Scan barcode
lettersinthemargins's review against another edition
dark
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
The book is narrated by Tony, a man in his sixties. He is investigating the circumstances of a certain suicide. Tony is not reliable in terms of judgement, but his candour in expressing his insecurities was a refreshing male perspective. I found myself rushing through the book because parts of it claim the crime fiction pace to keep us guessing till the end. It is interspersed with some pure philosophy that seeps under your brain folds and tickles you nicely. More than anything, it is the insecure cishet man's follies and slips that I loved about the text. In some parts, the comparisons between Margaret (ex-wife) and Veronica (ex-girlfriend) were unnecessary, but in others, interesting. I thought the ending itself felt short of the hype it builds. It does deliver shock value, though. And the blame that Tony takes, and Veronica sort of excessively, mysteriously pushes on Tony felt unnecessary.
The book makes you ask yourself questions just as Tony asks himself questions. Are we the sum of our own choices, or the sum of the coincidental paths we are sometimes pushed into? Can time belong to us, or is it there, and we flow through it? Is memory our own tale, or the tale of what happened in time? How are stories anything but false if we are writing from memory? Why do friends flow against time, what is it about time that gives you perspective like nothing else?
For interspersing these tea-time/curtain staring thoughts with a possible share in a certain crime, and life revaluated by memory and time, read the book.
The book makes you ask yourself questions just as Tony asks himself questions. Are we the sum of our own choices, or the sum of the coincidental paths we are sometimes pushed into? Can time belong to us, or is it there, and we flow through it? Is memory our own tale, or the tale of what happened in time? How are stories anything but false if we are writing from memory? Why do friends flow against time, what is it about time that gives you perspective like nothing else?
For interspersing these tea-time/curtain staring thoughts with a possible share in a certain crime, and life revaluated by memory and time, read the book.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Suicide
Moderate: Physical abuse
Minor: Sexism
More...