This is perhaps the greatest failure of this book - Crowley's total inability to evoke emotion, empathy, or feeling. At no point did the soap-opera happenings evoke any emotion - the characters are just too uninteresting and unrelatable. Little, Big apes One Hundred Years of Solitude without any of the profundity. The text drags as best it can, as often as it can, wherever it can. Bloated, floating descriptions, detached meandering, and outrageously long sentences. This excerpt also functions as a perfect representation of the rest of the book. If this is the type of text that you relish reading, then this is the book for you. She was not much in his mind as he walked, though for sure she hadn’t been far from it often in the last nearly two years he had loved her the room he had met her in was one he looked into with the mind’s eye often, sometimes with the trepidation he had felt then, but often nowadays with a grateful happiness looked in to see George Mouse showing him from afar a glass, a pipe, and his two tall cousins: she, and her shy sister behind her.
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