Caro
Dystopia is my favorite genre, so I really wanted to love this. A climate dome for billionaires on a Greek island, art as propaganda for the end of the world, mass migration in the background. On paper, that's exactly my kind of book. In practice, it never comes together. The premise is doing all the work while the story drifts from one beautiful sentence to the next without ever committing to anything. The satire of wealth and the art world is sharp in places, but the plot it's attached to stays vague: the "deep currents of violence" we're promised never become anything concrete enough to feel dangerous, and the narrator is so passive that I stopped caring what he discovered. His grief, which should be the emotional core, is told more than felt.
Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC
Dystopia is my favorite genre, so I really wanted to love this. A climate dome for billionaires on a Greek island, art as propaganda for the end of the world, mass migration in the background. On paper, that's exactly my kind of book. In practice, it never comes together. The premise is doing all the work while the story drifts from one beautiful sentence to the next without ever committing to anything. The satire of wealth and the art world is sharp in places, but the plot it's attached to stays vague: the "deep currents of violence" we're promised never become anything concrete enough to feel dangerous, and the narrator is so passive that I stopped caring what he discovered. His grief, which should be the emotional core, is told more than felt.
Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC