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3.72 AVERAGE
3.72 AVERAGE
challenging
funny
reflective
medium-paced
funny
informative
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
funny
informative
reflective
medium-paced
Becca Rothfeld is one of the rare brilliant thinkers who can get their ideas across in an engaging way without dumbing down the important things they want to say. These essays are some of the best I’ve read and her range is remarkable. Whether it’s the body horror of David Cronenberg or the mindfulness movement, Rothfeld will challenge you to see the deeper things at play, while also delighting you with her gorgeous, humorous prose. A must-read!
challenging
informative
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
funny
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
funny
informative
inspiring
medium-paced
I got stuck on the second chapter. This sounded interesting in theory but it did not work for me. This is very academic heavy in language. There were far too many words I didn't understand. Just looking at the couple of reviews posted so far I'm clearly not the reader for this book. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
challenging
lighthearted
medium-paced
All Things Are Too Small is cultural criticism at its most invigorating: that which aspires to more than mere persuasion. Even at their most caustic, Becca Rothfeld's essays brim with passion for art, at once brashly erudite and unapologetically subjective, reveling ambiguity rather than seeking to resolve it. I didn't feel the need to agree with her opinions in order to appreciate the eloquence of her arguments. (Though I will fight at any time for the artistic value of The Dark Knight Rises. It's not "equal" to Cries and Whispers, but isn't it the definition of excess?)
reflective
medium-paced
As a longtime admirer of Rothfeld’s criticism, this book was a highly anticipated read for me. This excitement dimmed slightly through the opening essays, where Rothfeld aims to situate the thesis of the text (as stated in the subtitle of the book: a “praise of excess”) in the political writings of John Rawls and chooses, rather surprisingly, to contrast her philosophy of maximalism with Marie Kondo’s guide to organization. There are some superficial points of disparity between Rothfeld’s embrace of the excessive and the ethos of the minimalist (namely—is it good or desirable to have more or less stuff?). But the two are so obviously distinct that the comparison does not help to elucidate Rothfeld’s positive view in much detail.
At her least persuasive, Rothfeld relies heavily on quoting those she disagrees with a sardonic bite, presumably expecting her reader to share these feelings of disdain for, e.g., the purported literary value of YA fiction and blandly philistine maxims to reduce one’s book collection to only the “necessities.” Even if she is correct in her assessment of these claims, I’m left wanting an explanation for how she came to these opinions rather than a theatrical dismissal of them.
Her strongest authorial voice is when she speaks as herself, weaving in personal narrative with critical analysis to intimate and honest effect. Rothfeld has a rich understanding, both in the texts that she consumes and in interpreting her own lived experience, and writes in a profoundly lyrical tone that renders the text not only deeply insightful but also luxurious. Although the essays follow no clear order and some have no apparent connection to the main claims regarding maximalism (such as the somewhat random dalliances into true crime, sexual consent, and Sally Rooney), there is something delightfully informal about the meandering soliloquies and I found myself jotting down lovely turns of phrases, looking up the books and films that are referenced, and musing over some of Rothfeld’s particularly striking characterizations. The text is intellectual without feeling dry or educational, and warmly personal without resorting to over-familiarity or effusiveness. Finally, Rothfeld’s strongest (and, in my opinion, least-explored) strength is in her wonderful marriage of the classic and the contemporary, such as an essay where she uses the films of Bergmann as a framing device for investigating the experience of stalking an ex’s new girlfriend online (or is it the other way around, where the personal shapes the critical? The text’s ambiguity here adds a meta-level of blurring between the self and the projection, which is a theme around which the essay orients). At times, she leans quite heavily into the nearly archaic—for instance, she predominantly discusses films from the 40s and 50s, and even her more contemporary movie references, such as to Cronenberg’s filmography, are still quite dated. It is clear that, literarily, she jumps through time more comfortably, as when she compares Rooney’s opus to both Jane Austen and the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy— initially surprising bedfellows that Rothfeld deftly ties together. These cross-temporal comparisons add a novel complexity to her criticism that I longed (and still long!) to see more of—not only in her choices of art, but in her reflections more broadly.
As a debut work, “All Things are Too Small” is an impressive feat. I don’t think it would be remiss to describe Rothfeld as a contemporary Sontag in many respects. The shortcomings of the work serve only to leave the reader hungry for more (more explanation, more details, more examples), exemplifying the very all-consuming desire that Rothfeld is concerned with understanding. And at her finest, Rothfeld’s writing soars dazzlingly. 4 out of 5 stars.
The ARC for this text was provided by the publisher via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
At her least persuasive, Rothfeld relies heavily on quoting those she disagrees with a sardonic bite, presumably expecting her reader to share these feelings of disdain for, e.g., the purported literary value of YA fiction and blandly philistine maxims to reduce one’s book collection to only the “necessities.” Even if she is correct in her assessment of these claims, I’m left wanting an explanation for how she came to these opinions rather than a theatrical dismissal of them.
Her strongest authorial voice is when she speaks as herself, weaving in personal narrative with critical analysis to intimate and honest effect. Rothfeld has a rich understanding, both in the texts that she consumes and in interpreting her own lived experience, and writes in a profoundly lyrical tone that renders the text not only deeply insightful but also luxurious. Although the essays follow no clear order and some have no apparent connection to the main claims regarding maximalism (such as the somewhat random dalliances into true crime, sexual consent, and Sally Rooney), there is something delightfully informal about the meandering soliloquies and I found myself jotting down lovely turns of phrases, looking up the books and films that are referenced, and musing over some of Rothfeld’s particularly striking characterizations. The text is intellectual without feeling dry or educational, and warmly personal without resorting to over-familiarity or effusiveness. Finally, Rothfeld’s strongest (and, in my opinion, least-explored) strength is in her wonderful marriage of the classic and the contemporary, such as an essay where she uses the films of Bergmann as a framing device for investigating the experience of stalking an ex’s new girlfriend online (or is it the other way around, where the personal shapes the critical? The text’s ambiguity here adds a meta-level of blurring between the self and the projection, which is a theme around which the essay orients). At times, she leans quite heavily into the nearly archaic—for instance, she predominantly discusses films from the 40s and 50s, and even her more contemporary movie references, such as to Cronenberg’s filmography, are still quite dated. It is clear that, literarily, she jumps through time more comfortably, as when she compares Rooney’s opus to both Jane Austen and the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy— initially surprising bedfellows that Rothfeld deftly ties together. These cross-temporal comparisons add a novel complexity to her criticism that I longed (and still long!) to see more of—not only in her choices of art, but in her reflections more broadly.
As a debut work, “All Things are Too Small” is an impressive feat. I don’t think it would be remiss to describe Rothfeld as a contemporary Sontag in many respects. The shortcomings of the work serve only to leave the reader hungry for more (more explanation, more details, more examples), exemplifying the very all-consuming desire that Rothfeld is concerned with understanding. And at her finest, Rothfeld’s writing soars dazzlingly. 4 out of 5 stars.
The ARC for this text was provided by the publisher via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.