Kill me now. This book is terrible. John Cheever is maybe the most awful old-white-guy-novelist that ever old-white-guy-novelisted. The self-important masturbatory tone of this book makes me long for death. After every page, I pray that it ends swiftly, only to have my hopes dashed when I see that the story will continue. I'll finish it, though, because I will not be defeated by the likes of John Cheever.
— Apr 10, 2018 02:19PM
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