---
product_id: 5522098
title: "An Instance of the Fingerpost Mass Market Paperback – March 1, 1999"
brand: "iain pears"
price: "$61.30"
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reviews_count: 8
url: https://www.desertcart.us/products/5522098-an-instance-of-the-fingerpost-mass-market-paperback-march-1
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---

# An Instance of the Fingerpost Mass Market Paperback – March 1, 1999

**Brand:** iain pears
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- **What is this?** An Instance of the Fingerpost Mass Market Paperback – March 1, 1999 by iain pears
- **How much does it cost?** $61.30 with free shipping
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## Customer Reviews

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 







  
  
    A risque novel about a hack, quack, snitch, witch, and the once rich.
  

*by C***T on Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on March 2, 2016*

R. Royce was trying to cure the common cold.  He remembered the stages in the process a person goes through from an obscure and all but obsolete book on biology, printed in 1950, that had been shelved in a corner bookcase in the living room.  First contact:  the micro-organism enters the human body.  Incubation phase:  the microbes find a warm, moist, dark place in the body and begin to multiply, exponentially.  They begin to overwhelm the host.  Sickness:  the host becomes desperately ill.  His body weakens considerably.  He feels fatigued, lacks energy, and wants rest.  He loses his appetite.  He alternately sweats and has chills.  His head pounds and his muscles ache.  Recovery phase:  his immune system begins to fight against the invading microbes.  White blood cell production increases dramatically in his bloodstream.  The blood cells produce phlegm, which gradually covers, overwhelms, and encapsulates the microbes, which have been steadily growing in numbers, rapidly expanding their territory, reproducing in his mouth, nose, and throat.  Return to health:  he can begin to breathe easier, his appetite returns, and he feels like getting out of bed again to greet the day and participate in normal daily activities.  At first, he thought he had at home all the ingredients necessary which would bring about a quick, easy cure:  steaming Camomile and lemon teas, chicken broth, rest, and faith.  After three days with a runny nose, however, his swollen sinuses began to clog and his breathing became labored.  He periodically blew out the slimy mucus from each of his nostrils into the bathroom sink, but one nostril or the other would invariably re-clog, and he would have to exhale warm air from his mouth to complete the respiration process in the most efficient manner possible.  His eye-lids grew heavy; his vision, dim and blurry.  He reminisced about friends from long ago.  Whatever happened to Pete Bates, from middle-school days?  Tall, skinny, shy kid who milled about the schoolyard with the rest before the bell sounded, and didn't have much to say that was very untypical, except that he thought he could fly.  He always carried a bottle of "Formula 44" to prevent the flu in the pocket of his winter Parka.  So, it would seem that he sometimes got carried away with visions of grandeur.  One early morning, a crowd of kids pointed to the top of the school building and there he stood on the roof-top.  Many in the crowd pointed fingers, and everyone looked skyward, amazed.  A roar went up.  Some of the school-kids shouted, "Show us you can fly, Master Bates!" Then, they began to chant,  "Jump Pete jump."  Fortunately, the unruly disturbance caught the attention of the school principal, who went topside and coaxed the delinquent back inside the building.  The principal must have convinced his parents that the undisciplined boy would be an excellent candidate for the junior military academy located in the next town, because that was his last day in school, and that was how Pete finally cured his cold.  The next morning, when Royce thought he might be getting a sore throat as a result of his illness, he drove to the local convenience store and picked up some lemon-lime soda and night-time cold medicine.  According to the text book, some persons had resorted to the use of stimulants and depressants.  The medicine would help him sleep better throughout the night, he believed.  The down-side was he'd wake up in the middle of the night soaked in a cold sweat, his sheets and pillow cases cold and damp.  He'd climb out of bed to change the sheets and pillow cases for dry linens, tossing the wet items in the washing machine.  The next morning, he'd wake up in a cold sweat again, having slept on cold, damp sheets and pillow cases.  So, he had to change the sheets and pillow cases a second time.  He tossed the damp ones into the washer, and those from the washer to the dryer.  He reflected on the fact that you sort of wanted to generate a little body heat, especially in the middle of winter.  All he felt was cold and damp.  A few days later, he developed a harsh cough and began to get a sore throat, partially from the cold-causing microbes and partially from the cold medicine, which tended to dry out the mucus membranes of his esophagus.  He began to cough repeatedly, trying with all his might, attempting to expel the perceived irritant on the inside wall of his throat.  Because of the persistent cough he'd developed, Royce returned to the store for another 12-pack of lemon-lime sodas and a large package of winter-green flavored mint candies, something that might soothe his irritated throat condition.  