A quasi-autobiographical exploration into the futility of passion and the ephemerality of commitment - Harry Mulisch's magnum opus and one of the finest pieces of Dutch literature.
The most unappealing way to describe this book would be: half-deranged intellectuals have mental breakdowns across three (and a half) conversations. It's an accurate description, however, but that's not the point. Be warned, first of all: this book is a slow burner. Like I said, there are really only three scenes in the entire book/two stories. There is a lot of description and mental deliberation that is difficult to get your head around at times. I found myself struggling - especially with the first half - re-reading passages and not really looking forward to continue reading. But I had to. The book had me by the balls. If you consider yourself an intellectual, or academic, or something, and find yourself getting frustrated with and resistant to social norms, the university system, etcetera, this book will be a mirror to you. One of those actor's mirrors where the lights are on way too bright so you can see very little imperfection and blemish on yourself. It's ugly. And that's what makes this book so great. It is a poignant reflection for all of us who over-reflect. If you dare.
An enchanting book, with believable characters and storylines, in twists you cannot predict, but should have seen coming. A wide cast of characters that you either love or love to hate intertwine fates and grapple with the cruelties of life in their own ways. Excellent read.
Interesting idea, sadly bogged down to a grinding halt towards the end, made unbearable to read with the on-the-nose foreshadowing that basically spoils what will happen ahead of time.
Regrettably, a five-star premise with a one-star execution. Frankenstein was devised as a brilliant novelty when it was first published, and it is a deservedly respected piece of literature given its context, so I was quite excited to finally give it a read. However, despite its far-reaching impact on western pop culture, the book hasn't aged well at all, making it a laborious read in spite of its brevity. My main complaint is with the way it was written, as especially the foreshadowing happens too explicitly and too often. The forewarning sentences are repeated verbatim and ad nauseam so often that I couldn't help but shake the feeling that the book thought I was a bit slow, and I really don't need that kind of sass from a two-hundred-years-old book. Scenes in the book are often little described, giving essentially no leeway to taste the atmosphere in any the wonderful locations across Europe that the story takes place in without visiting Lonely Planet. However, my biggest complaint lies with the characters. Each character is so irredeemably bland that it's hard to tell them apart. They have no depth to their personalities, and mostly indeed no personality at all. Having all the main characters be a ragtag band of Mary Sue's does little to connect you with them, so when tragedy befalls any of them and they start incessantly moping about it I simply couldn't bring myself to care and wanted the book to get on with the good bits already. Sadly, just like the first time I got three-quarters of a handjob in high school, those good bits I hoped for never came, leaving me sorely dissatisfied.