Hunger

I didn't finish. Looking at the reviews makes me want to skip to the middle chapters. But so far, in the first three chapters, I'm dying here. So much use of the passive verb. This book seems to be the author's attempt at poetic prose, but it's unbearable. It's vague at best, confusing and pointless at worst. The author makes lovely assumptions about weight and health that shows me she hasn't read up on recent findings. A couple of things she said regarding syndromes made me want to throw the book. It's like unbearable literary nonfiction. I can't handle literary fiction, but literary nonfiction might be worse. At least, when it's a half-arsed attempt at pretentious poetics. Ugh. I wanted history, not this writer's vanity project. The reviews on the back went on and on about how her writing is art. It's worse than bad art: It's annoying, pretentious art too busy showing off to actually get to any point. Bleah.