Candy-coating his esophagus with mint and lemon-lime flavored syrups seemed to work fairly well and his throat began to feel much better.  Particularly so, after numerous rigorous bouts of gargling with warm salt-water, during the night.  Gradually, over time, he began to breath easier and he was able to rest much more completely.  His muscles were still sore and his joints ached, but he was becoming more alert.  And he had finally felt the fever that had flamed up within him, warm, burning, inviting--like the wood-fire in a cozy, rustic cabin fireplace made of rocks, stacked and cemented together all the way to the chimney top.  The next morning, he cooked an omelet for breakfast and had a cup of coffee.  He was slowly but surely returning to normal.  "What doesn't kill you will make you stronger," he recollected someone having recently said in the office, as he began to gather his wits about him.  Thus, the "physician" healed himself after all.  "Feed a cold;  starve a fever," he proclaimed loudly in defiance!  Only it wasn't just the common cold he was trying to cure.  A week prior, he'd been afflicted by the deadly tse-tse fly toxin on his way to the exiting airport.  It caught him unaware, as if a poisoned dart had just sailed by him while he was strolling along the sidewalk, window-shopping in the fashion merchandise district.  As he paused to turn the corner, the sharp needle-point barely nicked him, scratching the exposed skin on back of his neck.  He swatted too late.  The fly zipped through the air, ultimately striking a wooden-framed bulletin board made of cork dead center among the routinely posted government notices and the list of active, precautionary safety measures found on the advertising kiosk.  It felt like a mosquito bite.  Harmless enough.  Maybe.  He didn't stop to read the writing on the wall.  One might wonder if the pocketful of raw, rare gemstones he had concealed on his person were so precious as to risk his very life in the process of couriering them across remote international borders, not his own, for an undisclosed employer, funded by a temporary employment agency.  Lucrative, but not much said about job security.  But then again, it beat flipping veggie burgers for a living at the delicatessen back home by a long shot.  The historical novel, An Instance of the Fingerpost, written by Iain Pears, published in 1998 proved to be just the kind of realistic reading material--food for thought, you could sink your teeth into.  The story seems plausible enough.  An Italian medical student goes to London, England in the middle 17th century and tries to learn enough and earn the necessary credentials to become a doctor.  He feels the calling to heal the sick and improve the lives and health of everyone he meets.  A noble ambition.  He has a crude idea of man's mortality and his short life-span, but does the best he can under the circumstances.  Not everyone he tries to heal gets the cure.  Not every physician is perfectly gifted, suitable, or perfectly qualified for the job.  Basically, he meets a number of other "quacks," quite unlike himself, and a variety of other quirky characters.  The profession becomes frustrating to him, but he perseveres.  He learns useful home remedies from practitioners of local folk medicine.  He gains accolades from the renowned colleges of medicine. And he gets an inside look at the politics of medical health care.  In fact, the politics of health care applies just as much today as it did 350 years ago in sunny old England, even though today's doctors are better trained and we've all enjoyed the benefits and miracles of modern-day medicine.  Nonetheless, you might want to think twice about having your appendix, tonsils, gall bladder, etc removed, simply because you have experienced slight discomfort and moderate inflammation, and because you have the necessary health insurance to cover the expense.  Likewise you might want to consider a second opinion or multiple opinions before you consent to and give preference to one form of medical treatment over another.  For all you know the anomaly revealed might be completely harmless and you have several more decades to live, before you die of natural causes.  We know that we all have to go some time, but we'd prefer to prolong the inevitable.  Likewise, you might not want to overdo it with the tremendous volume and kinds of available medication.  You don't want to abuse pharmaceuticals, and you certainly don't want to become addicted to them.  At some point in time, you might want to ask yourself if you really need the pain pills, sedatives, anti-anxiety medication, etc.  Rehab, detox, "cold turkey," "drying-out," and "going on the wagon" are alternatives.  Is the stress and pressure from your job killing you?  Does your type-A personality dramatically increase your chances for a heart-attack?  My philosophy is "run like hell!"  Save up and try something different.  Change your life-style.  Quit.  Sell out.  Move.  Get a hobby.  Relax.  Go where people live longer, sensible lives, without the hustle and bustle.  Retire, even if you have to live more modestly in moderation.  What sense does it make rampaging through life like a raging bull right up until the very moment he meets the point of the sword?  Unless, of course, you really love your work.  In the immortal words of a former co-worker, "Law enforcement is my life!"  But then again, she resigned after a few short years and married a doctor.  Sensible girl.  The gentle people love her so.

