I spent the weekend completely ensconced in Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, which had been recommended to me by, among others, my pal Katie Williams (who brought the book to my house! As a present!).
I was so ensconced that at separate points both my husband and my kid attempted to distract me (L. shoved another book in my face and demanded that I read; B. just said “Hi” over and over again until I looked up) in a vain attempt to get me to pay attention to them instead. It didn’t really work. I found the novel, a murder mystery with two very unreliable narrators, to be a total page-turner.
Of course I had to think about my statement last entry that above all these days I need to connect with and feel sympathy for a novel’s characters. Because somehow, in Gone Girl, Flynn gets you to simultaneously root for and hate both the main characters, Nick and Amy. And I thought it was brilliant.
I won’t say any more, lest I ruin it.
One caveat: my mom, who reads a lot of murder mysteries (Ruth Rendell etc.) declared that she “hated” this book. She found it predictable and boring. And I thought, since she’s my mom and all, that I should inform you.