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A review by jwageman
The Guest by Emma Cline
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
Character-driven novel with interesting reflections on surfaces, absence, manipulation, and affect.
“‘Why are you like this?’ he said. And he was really asking. Expecting some explanation, some logical equation—x had happened to her, some terrible thing, and so now y was her life, and of course that made sense. But how could Alex explain—there wasn’t any reason, there had never been any terrible thing. It had all been ordinary.” (132)
"Hundreds of years ago, their parents might have abandoned their babies in the woods. Instead, the neglect was stretched out over many years, a slow-motion withering. The kids were still abandoned, still neglected in the woods, but the forest was lovely.
And anyway, most people didn’t feel the way they were supposed to feel. Love as a sort of catch-all term whose mere invocation was enough, a way to avoid having to acknowledge how you actually felt. It would be easier for Jack if he didn’t expect so much, if he understood these words were just gestures at meaning, not meaning itself.” (229)
“Seagulls bombed a garbage can. Then scattered just as quickly.
Another fruitless scan of the beach.
Nothing. The dog had disappeared.
The dog was gone, truly gone. The sadness was instant, piercing—her eyes watered. But then, almost as quickly, the fact of the dog’s absence seemed, all at once, like just a fact, another thing that she could not change, a thing she could not help.” (252)
“‘Why are you like this?’ he said. And he was really asking. Expecting some explanation, some logical equation—x had happened to her, some terrible thing, and so now y was her life, and of course that made sense. But how could Alex explain—there wasn’t any reason, there had never been any terrible thing. It had all been ordinary.” (132)
"Hundreds of years ago, their parents might have abandoned their babies in the woods. Instead, the neglect was stretched out over many years, a slow-motion withering. The kids were still abandoned, still neglected in the woods, but the forest was lovely.
And anyway, most people didn’t feel the way they were supposed to feel. Love as a sort of catch-all term whose mere invocation was enough, a way to avoid having to acknowledge how you actually felt. It would be easier for Jack if he didn’t expect so much, if he understood these words were just gestures at meaning, not meaning itself.” (229)
“Seagulls bombed a garbage can. Then scattered just as quickly.
Another fruitless scan of the beach.
Nothing. The dog had disappeared.
The dog was gone, truly gone. The sadness was instant, piercing—her eyes watered. But then, almost as quickly, the fact of the dog’s absence seemed, all at once, like just a fact, another thing that she could not change, a thing she could not help.” (252)