### ⭐⭐⭐ 







  
  
    Mixed feelings - this review contains spoilers
  

*by T***E on Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on February 25, 2011*

I didn't hate this book. That is to say, it had its entertaining moments. This is a book to read with a package of post-it notes and a pen, markers of different colors, maybe a wall chart or two.For the most part, the writing was interesting and clever, the characters seemed real.Until you see them from the other narrator's eyes, and the view is so disparate you can't know whom to believe.Four men write this tale. They all disdain each other. They dabble in medicine, torture, desception, pompous religiosity, homosexuality, and above all, ego-mania to the point of delusions. These men individually (under some motivation we aren't given, but possibly just to prove the others are all boobs) write their stories, all vaguely about an old mathematician named Grove who was a nice guy and didn't deserve to die but hey, he was old and nice guys finish last. And somebody killed him but maybe he did it himself or maybe it was a mistake...De Cola is a talented charlatan practicing medicine on unwitting people while looking for a lawyer to fix his father's business problems. He experiments on Sarah and her mother, transfusing blood. The philosophical and religious mores of the day, mixed with the gruesome aspects of medical study when fresh cadavers were the student's modern equivalent of a new laptop, was fascinating and seemed real.Prestcott is either a delusional lunatic or a gentleman living in a fine estate. He was once in prison but escaped and all is forgiven. His father lost their estate but the son is now rich. Reasons are given. His tale is entertaining. His story seems believable too, but has little to do with De Cola's except that somehow they both are involved in getting the same people knifed to death. I could be confused--I stopped using the post-it notes by then.The third, who is not identified until 300 pages into his narrative, Willis, goes into a novel-length dissertation on how smart he is, how pious -which includes cruelty, strictness, corporal punishment- as a master, how in love with his male protege', how moral, how condescending, how grand, how learned, the glory of God himself in human form . . . again... quoting Scriptures all the way, and tells almost nothing. He is all about deciphering codes. Don't know why. The codes have nothing to do with the story. But he's the only one who is as good as he, and there are codes to be broken and books to be stolen, and they have nothing to do with Grove who is long dead by that time, but he just generally hates everyone so that's okay.The last narrator, Wood, tells a fantastic tale of loving Sarah, Grove's maid, who confesses murdering the old man and is hung for it but "magically" survives. And that's good because he is smitten with her incredible beauty, even though the other men describe her as evil incarnate or childishly malnourished and rude.Now that I have come to the end, I still don't know what happened. Was the mystery about who killed Grove or how he died? And who did? Was the mystery about Sarah? Did she do it, or did someone else? or did Grove commit suicide in order to frame her for his death? All these inane questions recurred with no answer. Sarah was either a shrew or a witch or a sexy vixen, magically surviving hanging and whisked away on a boat bound for America from which she disappeared like a vapor off the deck.I looked forward with great anticipation to this novel. I am truly sorry if even in rating it I have messed up details but this was SO HARD TO FOLLOW I felt lost at every turn.At times the writing was spellbinding. At times droll and dry. There is much said and little done, and the arrows of plot point in five directions at once with no real conclusion. Who killed Grove? Why did anyone kill Grove? or was he the victim of medical bungling? You'll never know. What is Prestcott's lost fortune doing in this story? If he's crazy, there's no sign of it in his writing, for it's a lucid as the others and less boring. What purpose did Willis' narrative serve in the story or the whole novel? Why didn't someone put some arsenic in HIS tea? Here, I'll get the kettle for you...Is Wood the real lunatic thinking he'd slipped his dream girl from a noose and saved her only to have her evaporate (please!) ?I may, after I recover from reading this a first time, read it again, just to see if I'm totally off base. There must be something I'm missing.UPDATE, 1/6/2013: TIME passes as it does and I returned to this book wondering how I could have misunderstood what was supposed to be such a gold-ribbon novel. Drumroll, please. It's not me, it's the book. It really has no solid plot, no connection, and no direction.

### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 







  
  
    Great book!
  

*by D***S on Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on April 3, 2023*

Lovely new copy of book! Arrived safe and sound! Thanks!

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