Frances loved it.
I could barely finish it.
While I found McCarthy’s style initially resembling the satire and wit of Edward St. Aubyn, I quickly tired of his pedantic prose. Oil spills, conglomerates, parachuters who die because their strings have become unattached, all the metaphors for business as usual in a world gone awry. For me, what could have been endlessly fascinating fizzled to a firecracker which wouldn’t explode.
And now I’m reading The Chimes, a book with beautiful, melodic phrasing. So far.
You can follow our progress at #ShadowWoManBooker should you choose.