The Light of the World

It's not fair of me to write this review a year after reading the book; I'm doing so nonetheless because a friend has just marked it to-read. That said, the reason I never wrote a review in the first place was that I never cared enough. I found the book heavy, even smothering. Perhaps I'm too old or too ignorant of big-city life. Perhaps I'm too aware of mortality already; or too broad in how I love. Perhaps I'm just too male. I don't know.

My M.O. here on Goodreads is to read the book, write my review, and only then go skimming through others' reviews. That, I hope, diminishes unconscious biases in my writing while still allowing me to learn and think and oh-hmmm from the experiences of others. This time, I don't think I'll bother with the skimming-reviews part. I just don't care enough: I remember my oh-thank-goodness relief at finishing the book, having it be over and done with. I want to hold on to that, not revisit the book or find reasons why I should have cared. If, however, you are a Goodreads friend who has read and loved the book—and if you're inclined enough to explain to me why I should care—I will listen to your opinion with my full attention.