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A review by mutedglow
The Golden House by Salman Rushdie
1.0
a “modern” take on the great gatsby, it tackles some distinctly “trendy” american issues right now. and somehow ends up bringing nothing new to the table, at all. the opinions expressed in this book, while written pretty well, have been done to death. the book meanders, not in a good way, but to the point where it gets insufferably boring and i have to stop my eyes from skipping whole chunks of paragraph. occasionally there are some poetic jewels, yes, but frankly nothing illuminates, nothing is fresh. it just reads like some man’s bitter take on the world, packaged into a book, and like the golden mansion, looks gorgeous but is ultimately empty.
if anyone is interested in the issues discussed in this book, theyre better off reading genuine opinions from the marginalised themselves. this book just reads like a privileged man’s scorn at current day america. like a very slow jacking off session to his own words. i hate to reduce the author like this, but his identity simply shines through glaringly, even before i knew the author at all.
maybe this book just isnt meant for me, aka genz bisexual asian, and instead meant for those whose world is far beyond that of the marginalised, who want to dip their toe into contemporary issues and be painted as victorious.
or maybe i just came in with the wrong expectations. to me, america is a country full of tragedy, but despite it all, one brimming with hope, with vitality. the author strips this away to just corruption, just rot. if thats what he wants, and thats what readers see america as, then so be it.
but most likely, i just had too high hopes, because i was endeared to the characters - i wanted to root for them, for petya, for d. i wanted the narrative to straighten itself out, to burst forth into light. and so i soldiered on, til it got so posey and contrived, so damn annoying, that i couldnt.
im trying very hard to defend this book, but i really cant. the author writes with none of the grace of fitzgerald. or, no grace at all, frankly.
if anyone is interested in the issues discussed in this book, theyre better off reading genuine opinions from the marginalised themselves. this book just reads like a privileged man’s scorn at current day america. like a very slow jacking off session to his own words. i hate to reduce the author like this, but his identity simply shines through glaringly, even before i knew the author at all.
maybe this book just isnt meant for me, aka genz bisexual asian, and instead meant for those whose world is far beyond that of the marginalised, who want to dip their toe into contemporary issues and be painted as victorious.
or maybe i just came in with the wrong expectations. to me, america is a country full of tragedy, but despite it all, one brimming with hope, with vitality. the author strips this away to just corruption, just rot. if thats what he wants, and thats what readers see america as, then so be it.
but most likely, i just had too high hopes, because i was endeared to the characters - i wanted to root for them, for petya, for d. i wanted the narrative to straighten itself out, to burst forth into light. and so i soldiered on, til it got so posey and contrived, so damn annoying, that i couldnt.
im trying very hard to defend this book, but i really cant. the author writes with none of the grace of fitzgerald. or, no grace at all, frankly.