This novel was quite boring. Also, the overwrought, self-conscious similes and metaphors invoked by Griet, the narrator, seemed to me to reflect a kind of narcissistic wish fulfillment on behalf of the author--a somewhat desperate attempt to prove her aesthetic sensitivity through a heroine fashioned in her own psychological self-image. Many writers do this to some extent, but the good ones succeed in giving their characters a life of their own, while the not-so-good ones come off as painfully insecure. It's too bad, because Vermeer's painting itself is simply gorgeous.
RATING: 45%
(Image from www.flickr.com.)
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
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2 comments:
Fuck art, let's dance.
Next time I come to Houston we'll have a NyQuil rave.
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