Scott Graham
I assume this novel was a roman à clef, written in prose, hitting you like poetry and fine art. Lyrical and visual, it's difficult to navigate because your eyes and your mind often fail to work in concert.
Your eyes, familiar with the mechanics of reading keep moving forward in the text while your mind wanders through the painting that Ocean Vuong has created with his words, so I found myself rereading passages quite often; my comprehension was still back at buffaloes careening off a cliff while my eyes had just finished a passage about monarch butterflies. The fault is mine and not the author's. I enjoyed it immensely, found the characters of Little Dog, Rose, Lan, and Trevor compelling, each in their own way, sometimes comical, occasionally infuriating, and in a few cases sadly tragic. I will reread it again, and be better prepared to go at the lazy, indulgent pace that the novel cries out for and deserves.
I assume this novel was a roman à clef, written in prose, hitting you like poetry and fine art. Lyrical and visual, it's difficult to navigate because your eyes and your mind often fail to work in concert.
Your eyes, familiar with the mechanics of reading keep moving forward in the text while your mind wanders through the painting that Ocean Vuong has created with his words, so I found myself rereading passages quite often; my comprehension was still back at buffaloes careening off a cliff while my eyes had just finished a passage about monarch butterflies. The fault is mine and not the author's. I enjoyed it immensely, found the characters of Little Dog, Rose, Lan, and Trevor compelling, each in their own way, sometimes comical, occasionally infuriating, and in a few cases sadly tragic. I will reread it again, and be better prepared to go at the lazy, indulgent pace that the novel cries out for and deserves.