I can’t say that I’ve been overwhelmed by this novel; the plot is slow, the characters only became interesting halfway through the book, the setting and premise is implausible, and the writing–to me–is a bit vague and murky rather than crisp. It is almost as if the writing tone is as slow and melancholy as the aftermath of war in the story.
But this is good:
When someone speaks he looks at their mouth, not eyes and colors, which, it seems to him, will always alter depending on the light of a room, the minute of the day. Mouths reveal insecurity or smugness or any other point on the spectrum of character. For him they are the most intricate aspect of faces. He’s never sure what an eye reveals. But he can read how mouths darken into callousness, suggest tenderness. One can often misjudge an eye from its reaction to a simple beam of sunlight. (p 219)
This tells just as much about Kip, the “he” of this passage as it does about his methods of reading other people. He is a defuser of bombs; he is meticulous therefore, and cautious. He looks for signs to act upon and he must be sure of the response. This particular element that Ondaatje bestows upon Kip is not only necessary to the character, it is so in contrast to the usual route–almost condemning of the usual route–of believing honesty in one’s eyes.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology