This has to be one of the worst books I have ever read. It follows the lives of some people whose names I can’t remember. If I ever knew them.
We are supposed to want to read about these people because,
I suppose, they are so colorfully small-town and one-dimensional yet they are
so human and complex in their basic-ness.
The author supplies us with all the details of their sex lives. I guess this is the way we are to see their one-dimensionality
blossom into complexity. The whole mess is beyond me. I found
McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove to be along the same lines; I couldn’t get past the
first 40 pages.
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