I read the first 80 or 90 pages of this book and did not like it at all. The only reason for me to continue reading would have been because everyone else was gasping and gushing about how wonderful it is. Nope. Uh-uh. Not gonna get sucked into wasting my hours again. That happened to me with The Goldfinch, among others.
So, no rating. Twouldn't be fair to rate it. My biggest criticism is for the editors, not the author. Eleanor Catton is a fine novelist who wraps herself in wordy brambles and thick vines of obfuscation and literary device. The editors' job is to prune away those riotous verbal weeds and let the reader enjoy the garden. They didn't do that. So bring your machete. And your Ben-Gay. And plenty of vittles. It's a long, tedious journey.