Like yesterday, I was able to put a lot of time aside today to reading. Because Giovanni’s Room isn’t even 200 pages, one night and a day, or four sittings later, I was already done with it. And I finished the book with nothing to say. I don’t love it and I don’t hate it, this is all to say. Well, in all fairness, I like it- it’s a good book- not even just an ok book. But sadly, for a deeply historically significant work of queer fiction, I just… felt nothing. The book suffers Gatsby syndrome- it’s too short to make me feel anything real. Unlike Gatsby it at least is aware of the fact that it’s short and doesn’t try to cram as much melodrama in as humanly possible (I say this as a Gatsby fan, too), but instead the opposite. The book feels almost eventless, which I obviously know isn’t true, but it’s just such a dull and empty book, which is a tremendous shame. But, however, I did like it. It’s just that I felt a complete sense of apathy through a large portion of it.
Anyway man, I dunno. Baldwin’s a great author and from a craft perspective is beyond talented, but for the life of me, I didn’t care about David.
Typically, with a book like this (or Pale Fire) I just wouldn’t finish it and remove it from my shelves. But like Pale Fire, I was able to convince myself I’d eventually find myself liking the book more, which unfortunately wasn’t true. I didn’t feel the heartbreak you’re supposed to feel by the end, is my point.
Comments