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alobearI've just finished Volume I of this book and, 265 pages in, I find myself keen to put some thoughts down before embarking on the remaining 735.
I'd seen Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell around and was really pleased when![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cholten99 came home with it last weekend. He has very kindly let me read it first (otherwise I'd likely have been waiting several months...) and it has turned out to be nothing like I expected. It's a large book, and for some reason I thought the content was going to match the size and be very weighty. In actual fact, it's exactly the opposite - light and frothy and extremely silly.
It's trying desperately to be classic 19th century literature, and occasionally it hits the mark dead on. But a lot of the time, I think it's trying too hard to be something else, and ends up being Austen without the angst, Dickens without the description, or Wilde without the wit.
To give it its due, it's well written and entertaining, and I'm very much enjoying it - it just lacks depth.
Now, this seems to be something I've been complaining about in films and books a great deal lately - are they generally becoming more shallow, or am I being unfair? Sometimes, I want to read or watch something light and easy and fun, but more often nowadays I find myself wishing for something that requires a bit more effort and results in rather more satisfaction.
Of course, I may be complaining of exactly the opposite tomorrow - the DVD rental company has sent me Schindler's List... :o)
I'd seen Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell around and was really pleased when
cholten99 came home with it last weekend. He has very kindly let me read it first (otherwise I'd likely have been waiting several months...) and it has turned out to be nothing like I expected. It's a large book, and for some reason I thought the content was going to match the size and be very weighty. In actual fact, it's exactly the opposite - light and frothy and extremely silly.It's trying desperately to be classic 19th century literature, and occasionally it hits the mark dead on. But a lot of the time, I think it's trying too hard to be something else, and ends up being Austen without the angst, Dickens without the description, or Wilde without the wit.
To give it its due, it's well written and entertaining, and I'm very much enjoying it - it just lacks depth.
Now, this seems to be something I've been complaining about in films and books a great deal lately - are they generally becoming more shallow, or am I being unfair? Sometimes, I want to read or watch something light and easy and fun, but more often nowadays I find myself wishing for something that requires a bit more effort and results in rather more satisfaction.
Of course, I may be complaining of exactly the opposite tomorrow - the DVD rental company has sent me Schindler's List... :o)
