Dear Book-Blogging-Corner-of-the-Interwebs,
I respect and trust your opinion on almost #ALLTHEBOOKS* but I feel like you’ve let me down on the Ferrante-front. You know what I’m talking about. You loved it. You promised a sinuous, immersive tale of life in Naples, of violence and fierce love, of female friendship and deep loyalty. You didn’t tell me it would be such a wretched slog. But I pushed through, trusting you.
Granted, it’s not all Ferrante’s** fault – after all, I liked The Lost Daughter very much. Yes, I will cop some blame for this reading-relationship gone awry. My reading was interrupted by the Stella Prize shortlist, however, the fact that I wasn’t busting to pick up My Brilliant Friend again should have spoken volumes. Nonetheless, I plugged away.
You tell me to persevere, that there are great rewards to be had by reading books two and three. And if one more person tells me that “it all comes together in book four” I might get cranky. They may well be fabulous books but it’s hard to get excited when I have some of the best books of 2014 and 2015 sitting in my TBR stack, as well as what is supposedly an exemplary re-telling of Pride and Prejudice, and some guaranteed-great Russo, Yates and Garner classics.
I’m afraid to say that at this stage, Ferrante and I will not be continuing our relationship.
Signing off with a measly 2/5.
*Fifty Shades of Grey was a testing time for all of us
**whoever they are, but that’s another issue