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Utterly fascinating plot in flowing prose, but only in the (one in two) moments when Murakami can bear to stop writing about breasts. I’d settle even for him to start writing about penises to satiate his hunger for the lewd, but I don’t think he can survive parting with his (dizzying) heterosexuality.

Painfully explanatory and tiresomely flat

Guardian review by Michael Donkor really just sums up my thoughts one-quarter the way through this book: https://www.theguardian.com/books/art...

Shafak conflates thematic wisdoms and her characters' revelations; her adagial writing style makes an at best awkward and at worst pretentious read which forces profundity on you through often unbearably pithy interjections in her narrative prose. She maintains a suffocating chokehold on her metaphors and symbols that tie each of the three stories together, force-feeding them to readers.

Thus far: the world created by Grove is remarkable, with immense detail already hinted by the author. However the story seems clichéd and the main character seems to fit the stereotype of a female lead that repeats itself in many a dystopian/fictional novel.

Thus far: the world created by Grove is remarkable, with immense detail already hinted by the author. However the story seems clichéd and the main character seems to fit the stereotype of a female lead that repeats itself in many a dystopian/fictional novel.