So, I thought I'd explain why Erin Morgenstern’s, The Night Circus, has been up on my, ‘What I’m Reading’ doohickey for so long. Frankly, the book sucks. I can't read more than three pages in a sitting.
Morgenstern has got this terse, sesquipedalian thing going on—kind of like Hemingway meets Dickens—that (for me), is like trying to navigate an obstacle course while having bricks thrown at you. I mean, I like wordy stuff. But god, make it flow girl.
Too, the novel is about as contrived and self-indulgent as I have ever read. It's like a guided tour of the author's journal, or a sketchbook... "Oh look! Here's another nifty thing I thought up."
"This is a marvelous book." Yeah right, Audrey Niffenegger. Apparently we have different copies.
"This is a marvelous book." Yeah right, Audrey Niffenegger. Apparently we have different copies.
