To open a book is to make a promise. I open the book and promise that I will read through the set-up, that I will devote myself during the time it takes for a story to slowly emerge from its pages. The author, in turn, promises me a pay-off, to revel in emotion, only dully present in my own day to day life experience.
This is a promise I make often; I like to think I’ve been around a bookshelf or two in my day. But What I loved by Siri Hustvedt broke me, I mean completely and utterly broke me.
It started innocently enough, an old man reflecting back on his life.
While your review has me thinking about how much of me ends up in all my reviews (I feel like the diligent reader around here now knows me pretty well) I’m not sure I’m emotionally in a place for this book to break my heart. But I’ll add it to the list anyway, maybe eventually I will be.
That is definitely one of the strengths of the book – it is a tad academic, but there is so much food for thought. I do, however, think this is the only book I will read by Hustvedt. I feel like she’s very formulaic and the academic streak would be too much to handle in another book.
Thus, I am not sure this book will resonate equally strong with everybody, but Hustvedt is really great at exposing some of the ugly things people do and the emotions that follow those actions.
It’s a tough one, but I do recommend it..Just don’t read it trapped in a car with a bunch of strangers ;)