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emotional
reflective
reflective
slow-paced
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
emotional
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This series just keeps getting both worse and better
Last week, I've finished reading the second book of Elena Ferrante, Neapolitan Novels.
I fell in love with literature reading Gabriel García Márquez. In my opinion, no one could translate love into words as he did.
With Ferrante, I have a similar feeling. She can turn the simplest feeling into visceral pages. Almost like a scream of what we don't see, what lies in between a conversation.
I fell in love with literature reading Gabriel García Márquez. In my opinion, no one could translate love into words as he did.
With Ferrante, I have a similar feeling. She can turn the simplest feeling into visceral pages. Almost like a scream of what we don't see, what lies in between a conversation.
Le premier tome m’avait pas tellement convaincue mais entre temps je suis tombée amoureuse de Naples alors j’ai continué et j’ai bien fait !
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“Why had I never told Lila plainly what I felt for Nino? And now, why had I not cried to her the pain she had caused me with that confidence in the middle of the night, why hadn’t I revealed to her that, before kissing her, Nino had kissed me? What drove me to act like that? Did I keep my feelings muted because I was frightened by the violence with which, in fact, in my innermost self, I wanted things, people, praise, triumphs? Was I afraid that that violence, if I did not get what I wanted, would explode in my chest, taking the path of the worst feelings—for example, the one that had driven me to compare Nino’s beautiful mouth to the flesh of a dead rat? Why, then, even when I advanced, was I so quick to retreat? Why did I always have ready a gracious smile, a happy laugh, when things went badly? Why, sooner or later, did I always find plausible excuses for those who made me suffer?”
SO GOOD
SO GOOD