The Waves

Some people run long distances, some people climb mountains.   Me – I read The Waves.   Deceptively short at 172 pages in my Kindle it was the longest book I’ve ever read, with the possible exception of Frankenstein.  In short, I hated it.   Painful.   It was painful.   It starts off with the voices of six children who all grow up and never stop giving internal monologues, though for some reason, she used the word ‘said.’   Jinny said, Bernard said, except that they don’t.   They also don’t really speak with six voices.   They speak with largely one voice with a distinguishing characteristic or two to differentiate them.   They spout what some consider beautiful poetry and I consider tremendous amounts of drivel.   She has a habit of using words and phrases many times though what they mean to her eludes me.   Waves and water seem to signify time, at least some of the time.   It drips.   Tuesday follows Monday.   A square on an oblong.  Assegais are mentioned frequently.  Certainly more often than they should be for a story taking place in England, though exactly when is impossible to say.   Bernard thinks he’s Byron.  Rhoda’s afraid of everyone.   Jinny is a social butterfly.   Is she on the game?  No idea.   After primary school the girls go one way and the boys another and yet they all apparently stay in touch, though why or when is not clear.   They all more or less fall in love with a guy named Percival and just as it is difficult to understand someone else’s crush, it’s difficult to understand theirs for Percival.

The book gets slightly more tolerable when they hit middle age and then spins off again into pretentious nonsense when Bernard begins his long monologue seemingly to a nearly complete stranger he collars and makes have dinner with him.   But that makes it sound more interesting than it was.   There is no plot, which is not really a problem, but there are no characters either.   Not really.   Susan has pear-shaped eyes.   What the hell do pear-shaped eyes look like?

Sorry, I’m a philistine.   It’s about time you knew.   Perhaps you already did.  The one thing that might have helped would have been being able to look at this cover which I think is gorgeous…  sorry, can’t get it.  It’s on Pinterest and Pinterest only lets you share things to Pinterest.   I hate Pinterest.

No, I got it.   Yay me.   Isn’t it gorgeous?  Far too beautiful for the book within.   Sorry, VW.   Did I mention it was painful?   I’ll get over it someday.  And I need never read that again.   Yay!

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