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informative
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I absolutely loved it, I just was sad that Charlotte didn't really reappear at the end, that felt a little unfinished. Otherwise completely lovely.
lighthearted
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
What in the self-congratulatory wordplay did I just read?
Winter is a rambling, fragmented novel that’s kind of about a family but also about politics and art, immigration and xenophobia. Most people who love it point to its layers of symbolism (yes, I caught the references to Shakespeare and the Bible) and wordplay (is it “ahead” or “a head”?! “Today” or “to day”?! Discuss!). It’s all a little too on-the-nose, too precious, and very irritating.
To make matters worse, the book is composed of meandering vignettes that are so dull and untethered they only distract from any purpose they might serve.
I’ve enjoyed Ali Smith’s works before. I’ve seen her unspool disparate threads then masterfully weave them together into a cohesive whole. This one misses the mark. It feels both pretentious and empty, like the author is very pleased with her cleverness but it’s just not that clever. To wit: a character named Iris can “see” clearly! Ha! And a character named Lux brings “light”! Oh, and there’s Arthur aka Art who is all “artifice”! Haha!
As a reading experience this feels a bit like being held hostage at your desk while the punny guy in the office word vomits at you about his holiday plans with the family and (god help us) his unoriginal political takes before shootin’ you the ol’ finger gun and saying “see you next year, amiright?!” and strutting off feeling very erudite. Meanwhile you’re just relieved it’s over.
Winter is a rambling, fragmented novel that’s kind of about a family but also about politics and art, immigration and xenophobia. Most people who love it point to its layers of symbolism (yes, I caught the references to Shakespeare and the Bible) and wordplay (is it “ahead” or “a head”?! “Today” or “to day”?! Discuss!). It’s all a little too on-the-nose, too precious, and very irritating.
To make matters worse, the book is composed of meandering vignettes that are so dull and untethered they only distract from any purpose they might serve.
I’ve enjoyed Ali Smith’s works before. I’ve seen her unspool disparate threads then masterfully weave them together into a cohesive whole. This one misses the mark. It feels both pretentious and empty, like the author is very pleased with her cleverness but it’s just not that clever. To wit: a character named Iris can “see” clearly! Ha! And a character named Lux brings “light”! Oh, and there’s Arthur aka Art who is all “artifice”! Haha!
As a reading experience this feels a bit like being held hostage at your desk while the punny guy in the office word vomits at you about his holiday plans with the family and (god help us) his unoriginal political takes before shootin’ you the ol’ finger gun and saying “see you next year, amiright?!” and strutting off feeling very erudite. Meanwhile you’re just relieved it’s over.
Look at me, I’m a Very Socially and Politically Conscious Book That is in No Way Subtle My How Clever I Am.
In other words, after her vastly superior Autumn, this was a laughable disappointment.
In other words, after her vastly superior Autumn, this was a laughable disappointment.
(3.5) Noto que l'autora lliga de manera excel•lent tot el llibre, que és com una xarxa intercomunicada que va millorant a mesura que passa la història. Els temes que tracta m'encanten, però noto que al final deixa molts fronts oberts i no em deixa amb una sensació típica d'haver acabat un llibre. Ja no parlo dels típics interrogants quan s'acaba un llibre, es que aquí han quedat més coses obertes que jo que sé.
medium-paced
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Okay. I can see how this is part of a quartet and how it relates to Smith's earlier novel, Autumn. Both serve as criticisms of post-Brexit politics in the UK and to comment on the passage of time / its cyclical nature. However, I'm not sure that Winter has a discernable project other than simply being a follow up to Autumn. I really liked the writing (which I was unsurprised by) but at times this was a reallyyyy boring book. I liked the floating head bit (thought it was weird and pleasantly funny) but otherwise I was like... wow. Who am I supposed to feel for? What am I supposed to feel? I really liked Iris and Lux a LOT but Art and his mother were insufferable. Maybe I'm missing something here. I mean yes, they are supposed to be insufferable, but nothing was compelling about them to make me want to read on and on and on about their lives. I still want to finish the quartet and will most likely read Spring in the next couple of months, but I was actually sort of disappointed by Winter, considering I thought Autumn was so wonderful.
Quotes:
That’s what winter is: an exercise in remembering how to still yourself then how to come pliantly back to life again.
——————
That sounds quite rude; see what happens with words? It’s not what she means. She means words will make it less than it is, or something it isn’t.
Later on her way home, as she walks down a street, there’ll be words again, she’ll be dazed with it, blasted by it, made roofless like a house after a gale by it and the walls all down, made open, maybe such a thing as too open because this street she’ll be on, it’s a pretty run-down street but it will be vibrant to her, though below her there’ll be nothing but a pavement, but beautiful, the pavement, well get real, pavements aren’t beautiful, and the bus shelter a beauty, buildings, scruffy, beautiful, beautiful fast food place, shockingly beautiful coin-operated launderette full of strangers whose profiles in the late evening sun are, yes, though she’ll know they aren’t really, but they will be, right then, unbelievably beautiful.
That’s what winter is: an exercise in remembering how to still yourself then how to come pliantly back to life again.
——————
That sounds quite rude; see what happens with words? It’s not what she means. She means words will make it less than it is, or something it isn’t.
Later on her way home, as she walks down a street, there’ll be words again, she’ll be dazed with it, blasted by it, made roofless like a house after a gale by it and the walls all down, made open, maybe such a thing as too open because this street she’ll be on, it’s a pretty run-down street but it will be vibrant to her, though below her there’ll be nothing but a pavement, but beautiful, the pavement, well get real, pavements aren’t beautiful, and the bus shelter a beauty, buildings, scruffy, beautiful, beautiful fast food place, shockingly beautiful coin-operated launderette full of strangers whose profiles in the late evening sun are, yes, though she’ll know they aren’t really, but they will be, right then, unbelievably beautiful.