Why is it that whenever I think originality is dead, nature finds a way to prove me wrong every time? In any case, I love being proved wrong, without a doubt. If I was never proved wrong, I would never learn anything. This time John Fowles provided the lesson with his first book, “The Collector”. This book is startling original, so many years after it was first released.
The story follows the life of Frederick Clegg, a lonely, impotent man who spends the majority of his time collecting butterflies. He has been stalking a girl for months now and he has a plan to collect her. When he wins the equivalent of $1,000,000, he buys a house in the country, fixes it up and abducts her and takes her to the house. What follows is a chilling insight into the mind of the obsessed and insatiable Frederick.
The element of obsession has never been scarier than in this novel. I believed that I was obsessed with DS when I bought it (And indeed, I believe that I still am) But the level that Fowles’s character has gone to with his infatuation is unnerving. There is no word strong enough to describe the intensity of his obsession with this girl, it is just so powerful. It is what gives the book such originality.
The language used is interesting in it’s simplicity. Clegg is by no means an intelligent character, so his narrative is quite easy to read. But what makes it interesting is the way he narrates. There is such conviction that one cannot help but wonder if John Fowles is relaying first hand the thoughts of Frederick from his own experiences.
This isn’t a book for the faint of heart. The concepts it deals with are strong in nature and frightening in reality and practicality. But those that do brave it will be rewarded with a view of the world that many never realised existed before.
Score:
4.5/5: Original, insightful, thought provoking and creepy. John Fowles is still a master of literature even after so many years.

