I’ve been reading “We need to talk about Kevin” for a couple of days, and am one-quarter of the way through.
Last year I read “The Shadow of the Wind” which I found to be incredibly tedious; but I persevered because so many people insisted that I’d love it. I really did try to, entirely unsuccesfully. Reading it was like a punishment. When, mercifully, I reached the end, I wondered why I had devoted many hours to reading something I didn’t enjoy, instead of something entertaining. That’s when I promised myself never again; if a book doesn’t grab me quickly, it goes on the charity pile no matter how many rave reviews it has or how many copies it’s sold.
Kevin had just about reached that critical stage. It’s clever, but wasn’t doing anything for me; far too much soul-searching, hints and angst and not enough happening. However, suddenly it’s come alive – I’m at the point where the nanny is about to quit – and I’m getting hooked.
I thought it very strange that a male author could write so convincingly about pregnancy, childbirth and maternal instinct, lack of. I’ve only just found out that he’s a she. 😀