First, I really, really wanted to love this book because so many people I know absolutely loved it. Unfortunately, I did not. I loved parts of it. Some of the writing was exceptional, but I don't think the writing and the story went together. There were 2 different things going on in this long, long novel.
This book felt like Great Expectations" the modern, New York version. Hobie reminded me of Hagrid in the Harry Potter books. These were two of the problems for me.
I was debating on 2 or 3 stars for the book. I only gave it 3 because Donna Tartt writes really well.
Maybe it is because I don't have as much time to read any more, that I am more critical of books. But if I invest the amount of time that I did in this book, I expect to at least enjoy that time. Not to take anything away from Donna Tartt. She is a good author and wrote some amazing prose. The problem was, there was way too much of it in this long, long novel. This should have been edited down to 400 pages. I can't believe this book was released as is.
I was vested in the character of Theo immediately. Some of the best writing in this book were the isolation and sadness Theo felt after he lost his mother. Theo grew up a very flawed adult and yet, he was still sympathetic even with his drug addiction and shady dealings. I wanted him to have a happy ending.
One of the main problems of this book for me were all the unnecessary characters thrown in. I didn't care about their back stories, and I had to try and remember who they were. When Boris and and Theo went to Amsterdam, I was very frustrated by all the new named characters and their back stories. I really didn't care. It felt very forced.
The whole episode with Horst and the cast of characters seemed forced just so Tartt could discuss art and her impressions of famous works of art. It all felt forced and unreal.
The continual description of drug abuse and its after effects got tedious to read about.
Then the contrived, neatly wrapped up package after the debacle in Amsterdam did me in. I was waiting for an end to the book and got a 100 more pages of philosophy. Good and bad; fate and destiny, God and death, right and wrong, art and beauty, and the most convoluted: what is the meaning of life!, ugh! I was screaming in my head, "Just stop writing!" None of that had anything to do with the story. It was way over the top.
I would not recommend this book unless you enjoy plodding through prose.
The only plot line I enjoyed was Popper the Maltese. I wonder if Donna Tartt has a Maltese because she wrote his character so well.
I was debating on 2 or 3 stars for the book. I only gave it 3 because Donna Tartt writes really well.
Maybe it is because I don't have as much time to read any more, that I am more critical of books. But if I invest the amount of time that I did in this book, I expect to at least enjoy that time. Not to take anything away from Donna Tartt. She is a good author and wrote some amazing prose. The problem was, there was way too much of it in this long, long novel. This should have been edited down to 400 pages. I can't believe this book was released as is.
I was vested in the character of Theo immediately. Some of the best writing in this book were the isolation and sadness Theo felt after he lost his mother. Theo grew up a very flawed adult and yet, he was still sympathetic even with his drug addiction and shady dealings. I wanted him to have a happy ending.
One of the main problems of this book for me were all the unnecessary characters thrown in. I didn't care about their back stories, and I had to try and remember who they were. When Boris and and Theo went to Amsterdam, I was very frustrated by all the new named characters and their back stories. I really didn't care. It felt very forced.
The whole episode with Horst and the cast of characters seemed forced just so Tartt could discuss art and her impressions of famous works of art. It all felt forced and unreal.
The continual description of drug abuse and its after effects got tedious to read about.
Then the contrived, neatly wrapped up package after the debacle in Amsterdam did me in. I was waiting for an end to the book and got a 100 more pages of philosophy. Good and bad; fate and destiny, God and death, right and wrong, art and beauty, and the most convoluted: what is the meaning of life!, ugh! I was screaming in my head, "Just stop writing!" None of that had anything to do with the story. It was way over the top.
I would not recommend this book unless you enjoy plodding through prose.
The only plot line I enjoyed was Popper the Maltese. I wonder if Donna Tartt has a Maltese because she wrote his character so well.
No comments:
Post a Comment