This book both brought me to life and killed me. It was just... perfect.
“We were like gods at the dawning of the world, and our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.”
I forgot how heartbreaking this book is, so beautiful and full of childhood wonder
I'm so conflicted... I don't know how to rate this. I really wanted to like this, I found the concept so interesting. However this book was hard to get through because the narrator is so insufferable. I understand that's the point. Everyone says you're not supposed to “enjoy” this book and it's supposed to satirize rich hot privileged white women, but is it even satire? Because Ottessa Moshfegh herself seemed hesitant to accept that label in her Waterstones interview.
I wouldn't call it satire, because satire is supposed to criticize its subject matter. Instead I see a shallow story told simply for shock value. The ending reaffirms this theory. I actually think Ottessa Moshfegh might've written this book to prove the narrator's idea in the last few pages. That “things were just things.” That art has no meaning. Which is a notion I fundamentally disagree with.
Or I could be wildly misinterpreting this whole book. Maybe I misconstrued the ending. Maybe the narrator is still the same vapid woman as she was before, and she wasn't actually healed. At least that would make some sense and provide some commentary. Either way, it put me in a bad mental state for a few days, and I can't give it a high rating because of this.
