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A review by litsirk
Pure Colour by Sheila Heti
3.0
Heti is one of those few writers I return to book after book despite not quite loving her work. I’m trying to think of other examples—Henry Green is one. Writers whose books I always finish, even once I’ve decided they’re not quite “my thing,” and when I come across another one I think, “Yes. I’m reading that.”
Why? Because at some point in one of their books I absolutely head over heels loved them. And in each book, there are passages—sentences—half a sentence? that bring me right back to that feeling. I find something valuable in these difficult loves, as I contemplate the boundaries between inner selves and how the same people who seem to strike at my very core can also create in me such a remove. A thought not unrelated to themes in this book.
So, I’m not going to go around telling friends they have to read Pure Colour— I honestly think they’d hate it. But am I happy I read it? Unreservedly, yes.
Why? Because at some point in one of their books I absolutely head over heels loved them. And in each book, there are passages—sentences—half a sentence? that bring me right back to that feeling. I find something valuable in these difficult loves, as I contemplate the boundaries between inner selves and how the same people who seem to strike at my very core can also create in me such a remove. A thought not unrelated to themes in this book.
So, I’m not going to go around telling friends they have to read Pure Colour— I honestly think they’d hate it. But am I happy I read it? Unreservedly, yes.