This was a disturbing book. Of course, I understand that it was meant to be disturbing, but I found it gratuitously so. Whereas Life of Pi had disturbing elements, these were balanced by humour and compassion. There is too little of either in Beatrice and Virgil.

Also, where Life of Pi was a suspenseful page-turner, Beatrice and Virgil was far too put-down-able. None of the characters were particularly likeable or sympathetic, which, again, is probably the point, but it's difficult to engage the reader when all the characters are either unlikeable or poorly developed.

Martel's skill as a writer is evident, but I dislike it when such skill is so evident that I'm focusing on technique rather than immersing myself in the story.

Martel does succeed in conveying the horrors of the Holocaust, particularly with the "games" at the end of the book, but the reader is left without any sense of hope or redemption, so what's the point?

In making myself finish this novel, I identified with the woman who had no choice but to drown herself, and yet had difficulty accomplishing even that.