian Independence and all the political turmoil in between. Readers with some knowledge of Soviet history will be ticking off the major events one by one. Each turbulent event forms its own story, but the Jashi line continues through the process, impacted by the waves from previous events. And casting a long shadow through the century is the Little Big Man, the Georgian head of the NKVD who is only named in the very last pages of the novel.

The fate of the Jashis seems to be a mirror for the fate of Georgia. Full of promise; starting advantages and natural resources. Then falling into disastrous relationships. Flourishing when playing by others’ rules but falling apart when given the freedom to set its own direction. This is set alongside the fate of the Eristavi family, their lives intertwined with the Jashis, who do not have the Jashi’s connections and do not fit comfortably in the system.

The novel focuses on the lives of seven women in the Jashi line, but each of these seven sections includes backstory; side stories; and continues the story of previous baton-holders. There is enough reference back to remind the reader of previous episodes although, inevitably in a book of nearly 1000 pages and with such an immense sweep of time, some of the references back feel like the ghosts of an ancient time.

The ease with which the story skips back and forth; the asides from the narrator (Niza – herself not born during most of the story she narrates) to the young Brilka in the present day; the leitmotif of the chocolate – it utterly breathtaking. The willingness of the novel to embrace tragedy – stories don’t always have happy endings and villains don’t always get their just deserts – is unusual but refreshingly so. And just as the tragedy brings real and convincing emotion, so too does the love and the laughter that run through the novel.

This is a long novel, but it never feels slow. The stories are told with pace and verve; they are significantly different to one another; the characters are well enough delineated that it never feels repetitive. The length is just because there is a lot of story to tell, and it is told so wonderfully that the effort is in putting the novel down, not picking it up.

Many novels have grand ambitions. They seldom bring it off. But The Eighth Life manages it without breaking sweat. Nothing feels forced, nothing feels flashy. It is just – like the chocolate – sheer perfection.

A 900 page history of a chocolate dynasty.
I had heard Wispas about it but it really came to prominence with its International Booker longlisting. It was a Kinder surprise to me the book was so good and it definitely p-p-p-picks up the more you read.

The large red book reminds me of a London Double Decker. Reading it is something of a Marathon, but there is a Bounty of great reading awaiting anyone that reads it. But its no Picnic and I would be Lion if I said it was an easy read, albeit the split into eight books was a Boost. I found I needed to Have a Break at intervals and Work, Rest and Play or my life was consumed with reading it. I also, to avoid disturbing my sleep, made it a rule to never read it After Eight. After finishing I felt I had joined a Club. Reading a few pages a day to my children was just enough to give my kids a treat. I felt I could read it between other books, without spoiling my appetite for fiction.

If you are finding the vast cast list difficult to follow, Yorkie breakthrough may be to draw a family tree as even the small Fry’s in the family are important. At times though the author simply Revels in adding additional cast members. It is a book with more than one Aero which does feel like a Fudge. At times it Mars the reader’s enjoyment.

There is humour in the book – it’s not laugh out loud funny but it did raise some Snickers. The storyline is good although at times it is the crumbliest, flakiest plot I have read.

There is lots of history told as narrative in the book. Some based on events the characters experienced, but some based on rumour or Hershey. Some of the narrative seems unjust - Niza is definitely not a Ferrero. But don’t skip this part, key plot details are Nestle’d among the well known history, even when you think the author is going off Topic. Some books are said to contain a world – this contains a Galaxy.

Overall the book was much darker than I expected – almost like accidentally buying a Bournville.

I have never read any books set in Georgia – but I have read many books from neighbouring countries, some are Turkish – this book was just a Delight.

This is an amiable crowd-pleaser of a novel: a 'sweeping' family saga through the twentieth century history of what purports to be Georgia but which is essentially Soviet Russia. I enjoyed reading it in a light way but am somewhat bemused at what it's doing on the International Booker list: it's entertaining, nicely written, fluently translated - but I wouldn't classify it as 'literary' in that it's not doing anything novel, isn't delivering any new historical or personal insights, doesn't press on the boundaries of genre or language - it's entertaining, it's unchallenging, it's an ideal holiday/bathtub/long flight read. Or one for social distancing or self-isolation in our current times.

One of the limitations of the formal conceit, that this is a long (long!) letter written to a niece, is that the narrator isn't present at most of the scenes and events, many of which take place before she is even born. As a result, this is very 'told' and throughout the 900+ pages, there is minimal dialogue. It's only in the last quarter or so that this starts to change.

It's also the case that, like much popular historical fiction, characters somehow manage to be at all the big events of the age and rub shoulders with the most (in)famous men: if someone's going to have an affair, then it's with a key Soviet leader; if someone is in the army, then they're commanding a unit at the battle of Stalingrad; if someone joins the Navy, then they're manning the 'Road of Life' during the siege of Leningrad ('Kostya had helped get more than 44,000 tons of food and 60,000 tons of kerosene into Leningrad') - no-one is just a farmer or a infantryman, natch!

Some of the history is very simplistic, perhaps even inaccurate? The narrator claims, for instance, that Stalin signs his pact with Hitler because he never imagined that Hitler might renege on it and invade Russia... And there is a tendency for the chapters to end on a cliffhanger of prolepsis: 'but that was where my great-great-grandfather was wrong'.

All of which is making it sound like I didn't enjoy this book: I did - it's just that I expected something challenging and 'literary', and instead got a light family saga with its fair share of melodrama and soapiness. As I said, a page-turning crowd-pleaser.

This book was so good! The characters were so well rounded, you felt like you actually knew them! The plot was so good you didn't want the book to end!