Seriously. I must keep this brief because A) Let's face it, it's about time, and B) I'd be a hypocrite to malign Middlesex's 529 pages, in my typically loquacious fashion now wouldn't I?
But I hated this book. It sucked the marrow from my life for like five months. Don't get me wrong, I read as fast as y'all, but I have been a prisoner of this unending yarn for so long I was sort of hoping to develop Stockholm Syndrome, just never got that lucky. I really could only take five pages at a time before a strand of hair on the carpet would catch my eye and off I'd go. I'd see the book on the nightstand sneering at me, daring me to resume the epic trek through the quagmire, and I'd grab it, determined to find/contrive a fresh outlook. But it was no use. For all her notable experiences, I just didn't five a shit about Desdemona, and cared even less for Lefty. There was absolutely nothing about them that gave me a foothold for pathos, and I was thusly dragged through their disappointing, beige, lives.
Even the crocus failed to engage me. (Ew.) Eugenides' use of humor was appallingly sparse, and his back story practically predated Genesis. The characters were bland like hospital food, and the author (finally) ended the book right where the story would have gotten interesting.
But don't let my critique fool you, he lost me at the mushroomy smell and for that I make no apologies.
4 comments:
I'd heard so many people talk about how much they loved that book and I didn't care for it either.
I'm so not surprised. Seriously. I'm laughing over here.
Haven't read it... don't think it interests me.
It was ok. I would give it a C. It wasn't funny but it held my attention-ish. But then, you know I like to read a minimum of three books at a time, and during Middlesex I was also doing Emma and the nonfiction Nicholas and Alexandria. Both had MS beaten, hands down. I'm just glad you've moved on to better things nowadays. I'll see you in the SMOKING SECTION :)
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