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A review by versmonesprit
Thus Were Their Faces by Silvina Ocampo
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
0.25
Talk about a nosedive.
I was hyped to start this story collection, and after a frustrating spoiler-filled “introduction” by Helen Oyeyemi which practically copied and pasted every single thing Jorge Luis Borges had already written in his preface, I fell in love with Ocampo as I read her own introduction. Her tone, feminine and mystical and magical and lyrical, reminded me of the best of Clarice Lispector.
And then the first two stories were such a bummer, but I did not let that get to me, as I was determined to keep on loving Ocampo. And I was rewarded with The Impostor and Autobiography of Irene which were truly breathtaking! And then the tragic nosedive began.
Most of the stories are first person narrations, without any single original voice for any of the narrators. This was worsened by the fact that after a short while you notice that the plots or at least the plot points are pretty much a repetition every single time too. If you’ve read 3, you’ve read it all.
I ended up hating this book so much, hating the fact that it wasted so much of my time because I despised the act of reading it to the point I dragged my feet through it. The comparisons of Mariana Enriquez to Ocampo also became apparent very fast, as both writers set up stories that do nothing but end in the most anticlimactic and least exciting, least original, least enthralling ways possible.
Thinking back on this book is giving me a headache all over again, I can feel my blood pressure rising. Avoid at all costs unless you want to torture yourself with a subpar book.
I was hyped to start this story collection, and after a frustrating spoiler-filled “introduction” by Helen Oyeyemi which practically copied and pasted every single thing Jorge Luis Borges had already written in his preface, I fell in love with Ocampo as I read her own introduction. Her tone, feminine and mystical and magical and lyrical, reminded me of the best of Clarice Lispector.
And then the first two stories were such a bummer, but I did not let that get to me, as I was determined to keep on loving Ocampo. And I was rewarded with The Impostor and Autobiography of Irene which were truly breathtaking! And then the tragic nosedive began.
Most of the stories are first person narrations, without any single original voice for any of the narrators. This was worsened by the fact that after a short while you notice that the plots or at least the plot points are pretty much a repetition every single time too. If you’ve read 3, you’ve read it all.
I ended up hating this book so much, hating the fact that it wasted so much of my time because I despised the act of reading it to the point I dragged my feet through it. The comparisons of Mariana Enriquez to Ocampo also became apparent very fast, as both writers set up stories that do nothing but end in the most anticlimactic and least exciting, least original, least enthralling ways possible.
Thinking back on this book is giving me a headache all over again, I can feel my blood pressure rising. Avoid at all costs unless you want to torture yourself with a subpar book.