This book was amazing and heartbreaking and chilling and appalling and left me with such mixed feelings about almost everything. It left me with unfocused anxiety and it left me content with my decision to not have children. It made me uncomfortable to read. I’m not really sure how to review this book other than by justifying my four-star review to people who didn’t feel this book lived up to the rating I gave it.
The language I thought was perfect for this book. Yes, it’s pretentious, but if you missed the memo, so was the writer of the letters. Eva was a smug know-it-all who looked down on most people for one thing or another. She was a writer. Writers are wordy people, ask Lionel Shriver. I thought the words that Lionel chose were perfect for letters from Eva.
Writing to Franklin about shared memories. Yes, Eva did write about memories that Franklin was there for. It is as if these reviewers have never discussed past memories with someone who was there for them. And not only that but Eva was lamenting and chewing over what went wrong and where of course she was writing about shared memories with her husband.
Yes, the characters were all completely awful people. But since when do the characters have to be likable to enjoy a compelling story? Awful people were the catalyst for the storyline, it made what happened to unfold.
This book left me with a bad taste in my mouth but not because the book is bad but because the story is just so icky, everything about it is absolutely disgusting. It’s horrible. It’s so fucking good I couldn’t put it down. I’m going to go watch the movie now and be done with this haunting story for good.