So something finally happened.
Something messy, emotional, irrational, violent, cruel and irrevocable.
It happened in the presence of Blue, our main character. Not to her or by her but observed by and futilely and feebly opposed by her.
If this were John Irving, my emotions would be a mess by now. He'd have been setting me up to be ripped apart for at least a hundred pages and I would have fallen for it even as I saw it happening. But this isn't John Irving and emotional devastation isn't what Marisha Pessl seems to be aiming for.
I feel the same stunned detachment Blue does. It's a numbness I recognise and it feels more real to me than the sorrow Irving manages to drench me in at least once in every novel. Sad to say, my life is more like Blue's than not. When bad things happen, I shut the emotions down, try to do what needs to be done and, in the back of my mind, pace the cell of my distress repeating "how did this happen?" to myself.
It may seem odd but this detached response to an eruption of violent emotion has re-engaged me with the book because it seems real and familiar and yet is seldom written about.
2
0
