This is the boring-est of the books, probably because it has so little actual romance and is mostly just letters.
:D
I don't think I am the right reader for this sort of book. I'm not fond of books or plots that go nowhere. There isn't much of a story; Arthur Less is a failed writer, as the blurb tells us, and he floats from country to country trying to get away from the bad plot building up in his yet-to-be-published book. He's clearly meant to be a funny, engaging sort of character, a voice for queer/gay writing, but his inner monologue (the narrator is third-person limited) is so boring that it doesn't speak to any of these lofty ideas - much like Less' novel, to be frank - so there's a clever little ‘meta' theme going on in the book. Less dreams of success but is simultaneously awkward when thrust into the limelight. He dreams of an author's life, a quiet retreat, but simultaneously seeks out more meaning and social engagements. He wants more autonomy in his life but is hopelessly fatalist. I found it hard to understand the motives of this character. He travels (or is shunted) from one country to another, but not once does his self-reflection involve an acceptance of his situation or an appreciation of events and people around him. Characters that satellite Arthur Less emerge and disappear in bewildering rapidity, and none of them has a story worth telling. Nor does Arthur, when it comes to that.
That's not to say it's a bad book: the prose is lively and beautifully done. The fleeting impressions of the world around him and the gentle hum of the underlying mood drew me in and made me want to finish it. It's possibly that I'm just not a fan of storytelling in which fragmented pieces of a broken life (and plot) are forcibly pieced together in an attempt to make some vague, distorted meaning.
Can't believe such things happen in real life! Vivid and stays with you.
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