The man wins a Booker prize and all of a sudden he thinks he can unleash a volley of asinine tripe on an unsuspecting world.
If this was the only book that Peter Carey had produced, anyone would want to think he was the most pretentious jerk in Australia's wasteland of cultural history.
Maybe it's because AUST universities are culturally stuck in the 1970's, but every aspriring high-brow...
more The man wins a Booker prize and all of a sudden he thinks he can unleash a volley of asinine tripe on an unsuspecting world.
If this was the only book that Peter Carey had produced, anyone would want to think he was the most pretentious jerk in Australia's wasteland of cultural history.
Maybe it's because AUST universities are culturally stuck in the 1970's, but every aspriring high-brow novelist in the country for some reason decides to try to emulate Patrick White in the "unreadable dribble" stakes.
Luckily he has produced more works than this near-miss of a book that universities have taken to studying (probably searching for some hidden deeper meaning that must have originally convinced the publishers to print this piece essentially unreadable wank.)
No, I exaggerate. Carey is a skilful writer, no doubt. This book has some interesting ideas, but remains no more likeable than its ludicrous main character. Reading this book is like watching a wounded bird unsuccessfully try to fly. Painful on so many levels, and none of those intended by the author. Ultimately, you'll want those wasted hours of your life back, wondering why you didn't simply watch the most recent soul-destroying offering from Australian television like Big Brother instead.
hide