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A review by trin
The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery
1.0
Painfully pretentious French novel that for some reason is selling like hotcakes at my store. The narrative is shared between two characters: a poor but brilliant concierge who feels she must play dumb lest the people who live in her building learn her TERRIBLE SECRET—that she, like, likes [b:Anna Karenina|331453|Penguin Readers Level 6 Anna Karenina Book and Audio Cassette (Penguin Readers)|Leo Tolstoy|http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-60x80.jpg|2507928] and stuff (OH NOES?)—and an also-brilliant but disaffected 12-year-old girl who lives in the same building and plans to kill herself and burn down her parents’ apartment when she turns 13 because life is just NOT WORTH LIVING when people are just so shallow, you know?
No, I don’t know. I don’t know why Renée considers her genius to be such a horrible secret that she must desperately hide, or why we’re expected to feel sympathy for Paloma when she’s such a snobby, selfish brat. For a book that seems to be trying to argue that one should not dismiss people such as concierges or 12-year-old girls because they might be thinking deep thoughts and feeling deep things from their deep, precious souls, The Elegance of the Hedgehog is nevertheless incredibly elitist, looking down on and judging everyone who does not belong to Reneé and Paloma’s special little amateur philosophy club. At my worst, I know I can be a bit of a snob—turning up my nose at people buying [a:Nicholas Sparks|2345|Nicholas Sparks|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1204497914p2/2345.jpg] books and whatnot—but I still spent much of this novel wanting to punch those two. Especially Paloma: dude, you’re twelve, you’re smart, you’ve never had to want for anything, and I’m sorry your family’s obnoxious, but man up. Okay, part of the story does deal with you realizing that you’re being a little ridiculous, but first we have to wade through 300 pages of your faux-intellectual LIFE SO HARD rants? Shut up.
The plot also doesn’t really get going until about 150 pages in, and I found the ending—which I’m sure was supposed to be deeply moving—eyeroll-inducing. Yet the rich Brentwood ladies keep buying this book. Fine, whatever. I’m gonna go read something with spaceships or explosions with the rest of the plebes.
No, I don’t know. I don’t know why Renée considers her genius to be such a horrible secret that she must desperately hide, or why we’re expected to feel sympathy for Paloma when she’s such a snobby, selfish brat. For a book that seems to be trying to argue that one should not dismiss people such as concierges or 12-year-old girls because they might be thinking deep thoughts and feeling deep things from their deep, precious souls, The Elegance of the Hedgehog is nevertheless incredibly elitist, looking down on and judging everyone who does not belong to Reneé and Paloma’s special little amateur philosophy club. At my worst, I know I can be a bit of a snob—turning up my nose at people buying [a:Nicholas Sparks|2345|Nicholas Sparks|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1204497914p2/2345.jpg] books and whatnot—but I still spent much of this novel wanting to punch those two. Especially Paloma: dude, you’re twelve, you’re smart, you’ve never had to want for anything, and I’m sorry your family’s obnoxious, but man up. Okay, part of the story does deal with you realizing that you’re being a little ridiculous, but first we have to wade through 300 pages of your faux-intellectual LIFE SO HARD rants? Shut up.
The plot also doesn’t really get going until about 150 pages in, and I found the ending—which I’m sure was supposed to be deeply moving—eyeroll-inducing. Yet the rich Brentwood ladies keep buying this book. Fine, whatever. I’m gonna go read something with spaceships or explosions with the rest of the plebes.