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wildmind1's review against another edition
4.0
I'll admit it. I was afraid to re-read this novel by one of my favorite authors, which I first read closer to the time in which it was set, at an age when the concerns of the characters were not unlike my own. I was afraid it wouldn't hold up. Aside from a few passages that seem like they're trying a little too hard to summon up a disaffected Less than Zero style and tone, this novel still works, moving and often tender, with believable characters and situations and some beautiful writing. An unexpected bonus? The musical references led me to throw together the perfect soundtrack for this book: The Psychedelic Furs, The Cure, Bowie. Depeche Mode, Bronski Beat, and, of course, The Smiths, always The Smiths.
zefrog's review
1.0
Either this is a work of staggering genius or it's an insufferable pile of shite. I know which way I'm leaning...
Those characters Russell inflicts on us are a sad bunch of narcissistic self-centered losers that do not evince the tiniest drop of sympathy for their miserable excuses for a life. They have in fact little to complain about. And yet!
The "plot" the book is threadbare and what there is of it is highly unoriginal. But this is not the important thing, it seems. Rather we are presented with a constant unrelenting flow of half-baked, made-up worries and self-inflicted imaginary torments as they drift aimlessly through the minds of the characters. But those "thoughts" are so outlandish and so minutely dissected that they become meaningless and unrealistic, not to mentioned highly unlikely to have ever actually crossed the mind of any actual human being, let alone which such density. Those characters just need a good slap, really.
To labour the point even further, the lives of all the characters, follow roughly the same template, only varying in their details: they are all in a rut of their own making, they've all experienced the tragic and traumatic death of someone close in the past, they all pretend to care about other people, they all carry on metaphorically flinging the bag of the hand to their forehead while crying "Woe is me!" and looking up at the skies through half-closed lids. None can set the others into relief for they are effectively all the same people.
It was a struggle! I did like the continuous way the author swapped from one point of view to another. I thought that was an interesting and effective technique. But that not enough of redeeming feature.
Those characters Russell inflicts on us are a sad bunch of narcissistic self-centered losers that do not evince the tiniest drop of sympathy for their miserable excuses for a life. They have in fact little to complain about. And yet!
The "plot" the book is threadbare and what there is of it is highly unoriginal. But this is not the important thing, it seems. Rather we are presented with a constant unrelenting flow of half-baked, made-up worries and self-inflicted imaginary torments as they drift aimlessly through the minds of the characters. But those "thoughts" are so outlandish and so minutely dissected that they become meaningless and unrealistic, not to mentioned highly unlikely to have ever actually crossed the mind of any actual human being, let alone which such density. Those characters just need a good slap, really.
To labour the point even further, the lives of all the characters, follow roughly the same template, only varying in their details: they are all in a rut of their own making, they've all experienced the tragic and traumatic death of someone close in the past, they all pretend to care about other people, they all carry on metaphorically flinging the bag of the hand to their forehead while crying "Woe is me!" and looking up at the skies through half-closed lids. None can set the others into relief for they are effectively all the same people.
It was a struggle! I did like the continuous way the author swapped from one point of view to another. I thought that was an interesting and effective technique. But that not enough of redeeming feature.
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