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A review by linguisticali
The Sorrows of an American by Siri Hustvedt
3.0
I feel like I should note upfront that I went into this with sky-high expectations - [b:What I Loved|125502|What I Loved|Siri Hustvedt|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1347721158s/125502.jpg|1309881] was so spectacular and haunting that I was really excited to read more of Siri Hustvedt's writing. So given that I was starting on that footing, I do find it hard to get a good sense of how much I might have enjoyed this if I'd read it entirely on its own terms.
That said, I was disappointed by this. I think my main criticism was how unsubtle it felt. My eyes glazed over every time the characters launched into another wordy discussion about philosophy/psychology/dreams/trauma/memory. These are all themes I find really interesting and evocative, but it felt to me like they were treated in a really heavy-handed way in this novel. The characters often felt like mouthpieces (for some or other point of view in a bigger debate) rather than characters having real interactions.
Relatedly, there were long stretches which I just found boring. I got really tired of the characters endlessly describing their dreams.
I also found this confusing and hard to follow. Maybe that's not the fault of the book, but I kept losing track of all the various family members and the people in the community and how they all fit together.
I disliked Erik from early on, which perhaps made it particularly hard to warm to the book. My sympathy for him grew towards the very end, but overall he just struck me as a creep, which meant that I didn't have much sympathy for his loneliness. I was also concerned with the way he and the other characters never seemed to be all that worried about the creepy/borderline-abusive behaviour by several of the men in the book.Jeffrey set off so many alarm bells for me, and "oh he's an artist" did nothing to address that - maybe the fact that he (probably?) isn't all that sinister is some kind of deliberate comment, but it made me really uncomfortable. The narrative also seems to justify Burton's stalking by having him turn up at the end with the letters, despite the fact that stalking people unasked on behalf of a woman you carry a torch for is totally inappropriate behaviour.
The ending was also anticlimactic for me.The final meeting between the various characters involved in the plotline with the letters seemed unconvincing and oddly melodramatic for what it was.
It's hard to say why I still want to give it three stars, because I'm struggling to identify particular things I did like about this book. I do like Hustvedt's writing, and there were elements of the story that appealed to me. I liked Sonia and Inga, and I really liked Miranda and Eggy, although I was sad we only really got to explore their lives through the eyes of the pervy old white dude.
I still want to read the rest of Hustvedt's writing, but I'm glad I didn't read this one first, or I might never have given What I Loved a chance.
That said, I was disappointed by this. I think my main criticism was how unsubtle it felt. My eyes glazed over every time the characters launched into another wordy discussion about philosophy/psychology/dreams/trauma/memory. These are all themes I find really interesting and evocative, but it felt to me like they were treated in a really heavy-handed way in this novel. The characters often felt like mouthpieces (for some or other point of view in a bigger debate) rather than characters having real interactions.
Relatedly, there were long stretches which I just found boring. I got really tired of the characters endlessly describing their dreams.
I also found this confusing and hard to follow. Maybe that's not the fault of the book, but I kept losing track of all the various family members and the people in the community and how they all fit together.
I disliked Erik from early on, which perhaps made it particularly hard to warm to the book. My sympathy for him grew towards the very end, but overall he just struck me as a creep, which meant that I didn't have much sympathy for his loneliness. I was also concerned with the way he and the other characters never seemed to be all that worried about the creepy/borderline-abusive behaviour by several of the men in the book.
The ending was also anticlimactic for me.
It's hard to say why I still want to give it three stars, because I'm struggling to identify particular things I did like about this book. I do like Hustvedt's writing, and there were elements of the story that appealed to me. I liked Sonia and Inga, and I really liked Miranda and Eggy, although I was sad we only really got to explore their lives through the eyes of the pervy old white dude.
I still want to read the rest of Hustvedt's writing, but I'm glad I didn't read this one first, or I might never have given What I Loved a chance.