I started GR last summer. It was so dense and the writing style so difficult to follow that I had to read a companion book to translate it.
I finished my first JPME course over a week and a half ago, and I saw this one book sitting on my desk. Since finishing open projects is my theme this year, I wanted to get this off my mental list. I also thought perhaps that my initial thoughts on the book would change and I would gain a better appreciation for it.
My initial instincts were right. This book is a terrible read. The subject matter is unengaging - spending a lot of time with stream-of-conscious writing, riffing and obsessing over sex, drugs and crap (literally, not crap = unimportant junk).
What I do appreciate is the intensity of his research. Newspapers, advertisements, music, film, military layout, rocket research, language, religion, events, and time were just a few things he delved into to create this book. Unfortunately it was too much and the story itself devolved into a lot of navel gazing (or in this case, a lot of time spent on genitalia and the rectal inferences).
The book attempts to be circular in it's pattern, but all it ends up doing is... nothing. You get the the end and think: Well, what just happened? NOTHING, because he doesn't tell you what point of the entire book was - and you don't even get it even if he did tell you. You're so lost by the time you get the last page that you don't care if the book is circular. I don't agree that it's circular. I think it's more like a crayon scribble on a large piece of paper that just happens to end at the the beginning of the scribble. There's no point or revelation to this book. You don't feel satisfied in any way finishing it, except feeling relieved that you don't have to read any more.
The characters are completely unmemorable because they all have the same problem: they are doped up on something, they have a sexual fetish, and they spend a lot of time doing nothing but floating from frame to frame. Female characters are as interchangeable as the male ones. Some characters donned guises (like the main character and a few of the background characters), but at that point you really don't care because they don't ever DO anything but run around Europe and spout random 70's riff style b.s.
I think a lot of people imagine this book to be existential. It's really just navel gazing, or better yet, sphinctor gazing. I initially liked the detached writing of someone who's under the influence. They FELT detached, unfocused, and in a dream-like state. But the entire book is that way, and it's a completely unappealing result.
I thought Ulysses and The English Patient was bad. Please avoid this book. It's a great example of what not to write.
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