romigarrido's review against another edition
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
1.75
spiderfelt's review
4.0
Genre busting would be a fine description of the author seems to be attempting in this book. Is it a novel or a memoir? The reader can only speculate. It utterly defies traditional categories.
As the narrator reflects on her memories of a relationship, I was fascinated by the way in which she debates what she remembers and what she thinks might have happened. In the end, does it really matter? There were moments of brilliance and an equal number of points where I wondered 'will she ever move on?.
I picked this book off a remainder shelf at a large independent bookstore, I took a risk on it because I loved some of Lydia Davis' other work, but had not read any novels. Now that it is done, I'm still not sure what I think of it. But I think that is exactly the point.
As the narrator reflects on her memories of a relationship, I was fascinated by the way in which she debates what she remembers and what she thinks might have happened. In the end, does it really matter? There were moments of brilliance and an equal number of points where I wondered 'will she ever move on?.
I picked this book off a remainder shelf at a large independent bookstore, I took a risk on it because I loved some of Lydia Davis' other work, but had not read any novels. Now that it is done, I'm still not sure what I think of it. But I think that is exactly the point.
megapolisomancy's review
2.0
1. Who would have guessed that an overly self-conscious novel about a self-conscious character/narrator/author writing a novel about the self-conscious remembrance of a failed love affair would be boring and eye-roll-worthy and self-involved? Just kidding, anyone could have guessed that.
2. A quote: Vincent (husband of the unnamed narrator [whose name is presumably Lydia Davis... it's that kind of book:] in the portion of the story in which this novel is being written, you follow?) happens to be reading a novel that includes the same sorts of things he hopes I will leave out... I don't think Vincent likes the book enough to go on with it.
But I suspect he thinks I should also leave out my feelings, or most of them. Although he values feelings in themselves and has many strong feelings of different kinds, they do not particularly interest him as things to be discussed at any length, and he certainly does not think they should be offered as justifications for bad actions. I'm not writing the book to please him, of course, but I respect his ideas, though they are often rather uncompromising. His standards are very high.
Me too, Vincent. Me too.
But really, not that feelings can't be an interesting thing to write about (Written On The Body being a good example of a book not too far off from this one, thematically speaking) but the kicker here is their being "offered as justifications for bad actions." And not just bad as in like "said a mean thing" or whatever but bad as in "cowering outside his apartment to observe him at home with his new girlfriend."
3. "Davis has written a brilliant essay in the form of a novel." says the New Yorker and while I don't know about "brilliant," this is definitely more of an essay than a novel. Not an essay interesting enough to fill 240 pages, though.
2. A quote: Vincent (husband of the unnamed narrator [whose name is presumably Lydia Davis... it's that kind of book:] in the portion of the story in which this novel is being written, you follow?) happens to be reading a novel that includes the same sorts of things he hopes I will leave out... I don't think Vincent likes the book enough to go on with it.
But I suspect he thinks I should also leave out my feelings, or most of them. Although he values feelings in themselves and has many strong feelings of different kinds, they do not particularly interest him as things to be discussed at any length, and he certainly does not think they should be offered as justifications for bad actions. I'm not writing the book to please him, of course, but I respect his ideas, though they are often rather uncompromising. His standards are very high.
Me too, Vincent. Me too.
But really, not that feelings can't be an interesting thing to write about (Written On The Body being a good example of a book not too far off from this one, thematically speaking) but the kicker here is their being "offered as justifications for bad actions." And not just bad as in like "said a mean thing" or whatever but bad as in "cowering outside his apartment to observe him at home with his new girlfriend."
3. "Davis has written a brilliant essay in the form of a novel." says the New Yorker and while I don't know about "brilliant," this is definitely more of an essay than a novel. Not an essay interesting enough to fill 240 pages, though.
maycho's review against another edition
3.0
"It had to be written carefully, because only if I wrote it carefully could I deliver over my pain into it."
I have mixed feelings about this one.
Often times, anguish can be a terrible, ugly thing. In this book, you get too see toxicity in yourself (and/or your relationship) being made tangible in the form of Davis's words. On one hand, I really enjoyed this obsessive, heartbroken narrative. It's relateable to some degree for a lot of people. On the other, I found it pitiful and annoying. The narrator comes of whiny and entitled at times.
