how disappointing...
The only other of Toibin's books that I have read was "The Master", which I thoroughly enjoyed. It is brilliantly subtle; my slight and confusing attraction to Henry James has, probably, more than something to do with my reaction. My thought was that such a profound writer should have a few more equally enjoyable books under his belt. I was, at least as concerns this work, horribly mistaken. I did try to like this book. I kept waiting for some depth or maybe some honest emotion. What I got was intolerably lackluster 1st person in short 7 word sentences that drove me /batty/, and a 'love' that is more based on lust than anything else. There is not one drop of feeling anywhere, and this includes the protagonist's reactions to his political situation since he doesn't actually /care/ at all. I skimmed to the end of the book to see if maybe I might be missing something worthwhile, but found nothing that would have made this book worth having bought in the 1st place.