This recent read was one of those “I know I should be enjoying it more but I just can’t get into it” ones. Maybe I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it? I loved Hot Milk by Levy and I’m going to read The Cost of Living and August Blue. Sometimes you just don’t connect with a book.
I found the unravelling just somehow too theatrical. But it’s an interesting portrait of dysfunctional dynamics, mental health, and the things we can’t bring ourselves to say. But something was off for me.
The setting was a personal favourite as I lived in the south of France briefly, so recognised some of the places. There’s also a poignant underlying anxiety of being in this beautiful place, but not being happy.
The prose is beautiful.
Anyone else relate to this kind of reading experience?
Leave a Comment