When a writer begins a story, he makes a promise. He’s promising, “This is important. This will be worth your time.”
Two weeks. It hasn’t taken me two weeks to read a pleasure book in years. Two frickin’ weeks, wading through layer after layer of lies. Two weeks of lunge and parry. Two weeks of “hey, guess what, this is what was actually going on.” Two weeks of a new wrinkle every time I turn a stinkin’ page.
I think that’s why I cared so much. Because I fought through it for two weeks. I sank in my teeth and held on till the last page. I cared. I wanted him to be innocent. I wanted her to be dead.
What book was this, you might ask? Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn. And what made me so mad was that it was so brilliant. It was so complex and intricate and every time I turned around, “remember that thing that happened five pages ago? this is why I mentioned it.”
With craftsmanship like that, I expected the ending to be perfect, tied with a bow. But it wasn’t. (Maybe it was horrendously appropriate, but I’m still too mad to admit it.) I can only hope that miscarriages really do run in Amy’s family. And that’s what bothers me about this book. I spent the entire final fifth of the book waiting for Nick to take Amy by the neck and tenderly crush the life out of her. That’s how good a writer Flynn is.
Hmmm. Evil life aspirations blossoming.
Anyway, here’s the Goodreads review, and here are the quotes I liked.
Even the heavy antique ottoman was belly-up, its four tiny feet in the air like something dead.
Just thought the imagery was really good. It added a lot to the atmosphere of that chapter.
There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.
Currently finding this very relatable, but not as disturbing as Nick did. And I liked the way it was worded and framed.
One should never marry a man who doesn’t own a decent set of scissors.
Amy’s martial advice, ladies and gentlemen.
(1, Nick) It was enough to be near her and hear her talk, it didn’t always matter what she was saying. It should have, but it didn’t. (2, Nick) If I began seeing things now, living big, I could still not catch up with them. It didn’t make me feel jealous. It made me feel content. I never aspired to wealth or fame. (3, Amy) All the stuff I don’t like about myself has been pushed to the back of my brain. Maybe that is what I like best about him, the way he makes me. Not makes me feel, just make me.
This kind of goes along with Pudge wanting to be the Colonel’s tail, Alaska being a hurricane while he’s just a drizzle. There’s nothing wrong with being ordinary. Because you’re probably not really ordinary, and even if you were, someone does need to be the drizzle and the comet tails. Being around people who are better than you changes you, and that’s a good thing.
I hope you like Diary Amy. She was meant to be likable.
I did not find her likable. I found her naïve and irritating and I had to fight my way through the diary entries. After I found out what was going on, I understood better why she was so ridiculous. The real Amy is horribly impressive. I’m more like Go, and I’m fine with that. Go is the only character I found remotely palatable, although I did sympathize very deeply with Nick.
(1) It’s a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person. (2) I don’t feel real anymore. I feel like I could disappear. (3) I was pretending, the way I often did, pretending to have a personality. (4) Fake it until you make it, isn’t that an expression? (5) I have become game again since I died.
I can relate a lot to this aspect of Amy. Because I’m not game, and I wish I were. I live vicariously through the computer, and that’s basically my entire life. But that doesn’t really bother me. That’s what bothers me. Ergo, fake it till you feel it.
There is an unfair responsibility that comes with being an only child.
I’m an only child, so.
She was a worst-case scenarist on a grand scale. Because it was never just that the door was unlocked, it was that the door was unlocked, and men were inside, and they were waiting to rape and kill her. . . . Imagine the awful satisfaction, to know that all those years of worry had paid off.
I probably laughed harder than I should have.
He does suspicious things with fish — but he is nice-looking.
Definitely laughed harder than I should have.
(1) I am a great husband because I am very afraid she may kill me. (2) It was kind of romantic. Catastrophically romantic.
Conclusion: I threw my Nook across the room.