Scan barcode
veingloria's review against another edition
5.0
4.5 rounded up.
I can kind of see why this book has such a low rating—its prose and story structure are unconventional and some odd things occur with the “protagonists’” characterization at times—but I thought it was brilliant. Ison’s prose is beautiful and unique, often poetic, and it follows its own rhythm irrespective of convention. Given the core subject matter, I thought the constant shift from past to present, from reality to fantasy, was appropriate. We’re seeing a relationship in its dying throes and the attendant terminal lucidity before the two main characters leap back into cycles of self-destruction.
I’ve been in a similarly dysfunctional relationship, so perhaps this story resonated with me in ways that it wouldn’t for others. The hot-cold nature of it, the breaking up and getting back together. It’s a singular type of exhaustion and the epitome of “better the devil you know.” After a while, the toxicity becomes comfortable, familiar—seductive, even. And equally seductive are the genuine moments of tenderness and triumph in an otherwise bleak dynamic. Ison captured all of these messy nuances with a masterful touch.
My only qualms that prevented this from getting a solid 5 were that the dialogue was unrealistic in several scenes, which is a pet peeve of mine, and there were certain sections that went a little too hard with the navelgazing, thereby adversely impacting the pacing. They didn’t detract from my overall enjoyment too much, but they were salient.
This is easily one of my favorite books I’ve read in quite some time, and I’d encourage anyone reading to give it a go. It’s disheartening that truly awful books can net 4+ star averages while hidden gems like this remain sorely underrated.
I can kind of see why this book has such a low rating—its prose and story structure are unconventional and some odd things occur with the “protagonists’” characterization at times—but I thought it was brilliant. Ison’s prose is beautiful and unique, often poetic, and it follows its own rhythm irrespective of convention. Given the core subject matter, I thought the constant shift from past to present, from reality to fantasy, was appropriate. We’re seeing a relationship in its dying throes and the attendant terminal lucidity before the two main characters leap back into cycles of self-destruction.
I’ve been in a similarly dysfunctional relationship, so perhaps this story resonated with me in ways that it wouldn’t for others. The hot-cold nature of it, the breaking up and getting back together. It’s a singular type of exhaustion and the epitome of “better the devil you know.” After a while, the toxicity becomes comfortable, familiar—seductive, even. And equally seductive are the genuine moments of tenderness and triumph in an otherwise bleak dynamic. Ison captured all of these messy nuances with a masterful touch.
My only qualms that prevented this from getting a solid 5 were that the dialogue was unrealistic in several scenes, which is a pet peeve of mine, and there were certain sections that went a little too hard with the navelgazing, thereby adversely impacting the pacing. They didn’t detract from my overall enjoyment too much, but they were salient.
This is easily one of my favorite books I’ve read in quite some time, and I’d encourage anyone reading to give it a go. It’s disheartening that truly awful books can net 4+ star averages while hidden gems like this remain sorely underrated.
nrthstr78's review against another edition
3.0
Overly dramatized look at a couples break-up, interesting concept - but the characters are too wacked out.
doctorkc's review
sad
slow-paced
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
spygrl1's review
4.0
Isabel and Al have broken up before, but this time, they vow, will be the last time. Isabel is about to start her surgical residency and Al is ... going to continue working in a video store, watching lots of movies, and lounging on the nearest available comfortable couch.
But before they really, truly call it quits, why not enjoy their final days together? They've got two weeks before Isabel's residency, so why not share some final experiences before they civilly, maturely part for good?
So Isabel and Al make a list of "mutually agreed" experiences: they'll eat steamed clams at the Santa Monica pier, they'll sleep on the roof of the Holiday Inn on Sunset, they'll watch I, Claudius and they'll go Rollerblading. Once they've finished the 10 items on their list, they'll be finished, too.
Their friends think they're crazier than usual. Al's pal Jules insists that Isabel is manipulative, that she doesn't properly appreciate Al's shaggy puppy qualities. Isabel's friend Van chides her for giving up a prestigious residency to stay with Al, and for all the times she's been late, hung over, or unprepared because Al is a bad influence.
The friends, of course, are right. As Isabel and Al progress through the list, their love-hate relationship becomes more obviously destructive, progressing from emotional wounds to "accidents" that hit each where they are most vulnerable.
Though neither as sparsely lyrical nor as baroque, still reminiscent of Josephine Hart. Damage, indeed.
He's now wildly fiscally desirable; banks are thrusting low APRs at him, realtors are pouncing, he gets platinum cards, gold cards, silver cards, offers of high-ranking elemental credit coming daily in the mail, and all this despite still owing ninety-seven thousand dollars in student loans.
Fate's just a lull, but then it can't lead to anything good.
At Pali High there'd been a teacher who taught a sociology class called Contemporary American Problems, who'd fix each girl in the class with a piercing stare and tell them the way to choose a husband was simple, there was only one important rule, forget sex and money and status, turn Marvin Gaye off and remember that any creep can get his hands on a Beemer or have fancy business cards printed up, the rule was: Do you want this guy to be the father of your children? That's how a smart girl picks a guy. And at the time she'd thought: But what about if I have no interest in ever getting married, or ever having children? What's the rule for picking a guy then? Do I just go back to sex and money and status? Tell me that rule. Tell me the procedure, the protocol, for how to make the right, perfect choice.
But before they really, truly call it quits, why not enjoy their final days together? They've got two weeks before Isabel's residency, so why not share some final experiences before they civilly, maturely part for good?
So Isabel and Al make a list of "mutually agreed" experiences: they'll eat steamed clams at the Santa Monica pier, they'll sleep on the roof of the Holiday Inn on Sunset, they'll watch I, Claudius and they'll go Rollerblading. Once they've finished the 10 items on their list, they'll be finished, too.
Their friends think they're crazier than usual. Al's pal Jules insists that Isabel is manipulative, that she doesn't properly appreciate Al's shaggy puppy qualities. Isabel's friend Van chides her for giving up a prestigious residency to stay with Al, and for all the times she's been late, hung over, or unprepared because Al is a bad influence.
The friends, of course, are right. As Isabel and Al progress through the list, their love-hate relationship becomes more obviously destructive, progressing from emotional wounds to "accidents" that hit each where they are most vulnerable.
Though neither as sparsely lyrical nor as baroque, still reminiscent of Josephine Hart. Damage, indeed.
He's now wildly fiscally desirable; banks are thrusting low APRs at him, realtors are pouncing, he gets platinum cards, gold cards, silver cards, offers of high-ranking elemental credit coming daily in the mail, and all this despite still owing ninety-seven thousand dollars in student loans.
Fate's just a lull, but then it can't lead to anything good.
At Pali High there'd been a teacher who taught a sociology class called Contemporary American Problems, who'd fix each girl in the class with a piercing stare and tell them the way to choose a husband was simple, there was only one important rule, forget sex and money and status, turn Marvin Gaye off and remember that any creep can get his hands on a Beemer or have fancy business cards printed up, the rule was: Do you want this guy to be the father of your children? That's how a smart girl picks a guy. And at the time she'd thought: But what about if I have no interest in ever getting married, or ever having children? What's the rule for picking a guy then? Do I just go back to sex and money and status? Tell me that rule. Tell me the procedure, the protocol, for how to make the right, perfect choice.
More...