I always feel, when beginning a new book, that a book takes me by the hand and tries to lead me somewhere.
This book gripped my hand rather tightly. The cover did refer to the book as “gripping”, right?
At first, even though I was bothered by too many descriptions, overly-stating things, I couldn’t stop reading. I was hooked. Tartt knows her craft.
But as I kept reading, my hand, the one held by the author was starting to feel numb. Too tight. There were the stereotypic characters, the platitudes. And more of the over-stating.
By the time the hero was hanging around Las-Vegas, I began fighting for air. Reading, as you know, is not something I dread doing.
I broke free after he made it back to New York. I skimmed a few facts (another death, yes – that guy was connected to shady things, right,) and read the last 15 pages.
I read 415 pages of the book, it’s not as if I didn’t give it a chance (it’s over 800 pages!). If it had been of average length I may have travelled the disance with the author despite the things that made me unhappy.
And yes, I AM one of those people who believe that despite life’s ability to throw cruel curve balls, stopping to look at raindrops on the petals of a flower, really look, is good for you.