I don't think I'll be reading another Enright novel anytime too soon. Oh, not that I didn't enjoy this one. It was, in fact, quite good. That is, it was engrossing. I found myself re-reading at least a sentence per paragraph so that I might fully grasp the meaning.
In this, Enright uses much of her Irish nuances throughout, but not so much that the reader languishes in confusion. It's just that it takes a bit of thought to put two contiguous sentences together when one is thinking in American'ese.'
Enright's main character, Veronica, finds herself writing much about her own mother and grandmother, all the while realizing that most of what she writes is conjecture and could be thoroughly fictional.
Veronica has eight siblings. She tells of all of them, their shortcomings and all, but mostly of her closest brother, Liam. And in doing so, she admits that the most dreadful of occurrences regarding Liam may indeed have not occurred at all as she sees in her memory.
Has this got you wondering? If so, read the book. But be forewarned; it has much to be desired for most readers, including myself. Though I was drawn in by the language of the author, I found myself wondering what exactly the main character was trying to communicate. There is no question that she hated men, and one finds out why as they read, but I found myself confused about the family members and the place of each in the story.
6/10
Hmmm....
Steve
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