I admit – the better the book the better my review. My review here is disjointed and messy – much like my feelings for the book. However, I have no one to blame here but myself. I kept reading lonnnnnnnnnnnnng after I normally would have given up bc I was waiting for a twist. Someone somewhere had mentioned Gone Girl (the number one book i love to hate) so i kept reading waiting that moment – it never came.
First – the good. The writing here was gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. And normally heavenly writing will carry a book for me. Even if I don’t love characters or story line the writing can make up for it. However, even some of the prettiest prose I’ve ever read can’t make up for this story. “What story, AR?” you say. “Exactly” says I.
It’s supposed to be a book about a marriage and the struggles in a relationship. But the book is so pretentious, it’s characters so foreign, that there was nothing relatable. No real marriage has these problems – guaranteed.
Lotto and Mathilde felt like someone writing a reinvention of a 1920s romance. They met in the 1990s, but it had the glitter, sparkle and idiosyncrasies of a time gone by. Lotto calls his mom “Muvva.” I really feel like that sums him up entirely. He grew up rich in the South and was forced North. He’s a big, good-looking, charming, blonde fellow with some strange sexual thoughts and proclivities. And Mathilde is nothing beyond what Lotto says she is – she doesn’t exist outside his musings. A reflection of “wife” as seen by Lotto.
I’m not sure what i was to have taken from the book. I feel a little sad. A little disappointed that something so beautiful rang so hollow.