A book that was given to me by a girl who had a huge crush on me when I
was 16, and with whom I was not particularly kind. She gave me this novel to
impress me and, at that age when nobody around me actually read, she did.
It made me want to read something by Virginia Woolf (a desire that
quickly vanished after reading To the
Lighthouse). I have the feeling that most readers end up remembering mostly
either the portrayal of Virginia Woolf, or that of Richard Brown, but to me
Laura Brown is by far the most interesting character in this novel (probably
also because of my undying love for Julianne Moore, who played her in the movie
– a love that started in the early 2000s before the entire world was in love
with her, by the way). Although it’s a reality that is really rather far from
me, I somehow love depictions of American sub-urban life in the post-WWII
period – in my mental imagery the era always has the most beautiful colours.
The book is written with such a soft touch that probably only gay writers
can master without falling into plain sappy romanticism (although Cunningham
himself doesn’t like being referred to as a gay writer). It’s a shame that,
now, so many readers seem to have forgotten about Cunningham’s talent.
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