I’m reading a novel that I purchased a long time ago, and never got around to reading. I was actually quite excited about it then: the jacket description and reviews made it sound interesting, and full of dark humour (which I like). More, the author is one I’ve read a few times before, and liked immensely.
But it turns out its one of those irritatingly clever novels. It’s all about memory, with a conventionally unconventional temporal narrative structure. Too, it’s full of philosophical aphorisms and characters who speak in analogies drawn from seemingly trivial and everyday events that are really Quite Significant.
It’s a Literary Novel, and it’s doing everything it can to mark itself as such. And the story itself (which is actually compelling and funny) is getting overwhelmed by these literary markers.
11 March 2010 ~ Hamilton