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A review by jess_stetson
Ablutions by Patrick deWitt
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
Discuss reading a novel written in second person and putting yourself in the well-worn shoes of an exhausted, dejected, alcoholic bar back as he slides ever further down an abyss of his own making.
From your safe, comfortable position in your favourite reading spot, you are virtually assaulted with the depravity and misery of the hopeless. They come alive from the pages on your lap and steep you in despair.
Your protagonist has no name but he introduces you to the parade of pathetic patrons that frequent his bar. You do not feel compassion or empathy so much as pity, some disgust, and a distinct and overwhelming impulse to distance yourself from these wretched creatures.
....
I can't say that I enjoyed reading ππ£ππΆπ΅πͺπ°π―π΄ because it's not an enjoyable experience. Depressing, vicariously embarrassing, disturbing, and occasionally funny (in that way where you feel so icky that all you can do is kind of laugh) was my experience of the novel.
When I began reading this I felt restless and had a nebulous anxiety. I thought maybe it was the second person POV but as I continued on I realised that it was because I not only π¬π―π¦πΈ the protagonist, I knew him intimately; I πΈπ’π΄ him once upon a time. I worked graveyard shift at a pool hall and lived in dive bars for years during an active addiction. The parade of pathetic patrons in the book were the same degenerates who made my pool hall their second home. They were the same lost souls who shared bar stools and street corners with me on the Lower East Side. I loved and hated them. And just like our protagonist, the line between me and them got progressively thinner...
I got clean years ago but this novel brought those years back in quite a stark way. After reading Ablutions, I sincerely hope that Mr deWitt is in recovery, therapy (both?), or he has somehow managed to exorcise his demons. I'm assuming that he has because I became acquainted with his writing through his later work, the eccentric and acerbic, yet oddly charming, novel ππ³π¦π―π€π© ππΉπͺπ΅. While I started off disliking this, in the end I was impressed and maybe a bit enamoured.
From your safe, comfortable position in your favourite reading spot, you are virtually assaulted with the depravity and misery of the hopeless. They come alive from the pages on your lap and steep you in despair.
Your protagonist has no name but he introduces you to the parade of pathetic patrons that frequent his bar. You do not feel compassion or empathy so much as pity, some disgust, and a distinct and overwhelming impulse to distance yourself from these wretched creatures.
....
I can't say that I enjoyed reading ππ£ππΆπ΅πͺπ°π―π΄ because it's not an enjoyable experience. Depressing, vicariously embarrassing, disturbing, and occasionally funny (in that way where you feel so icky that all you can do is kind of laugh) was my experience of the novel.
When I began reading this I felt restless and had a nebulous anxiety. I thought maybe it was the second person POV but as I continued on I realised that it was because I not only π¬π―π¦πΈ the protagonist, I knew him intimately; I πΈπ’π΄ him once upon a time. I worked graveyard shift at a pool hall and lived in dive bars for years during an active addiction. The parade of pathetic patrons in the book were the same degenerates who made my pool hall their second home. They were the same lost souls who shared bar stools and street corners with me on the Lower East Side. I loved and hated them. And just like our protagonist, the line between me and them got progressively thinner...
I got clean years ago but this novel brought those years back in quite a stark way. After reading Ablutions, I sincerely hope that Mr deWitt is in recovery, therapy (both?), or he has somehow managed to exorcise his demons. I'm assuming that he has because I became acquainted with his writing through his later work, the eccentric and acerbic, yet oddly charming, novel ππ³π¦π―π€π© ππΉπͺπ΅. While I started off disliking this, in the end I was impressed and maybe a bit enamoured.