Jeffrey Eugenides has a way with words that draws you in and holds you under water. You know what is going to happen in this story from the beginning, making this tale less about what happens and more about who it happens to.
Much as I admired and sometimes revelled in the sheer style and beauty of the writing, this novel left me cold cold cold and empty. Beautiful, but ultimately futile. Which I think was precisely the point.
I can't think of anyone.
Not sure yet.
His performance was fine.
The description of the first suicide attempt in the bathtub. It was very creepy.
I know this book is a black comedy, but it was too morbid for me. I don't expect you to use this review.
The writing is labored and the pace is slow but the lengthy descriptive phrases added little to the book. I don't usually mind slow plot lines. In fact, I love Edith Wharton, the queen of flowery writing and glacial pace. The characters just weren't fleshed out enough to be likeable or warrant the authors indulgent slowness. In the end the climax was dull since the characters were such cold, distant figures.
I enjoyed Middlesex. Much less naval-gazing.