Sunday, 9 February 2014

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

When I think of my wife, I always think of her head.

What a kinky beginning, or am I misinterpreting? The narrator goes on to describe the head and its angles like this:

Like a shiny, hard corn kernel or a riverbed fossil.

Flattering. Paragraph 1 ends with a POV switch: You could imagine the skull quite easily.

Um, no I can't, unless you want me to think of it as an over-sized rotting tooth stuck in the dirt and being excavated by Orville Redenbacher.

Paragraph 2 is all of one lonely sentence that stands out in the most comical way:

I'd know her head anywhere.

What would Freud say about this little slip? Personally, I'd bury that sentence in some thickly wooded verbiage, you know, paragraphing à la Kafka, or safer still à la Flaubert and pray readers aren't paying too close attention.

Paragraph 3 gets interesting in a morbidly fascinating way when the narrator talks about how he would love, "like a child", to open his wife's skull and unspool her brain because he wants to know what she's thinking. I thought that was a girl thing, though, always wondering what the better half is thinking. Guys prefer the question: What the hell are you doing? Statistically speaking.

Then come the long, thick paragraphs of back story and I'm already on my way to the next book review.

First thing said:

"Should I remove my soul before I come inside?"

Randomly weird sentence:

My morning breath warmed the pillow, and I changed the subject in my mind.

Verdict: Fail

Rudy Globird

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