Monday, 7 May 2018

Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunder

"In order to occupy the greatest percentage of the gentleman's volume, I lowered myself into his lap and sat cross-legged, just as he was sitting."

Do you ever find yourself reading hyperbolic quotations on the cover of a book you've just read and think to yourself, did we read the same book? That certainly was the case last night when I finally completed the confounding winner of last year's Man Booker Prize... A dear friend of mine had warned me this was hard going, he'd given up mid way. So, as you might imagine, my appreciation of this much praised work was a little contradictory to the norm.

The form drove me batty! I found it distracting and annoying and reminiscent of bad poetry. Clearly it struck a chord with others, just not me.

In between the swollen members - seriously what was going on in parts - and sick boxes, I just felt a vague sense of disconnected dislike. The book had absolutely no emotional impact on me, other than the sense that I was ripped off by spending money on it.

I am one of those people that once they start a book, has to finish it. This was one instance where that was particularly torturous. There were a few good lines in among the weird quotations.

2 out of 5, because it had some decent lines.

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