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A review by lu_wilson
OK, Mr Field by Katharine Kilalea
1.0
"Being in the dark is like being on the inside of one’s own body"
A man is involved in an accident in London and uses the compensation pay-out to buy a house in South Africa. He moves into said house with his wife, who goes on to leave him (I don’t blame her). That is pretty much it. He sits around, occasionally plays the piano and ponders about strange, random things. Oh wait, he does eventually start stalking the woman who sold him the house, but even that was uneventful. Yawn.
I accept this book was intentionally based around loneliness and depression, with the protagonist quickly losing his connection with reality and becoming obsessive. I doubt anyone suffering from these inflictions would want to read about them and those that don’t certainly would not feel any better for doing so. This story was depressing, slow and extremely dull. There was a large amount of reflection by the main protagonist, but it never led anywhere. The rumination was too long-winded to be remarkable with no accomplishment, no conflict and no point. The author conveyed isolation and misery well, but the majority of the story felt meaningless.
I honestly could not provide a detailed description of the plot. After reading a paragraph, a page, a chapter, I could hardly recall exactly what had happened, I was completely indifferent. At only 200 pages this should have been a quick read, but it took me almost a week to wade through. I did however have 3 enjoyable afternoon naps thanks to this book! I guess this was meant to be a philosophical work about the humdrum of the everyday, and some people (you know the type) will wax lyrical about this being a masterpiece. I however feel like I have just lost a chunk of my life.
A man is involved in an accident in London and uses the compensation pay-out to buy a house in South Africa. He moves into said house with his wife, who goes on to leave him (I don’t blame her). That is pretty much it. He sits around, occasionally plays the piano and ponders about strange, random things. Oh wait, he does eventually start stalking the woman who sold him the house, but even that was uneventful. Yawn.
I accept this book was intentionally based around loneliness and depression, with the protagonist quickly losing his connection with reality and becoming obsessive. I doubt anyone suffering from these inflictions would want to read about them and those that don’t certainly would not feel any better for doing so. This story was depressing, slow and extremely dull. There was a large amount of reflection by the main protagonist, but it never led anywhere. The rumination was too long-winded to be remarkable with no accomplishment, no conflict and no point. The author conveyed isolation and misery well, but the majority of the story felt meaningless.
I honestly could not provide a detailed description of the plot. After reading a paragraph, a page, a chapter, I could hardly recall exactly what had happened, I was completely indifferent. At only 200 pages this should have been a quick read, but it took me almost a week to wade through. I did however have 3 enjoyable afternoon naps thanks to this book! I guess this was meant to be a philosophical work about the humdrum of the everyday, and some people (you know the type) will wax lyrical about this being a masterpiece. I however feel like I have just lost a chunk of my life.