I'm sick and should be in bed. But I wanted to post quickly about this book. This book was small (only 200pp) but dense. I picked it up as I thought I could knock it over quickly in a few days before we went on holidays in Cairns and I could relax on the beach with a big, thick book. Oh how I was wrong.
Instead, it was like walking through treacle. But surprisingly, not in a bad way. Just sticky. Like walking through mangrove mud, which I fell into the other day and then the pressure of pulling my foot out of the mud pulled my thongs apart (poor thongs, they had served me well). It was almost poetry. It was lyrical and thought out and considered. It was also like a stream of consciousness, but I wish I thought as clearly and musically as Herta Müller.
Once again, the European style of writing surprised me. We Anglo-Saxons/Celtics seem to love tied up endings. But these "continentals" (oh I would have a mouthful from so many different people if I said that at work lol). They hate tied up endings. Or endings at all. They just cease.
Maybe I should take a page out of their book with my waffling blog posts. I am also wondering if I am feverish. However, I really recommend this book for you all. Just don't get surprised by the stickiness.
Next: Ethiopia with Cutting for Stone