Here is an attempt made by Anne Rice to merge two themes into one: vampires and witches. In theory, forming a blended story in order to draw readers iHere is an attempt made by Anne Rice to merge two themes into one: vampires and witches. In theory, forming a blended story in order to draw readers into a new series is a grand idea, but if only the application were worthy. Let's face it, no matter what hocus pocus Merrick has in her back pocket, with all her rich familial history, voodoo, jungle masks- can anything come close to the horror and mystery of the vampire? The pages which starred Louis and Lestat were few and left me thirsty for more tales of the "savage garden". Perhaps I come off as one sided, caring more for the old-school characters. But for the majority of the book, the blend simply didn't come off as successful. It felt divided: scenes involving Merrick and David on the one side, and then Louis and David on the other, and of course, a stone faced Lestat in his own world (which begs the question- why even have Lestat make presence if he contributes next to nothing as character). In fact, there were countless mentions of past vampire tales that felt like unabashed "plug-ins" to have you purchase them if you haven't already.
The story opens with promise: David sits with Merrick and discusses Louis' wish to bring Claudia back from the dead. Intriguing proposition, no? But alas, the reader must wait 100 pages, roughing through pages on end of Merrick's bosom descriptions (a faint reminder of Rice's lush erotic writing days of yore. Only now, stale and quite frankly- embarrassing) to find out the true reason for such a request. And once it is revealed, there is no shock value. Then, once again, Louis and Lestat are gone from the plot until the end, where things do get interesting. And for this, I give the 3 stars, because the story really picks up the last 100 pages and feels like there were scenes that could have been placed at the start. Suddenly, the story felt complete. My faith in Rice restored. Sure, I had to turn a cheek to Merrick's "pink nipples", but all in all, I'm glad I forced my way to the end.
This book fails to impress. Sure, it's got the usual Murakami metaphors, descriptions, and visuals. But it was missing the magic. Only one scene captuThis book fails to impress. Sure, it's got the usual Murakami metaphors, descriptions, and visuals. But it was missing the magic. Only one scene captured a Murakami moment: :::spoiler::: the telling of the mystery behind the ferris wheel incident. Still, even one haunting reveal wasn't enough to hold the weight of the book. If the author sets out to focus more on mood/atmosphere and less on finite conclusion, then it's gotta be done right; unfortunately, this was left with too many holes. The main character exhibited zero soul, rendering him unnaproachable and unrelatable. I am left with the feeling that if the author's name was absent, no one would guess it was his work.
This book is EVERYTHING. Elizabeth Wurtzel isn't afraid to whine, scream, and admit fault. There is no glossying over irrational and misguided behavioThis book is EVERYTHING. Elizabeth Wurtzel isn't afraid to whine, scream, and admit fault. There is no glossying over irrational and misguided behaviour. With that said, it is no secret that Wurtzel can come off as spoiled, slightly deluded (many mentions of her looks and smarts), and bratty. This may turn one off her writing. But that's the beauty- she allows us to forgive her. She comes to terms with the impression she has of herself and how little it matters in the scheme of things.
No other author seamlessly puts together a memoir that spans time and distance, without any confusion for the reader. Such detailed writing that can still come off as stream of consiosness, like a fine tuned diary. I argue that this is better written than Prozac Nation, with a definite feeling of resolution as it concludes. Some occurences in the story sound almost unbelievable, such as the scene at the publishing house. One wonders, could this actually be true? But there is defenite focus in portraying the slippery slope to an addiction fueled life. You don't have to be an addict or know an addict to enjoy this one. Elizabeth makes story telling sexy.
I'm just going to blame the translator. No way could this book be this bad in Japanese. I don't want to believe it. How could a book with such a compeI'm just going to blame the translator. No way could this book be this bad in Japanese. I don't want to believe it. How could a book with such a compelling plot fall so flat?...more