Set in contemporary London, Justine chronicles one man's obsession with beauty and his journey through the darkest recesses of the mind in its pursuit.
A sensitive art collector, nameless throughout, becomes enchanted by Justine, the portrait that hangs above his mantel. Enthralled, he spends hours in his flat, smoking opium and watching the beautiful woman in the painting. Searching London for the object of his ravening desire, he finds on separate occasions two women: Justine, a refined and chiseled beauty, and her identical twin Juliette, a complex and reckless woman who seems driven by rage.
As the story unfolds, he finds it increasingly difficult to know the true identity of the evasive and evanescent woman he desires, and his vivid opium-seasoned hallucinations become indistinguishable from reality.
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One man's obsession, unreality, dreams melding into fantasy even into the end. I thought only... the central complaint of her objectification remains. We know only the narrator's view in the end.
The short chapters really propel you through this work, don't think to hard just go with the feeling of sliding obsession and beauty overall, plenty of literary references if you do.
Thank god it's Friday.