Little Children

I wasn't sure that I really even liked this book until I had nearly finished it. None of the characters - a handful of selfish and self-indulgent thirty-somethings - are particularly likeable, and I had trouble finding myself sympathizing with their intertwined lives and thoughts, and, as a result, I didn't really care what happened to any of them. Perotta's writing, though, is subtly compelling, and I found myself required to continue to read, if only to confirm my dislike for the novel. In the final chapters of the work I surprised myself with the thought, “I may actually have liked this book,” and have been wondering just what about this story was so interesting. I've come to figure that my dislike of the characters and the story may have been the point: I cared as little about them as they did of each other. I'm not sure if this was the author's intention, but it certainly is an interesting way of getting the reader to identify with a group of characters I didn't particularly want to find myself identifying with. Perhaps this peculiar construction of a relationship between reader and character made me a bit more understanding of all of their shortcomings.

Someday soon AI will get really good at generating fiction and it will be a lot like this book. I'm just not convinced that Little Children wasn't written by a robot. The characters try really hard to pass as real people but they're like fairly decent CGI at best.

It's probably not the book's fault. I just finished up another existentially depressing treatise on modern life, so this wasn't a great chaser (not that i knew that at the time, of course).

But man, what bleakness.

Little Children is the story of how nobody is really happy or in control, and trying to change it only makes things worse. There are brief, fleeting moments of happiness that collapse into ever-lengthening echoes of despair the minute you start to time them. Also, the story of a registered sex offender (and accused-but-not-actually-convicted child murderer!) plays a big role.
So I feel somewhat justified.

I can appreciate the argument that the novel is only trying to represent “reality,” and I will concede the plotting is at least probable, if not super likely. But this is where my “two books where the predominant theme is people are terrible in a row” thing kicks in. I understand (and subscribe to!) the idea that people, in general, are kind of terrible. Individual persons, though, tend to be less so.

Every character in Little Children feels like a consolidation of the worst traits of humanity distilled into an individual, which (in my experience) is precisely opposite of how it works. People as a whole are scumbags; Your neighbor probably isn't too bad. Though we like to joke that hipsters and suburbanites are terrible people, for the most part they're just mildly annoying when they congregate and generally tolerable on their own, short of fashion sense. Perhaps there's some sort of assholic magnet that drew those people together, or maybe it was something in the water. Regardless, you don't see that kind of bitterness and poison among a group of people outside of that ABC show The Slap, which I don't think anyone is confusing for reality anytime soon.

Which is not to say this was a bad book! Merely depressing. Just make sure you're ready going into it.

I'm ambivalent about this book. I wouldn't have read it if I had realized it was by the same author who wrote The Abstinence Teacher. I picked it out of a Little Free Library because I remembered reading a favorable review of it several years ago and didn't make the connection between it and The Abstinence Teacher until I was already into it. Anyway, I can recognize its merit–a pretty solid portrayal of the predicaments people get into because they don't have insight into themselves–but looking back on it now that I've finished it, I'm not glad I read it. The characters don't experience any redemption after they dig themselves into the shit, they just seem to wallow around or dig themselves in deeper. The only people in the book who are able to see themselves clearly are morally bankrupt, so it doesn't feel good to read about them. So, I think the story is well crafted, but I don't like what I got from it. Proceed with caution.

A devastating story of adults acting on impulses.

I discovered this book in the pages of The New York Times Book Review, and after reading the review it went to the top of my “To Read Next” list. Little Children is a suburban drama about a bunch of couples with children who have various kinds of troubled marriages. And when a convicted child molester moves into town, their troubles get a little more complicated and scary. Many of the characters are likable sorts even when you watch them make some dumb choices with their lives. It all makes for some compelling reading. This was a book I kept eagerly going back to and I read the last 50 pages in a rush to see where they would all end up. Obviously, this book appeals to the married-with-children set, but I think those unencumbered would find this a good read as well. Naturally I read through this book thinking (on my high horse), “Thank God my marriage is nothing like yours!”