maybe you don’t remember it, but a couple of weeks ago I told you that I was reading, finally, the book written by Lena Dunham. I know that this book was published last year and everyone has already read it and said something about it, but you know that sometimes I wait for the perfect moment to read a book, or to listen to an album, for that matter.
For all this time, when I was in a bookstore, I always saw it, but I never bought it; I don’t know why, maybe it was my instinct? In July I found it in my public library and I finally got it at home with me and read it.
I really wanted to love it, even after reading some not so good reviews. I started it with the best intentions, then I read some more pages and my enthusiasm faded a little. But I was thinking that, maybe, it was only that chapter that wasn’t so brilliant; I kept telling that to myself. You know what? It wasn’t “only” that chapter, it was the entire book.
I’m not saying I didn’t like it, but it was full of little things that I didn’t found interesting or too full of details.
One thing I really hated, though: when she talks about her mother and the pictures she used to take in front of the mirror when she was young. I know that, once upon a time, there weren’t’ smartphones and to take a picture was a long story and it was more difficult, with film eccetera… I know that, I grew up without a digital camera and I still use films, when I have the money. Not all your readers are born after the 2000.
One of the things I really can’t stand in other people is a paternalistic tone or discussions and I had the feeling that this book was covered in it from start to end. Not so explicit, but I could feel it.
Don’t get me wrong, I quite liked this book and I enjoyed reading it, just not as much as I wanted to.
See you soon. G.