A review by jramm
Nadirs, by Herta Müller

2.0

Herta, so your stories have no plot, that's ok. They lack character development. Fine, as long as I get some fresh perspective about life. NO? Ok, no plot, no character development, no fresh perspective, but that's ok because you're going to teach me something, right? Ok, Herta, ok, so, maybe you don't want to be a teacher but surely you will challenge my sensibilities and cause me to re-examine my sense of the moral? NO?!? Ok, I'm getting impatient by now, but maybe you're just not a moralist. Maybe you just want to ramble, without discernment, about vague things in a vague place in a vague way. There we go, Herta, there we go. Mission Accomplished!

This book reads like Sandra Cisneros without personality. Like Willa Cather without passion for place and people. Like Steinbeck without storytelling. Herta's scenes are rather interchangeable, her style is strained, and her prose is well...for the sake of kindness, I'll assume lost in translation. Someone please, set me straight. Does she deserve a Nobel prize? Can her genius be found in her novels? I hope so...