Lisa Cotton
For such a short book of very short stories this was incredibly affecting. I don't remember another book that made me feel this terrible.
I picked it up (at the store that published it, City Lights in SF) because the blurb on the back used words like “obsessive” and “dark” and “like an insistent, disturbing dream”. So I'm not sure why I was so shocked when it really truly was dark and intense and emotional and harrowing.
“Trying to Say” was the most painful. It discusses an intense long-term obsession that is voluntarily sustained after a relationship dies. It's visceral and potent and horrible. Most of the other stories are along a similar mood if not a similar topic - bleak and excruciating. I read the book as quickly as possible to get it done with because it was so emotionally difficult.
I hated reading it, but I reckon I was meant to. The author wants it to hurt and it absolutely does. She captures obsession perfectly. But it was very, very unpleasant.
Just read this for the second time. It genuinely did transform my life the first time around - but upon second reading, I'm amazed at how much of the book is properly barmy!
I LOVE this book! It's the sort of thing I've been craving for over a decade. Absolutely perfect for me. It's rammed full of brilliant clues and facts and interesting things to look out for on walks - and it's such a pleasure to read. I will continue to carry it around with me daily as a reference book for a good while yet - and it's certainly earned a place in my backpack for future walks. I'm moving straight on to another of Tristan Gooley's books, I'm hooked!
It was fine, but I was bored. I mostly only read a page or two at a time, and was never compelled to pick it up again.
Her style is a bit mind-bending (crimes against semicolons! subclause abuse!) though I concede that there is some really lovely writing in there. I liked the perspective shifting from one mind to another, and the meandering thoughts punctuated by snippets of reality. But it was really all just a bit... nothing. I was craving plot, or drama, or some sort of excitement - nothing happens (except that one brief shocking moment which is then basically put aside for the rest of the novel) - and the style and characters and social commentary weren't enough to counteract that dullness for me.
Tiny and hauntingy pretty. A lovely thing to read, a lovely thing to hold and look at.
“All elsewhere is milk.
A void.”
"Nothing to be done about It. Only stare at It and go cold."
From other reviews I anticipated that this might be a tougher read - bleaker and more emotionally wrought. I'm not disappointed that it didn't hit me in the heart like it might have - I think it's all the more powerful for planting seeds of thought and question.
Thought this was lovely - a warm and nostalgic look at the history of the letter and what it has meant over the years. Primarily this book is really about love - the love of words and the bit of paper that holds them, of course, but more so about the love that is carried in those words and bits of paper.
Some chapters are a little on the dry side but overall it's fascinating and nicely illuminated by an excellent selection of letters - so many vivid, juicy letters - it's almost voyeuristic reading them at times. And the running thread of Chris & Bessie's fiery wartime correspondence is delicious.
(In the spirit of celebrating the physical paper form of things, I read this entirely in various libraries)
Oh gosh, it was lovely. I was transported into the world on page one and did not leave until I finished the book (who am I kidding - I'm still there). How very glad I am that there are more books of Earthsea.
3.5 stars. The achingly delicious language is what kept me going - I was frustrated throughout most of it. So much cliffhanger-style teasing of “The Terror” without relief until the very end. The ending was magnificent, mind you. Of all the different chronological perspectives to choose from, I admired the point in time where the book ended: the one point where there was any pleasure at all, doomed or not.
I thought this would be a 5 star when I was in the early chapters. I liked the mood, the sardonic style, the steadily building intrigue. But the story simply never elevated above nice writing, for me. I didn't care about any of the characters - I wasn't really concerned who lived or died, or who committed the crimes, or where Rusty Regan had got to. It didn't affect me. I felt nothing. It was all cold. (“not as cold as her lips”)
Objectively, I can see it's an excellent bit of work, but I zoned out more than I should have, and I wasn't compelled to keep reading. I'd like to give it another go in the future, in case I'm missing something, or in case it just was the wrong time.
The first time I tried to read this it made me very angry indeed, because I somehow didn't notice that it was tongue-in-cheek and found all the etiquette palaver tiresome. Exasperated, I stopped reading it half way through, and it wad my unfinished book nemesis for years.
Then I picked it up again, found it quite light hearted and pleasant after all and ended up devouring it. I enjoyed how the intensity of emotion is largely undescribed - referred to as “the darkness” - the reader implicitly understands how to fill in the gaps from their own experience of this feeling.