Bianca Pasqualini
It's been almost a month since I finished this book and I think about it every day.
The most difficult, wonderful and heartbreaking book I've ever read. It will stay with me for a long, long time.
What to say, what to say. Definitely not for me. I didn't like the prose style (the one word sentences, for instance), didn't like the plot (supposedly some sort of Greek tragedy in modern times), didn't like any of the characters (a bunch of psychopaths). It was supposed to be two versions of the same marriage, told first by the husband then by the wife. But to do so, the first part (“fates”), told by the husband, felt like he was borderline cognitively impaired. Shallow and stupid. The second half, told by the wife (“furies”), felt to me as improbable and absurd. (And the dog named God didn't help it at all.)
Really, Suzy? Using a bipolar diagnosis as an excuse for life choices that might sound questionable from a moral standpoint is a disservice to all bipolars who are really struggling with the disease.
This book is completely self-indulgent. I doubt she even is truly bipolar. To me, the diagnosis that would suit this lady more appropriately is one of narcissistic disorder.
The author's ridiculous advice is basically to “surround yourself with things you love”, but with a twist: hold each item you own and ask them (?!) if they bring you joy. Hmm.. No, thanks.
