Well, I tried it, read the first pages, and I could not get into the story. All the prose reminded me too much of the female writer in the Tandem Story Writing Assignment joke. The one that started:
>At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile.
I could not concentrate. I give you the first lines of the book so you all can judge:
>The deep sea is a haunted house: a place in which things that ought not to exist move about in the darkness. Unstill, is the word Leah uses, tilting her head to the side as if in answer to some sound, though the evening is quiet – dry hum of the road outside the window and little to draw the ear besides.
>“The ocean is unstill,” she says, “further down than you think. All the way to the bottom, things move.” She seldom talks this much or this fluently, legs crossed and gaze towards the window, the familiar slant of her expression, all her features slipping gently to the left.
This device, supposedly to curl hair
TheUnvanquishable t1_ja8vyh0 wrote
Reply to Our Wives Under the Sea is the BEST book I've read in a long time and I just wanna talk about it by Starlit-Sage
Well, I tried it, read the first pages, and I could not get into the story. All the prose reminded me too much of the female writer in the Tandem Story Writing Assignment joke. The one that started: >At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile.
I could not concentrate. I give you the first lines of the book so you all can judge:
>The deep sea is a haunted house: a place in which things that ought not to exist move about in the darkness. Unstill, is the word Leah uses, tilting her head to the side as if in answer to some sound, though the evening is quiet – dry hum of the road outside the window and little to draw the ear besides.
>“The ocean is unstill,” she says, “further down than you think. All the way to the bottom, things move.” She seldom talks this much or this fluently, legs crossed and gaze towards the window, the familiar slant of her expression, all her features slipping gently to the left.