freshlybakedbread's reviews
220 reviews

reading this in the depths of january in order to trick my brain into believing it's summer again. Through the voice of Elio, Aciman uses embellished prose to portray and explore that particularly strong emotive topic that many, many writers like to return to: intense love experienced in youth. 
We are accurately plunged into Elio's infatutation with Oliver through his fous on the minutiae of tiny moments that build up to intense obsession in the infancy of infatuation. A breeze that tussles a few strands of hair; a glimpse of tanned skin; the brushing of a foot under the dinner table; these singluar details and sense are heightened to a dizzying degree for Elio as he overanalyses and replays them over and over in search for an answer to a simple question: does Oliver have the same feelings for him too? these passages were probably my favourite of the novel, as time is slowed down to a honey-like crawl and key moments are preserved in amber, a faded polaroid. 
there is also an undercurrent exploration of the use of language in desire; the chess game of flirtation, the illusions used to reveal truths too naked to put out in the open.
however, much like the season of summer itself,i found the novel started to become tedious, muggy and over-indulgent. desire and disgust are two sides of the same coin, so i was not too surprised by the erotically charged scenes that also elicited a twinge of disgust. however, i was worried that the author's own limited view of sexualities considered to be abject were leaking through.
the entire san clemente chapter in particular was a pain to read, with the bookstore scene being the low point. Elio's youth is fetishised by many characters with little challenge, and the Thailand anecdote related by the poet character is a racist and homophobic mess that should've been cut out entirely.
echoes of eric rohmer's cinematic language; i would rather just go watch a rohmer film than reread this

anticlimactic 

pretty insane that vc andrews wrote about the psychology and making of an incel even back in the 1970s/80s; the grooming and manipulation of a vulnerable and insecure child into radicalism was pretty brutal to read. Even more brutal is Bart's narrative voice as it is ridiculously annoying. I missed Cathy's voice sooo bad

The other reviews for this book are annoying and complain about Cathy's bad decisions, ignore them 

This is an essential sequel in the sense that it truly fleshes out and demonstrates the themes that were introduced in Flowers in the Attic, namely the cyclical nature of familial trauma, which the gothic genre is especially attuned to.

I do have to admit the first and particularly the second section are a bit of a slog to get through. Cathy's teenage and young 20s voice is obviously annoying and misguided. These first two acts are more heavy on the soap drama elements and I was pining for the dark gothic aspects I loved from the first book. 

Thankfully the third act kicks it up a notch and the narrative returns to the gothic fairytale structure that was absolutely batshit and worth the slog through the silly second act. We witness Cathy's transformation fuelled by her quest for revenge and unwillingness to free herself from the past. The doll/doppelganger motif (evident in their fashioned 'Dollanganger' surnames) grows to light. 

Virginia Andrews has a very episodic method of writing which keeps you reading onto the next chapter in the similar vein to a television show, and Cathy becoming absolutely unhinged is delicious and horrifying to read through. Rotten entertainment I love it

Had to return to the library; it was an interesting subject but a lot of scientific terms that I struggled to comprehend, would've really appreciated diagrams to assist the descriptions and the information more broke up so that it could be processed a little easier 

Awful. The voice of this novel is nothing more than a wanker, the type of pretentious wanker who thinks they're so above and cooler than everyone around them, the type of wanker I would definitely avoid at a party. I came in expecting an encapsulation or at least a reflection on the 90s rave and drug scene. The heightened emotions, meeting both the most horrible and the most beautiful people, dancing until your feet bleed, high highs and low lows. The psychological and political reasons why someone would be fuelled towards this euphoric self annihilation. Feeling the sun on your face walking home in the morning passing commuters on their way to work. I found nothing remotely relatable to my own party experiences. The only description this guy can seem to pull out of his ass on anything is either 'cool' or 'dope'. The random analyses of writing culture or whatever were painfully boring and irrelevant, misogyny was rife, and the disjointed narrative and prose was just annoying. No semblance of lucidity and coherence until the last 50 pages. Fuck this guy. 

Carrington's short fairytales and stories in this collection complement her artworks with her usual blend of Surrealist elements such as lush natural landscapes invoked with rich senses, pagan symbolism, dream logic, and peeking behind the artificial curtain of human society to see the dark, carnal chaos behind. Carrington pays ode to her fascination with Mexican culture as well. 

Unfortunately, like many texts trying to evoke the illogical and elusive pattern of dreams, this also falls into the more confusing and ill-reading camp. Even if I tried to let go of my need for structured narrative and following the flow of the writing , it was still more like a string of images messily tied together. 

I'm going to assume most people interested in this book are already familiar with Carrington's paintings, and the vivid singular images found in these stories do go hand in hand with her art. However I would say image-based are Carrington's strengths rather than word-based.