The Sea, by John Banville
Another 15-seconds of literary sentiment:
The prose here is gorgeous and lush. A little too lush — I needed a machete to hack my way through some sections. The lack of sympathetic characters also contributes to making this otherwise short read feel like a bit of a chore. Whether it’s a labor of love or just plain laborious depends on how much value and insight you personally extract from the very deliberately paced study of the fluid nature of memory, identity, and loss. Although I still admire the marvelously textured descriptions, I was definitely not swept away by The Sea.
Posted in Treeware