I did really enjoy the narrator's arc in the end though as well as the writing style.
First time reading a Lydia Davis book and I think I should've read her short story collection, which she is more known for, first. Oh well.
read_to_read's review
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
gianni_francis's review
4.0
My favorite part about Davis's 'break-up' novel is the emotional objectivism of the narrator. She states that arguments happen, things were said, consequences resulted, but never what the arguments were regarding, what precisely was said. In terms of a relationship, "consequences" of tactlessness takes time to fester anyway; all the potential readers needs to know is that they break-up. (This is revealed within the first chapter, no spoilers.)
Objectively reporting subjective memories, Davis skips the boring 'he said, she said' although the truthfulness of what happened is very important to her, as is relaying it accurately. Accuracy and thoughtful entertainment. For that reason the novel partially becomes about itself, and it is unclear (in a good way) how much of this novel is fictional.
Our narrator commits some insane 'break up' acts, like following her ex's white car only to realize its not him, entertaining the idea of him living in her garage etc. She is very funny, thoughtful, and becomes crazy when her pride is damaged by this much younger ex, like any normal person would.
Objectively reporting subjective memories, Davis skips the boring 'he said, she said' although the truthfulness of what happened is very important to her, as is relaying it accurately. Accuracy and thoughtful entertainment. For that reason the novel partially becomes about itself, and it is unclear (in a good way) how much of this novel is fictional.
Our narrator commits some insane 'break up' acts, like following her ex's white car only to realize its not him, entertaining the idea of him living in her garage etc. She is very funny, thoughtful, and becomes crazy when her pride is damaged by this much younger ex, like any normal person would.
margaret_adams's review
This is a book about a love affair that has ended, but it’s also a book about a narrator writing a novel about her own life, and it’s also a book about the incredible slipperiness of memory and perceived experience. It has no chapters and no dialogue, and that lack of clear delineations fits with the surprisingly lucid fluidity of the material. I’m pretty sure it’s straight fiction but I didn’t really care if it was or wasn’t.
I liked this. Odds were against it working. But I thought it did.
Quotes:
“A friend of mine once told me about a love affair he had had. [...] My friend told me he could not stop writing down certain things about it. He could not speak to her because she would not listen to him, so he wrote things about it that other people would read, so that she might read it, too, and be not only affected by it but more affected because it was public. If she was not, he would at least have the satisfaction of telling it all out loud, and also of turning that love affair, which had not lasted as long as he had wanted it to, into something that would last longer.”
“A part of me had grown into him at the same time that a part of him had grown into me. That part of me was still in him now. I looked at him and saw not only him but myself as well, and saw that that part of myself was lost. Not only that, but I saw that myself in his eyes, as he regarded me, as he loved me, was lost, too. I did not know what to do with the part of him that had grown into me.”
“By writing about him, I thought, I was taking him away from himself and doing him harm, even though he might never know it. This troubled me, not because I was doing him harm, but because I did not mind doing it.”
I liked this. Odds were against it working. But I thought it did.
Quotes:
“A friend of mine once told me about a love affair he had had. [...] My friend told me he could not stop writing down certain things about it. He could not speak to her because she would not listen to him, so he wrote things about it that other people would read, so that she might read it, too, and be not only affected by it but more affected because it was public. If she was not, he would at least have the satisfaction of telling it all out loud, and also of turning that love affair, which had not lasted as long as he had wanted it to, into something that would last longer.”
“A part of me had grown into him at the same time that a part of him had grown into me. That part of me was still in him now. I looked at him and saw not only him but myself as well, and saw that that part of myself was lost. Not only that, but I saw that myself in his eyes, as he regarded me, as he loved me, was lost, too. I did not know what to do with the part of him that had grown into me.”
“By writing about him, I thought, I was taking him away from himself and doing him harm, even though he might never know it. This troubled me, not because I was doing him harm, but because I did not mind doing it.”
dhaydon95's review
emotional
funny
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25