Little Children

I wasn't sure that I really even liked this book until I had nearly finished it. None of the characters - a handful of selfish and self-indulgent thirty-somethings - are particularly likeable, and I had trouble finding myself sympathizing with their intertwined lives and thoughts, and, as a result, I didn't really care what happened to any of them. Perotta's writing, though, is subtly compelling, and I found myself required to continue to read, if only to confirm my dislike for the novel. In the final chapters of the work I surprised myself with the thought, “I may actually have liked this book,” and have been wondering just what about this story was so interesting. I've come to figure that my dislike of the characters and the story may have been the point: I cared as little about them as they did of each other. I'm not sure if this was the author's intention, but it certainly is an interesting way of getting the reader to identify with a group of characters I didn't particularly want to find myself identifying with. Perhaps this peculiar construction of a relationship between reader and character made me a bit more understanding of all of their shortcomings.