We Need to Talk About Kevin

I had such mixed feelings about this novel, We Need to Talk About Kevin.

For much of this read, I harbored feelings of great disdain. If I were not reading this for book club, I likely would've not finished. Though I pushed forward, I knew this book could do no better than two stars. Why?

Mostly because of the style of writing. Reading was terribly painful. The novel is set up as a series of letters from Eva to her estranged husband, Franklin. There are so many problems with these letters, and therein lies 90% of the problem with this story. For starters, the letters are overwrought. Eva is the founder of a very successful series of travel guides. She's writing to her husband. And from the first sentence, we get this:

I'm unsure why one trifling incident this afternoon has moved me to write to you. But since we've been separated, I may most miss coming home to deliver the narrative curiosities of my day, the way a cat might lay mice at your feet: the small, humble offerings that couples proffer after foraging in separate backyards. Were you still installed in my kitchen, slathering crunchy peanut butter on Branola though it was almost time for dinner, I'd no sooner have put down the bags, one leaking a clear viscous drool, than this little story would come tumbling out, even before I chided that we're having pasta tonight so would you please not eat that whole sandwich.