A brilliant book. Particularly due to the style that it is written, the first-person plural.
It's told from the point of view of a group of boys in this neighborhood of the Lisbon sisters, who all commit suicide. The boys, however, don't play some undetached character, but wind up collecting artifacts of the Lisbon girls and the family, keeping them over time and separating them between themselves and keeping them as reminders ... of these girls. Possibly they were in love. But never do they state their real attraction to the girls other than as sideshow circus freaks. But even that is too harsh because the boys did seem to have some sort of an affinity for the girls. But it was more asexual than anything else.
Also, it's told in part eye-witness accounts and part hearsay, rumor and conjecture, with just a bare amount of actual fact. It's almost like real life in how we construct image and reputations. Just turns out this was about five dead girls. It's also a comment about suburban values and its gross kinda horny underbelly.
No comments:
Post a Comment