January 4, 2010
I only read about eight pages, a stately procession of blindingly obvious sentences with laser-pointers and strobelights and migraines between every fooking vowel and consonant, but I don't need to read any more. This is exactly the sort of prose that should be excised from these mass NYC-wuss fiction rollouts. For example (skipping forward to page 27):
The insouciance, of course, masked endless and wearisome neuroses, to which Marina and Danielle were privy.
"Of course" -- what kind of sadistic writer throws in an "of course" here? Endless and wearisome? Everyone knows that neuroses don't "end", and they are by definition "wearisome". Both adjectives are useless and throb my temples. "Privy"? Ain't that where I go to take an insouciant bowel movement among the peaceful cricket sounds?
That's one of the more innocuous examples. How about this one (p. 59):
Perhaps the frisson was born of the taboo, amid all that flourescence, the acres of discreet carpet, of the sense that Julius might have to convince David of his own worth in this setup, which cast him as dogsbody rather than an enviable and ethereal man-about-town?
What the foock is that? "Frisson"? "Discreet carpet"? "Dogsbody"? "Ethereal"? I've had vomitus traverse my tongue which made a more efficient point, and also sounded better. (Did I mention Claire Messud apparently teaches creative writing?)
To quote Stephen Fry (or is it the privy?): total ass-mud.
My only hope is that all the gushing critics are weaving transparent threads, 'cause I wouldn't mind at all seeing Claire Messud nude...
The insouciance, of course, masked endless and wearisome neuroses, to which Marina and Danielle were privy.
"Of course" -- what kind of sadistic writer throws in an "of course" here? Endless and wearisome? Everyone knows that neuroses don't "end", and they are by definition "wearisome". Both adjectives are useless and throb my temples. "Privy"? Ain't that where I go to take an insouciant bowel movement among the peaceful cricket sounds?
That's one of the more innocuous examples. How about this one (p. 59):
Perhaps the frisson was born of the taboo, amid all that flourescence, the acres of discreet carpet, of the sense that Julius might have to convince David of his own worth in this setup, which cast him as dogsbody rather than an enviable and ethereal man-about-town?
What the foock is that? "Frisson"? "Discreet carpet"? "Dogsbody"? "Ethereal"? I've had vomitus traverse my tongue which made a more efficient point, and also sounded better. (Did I mention Claire Messud apparently teaches creative writing?)
To quote Stephen Fry (or is it the privy?): total ass-mud.
My only hope is that all the gushing critics are weaving transparent threads, 'cause I wouldn't mind at all seeing Claire Messud nude...