MAGIC. LOVE. LOVE.

o_O

Basically, Robbins uses so many similes that their multitude negates any delight that could have been experienced as a result of any. The ending is just shit. There are a few entertaining bits, but they are ruined by the superior tone of the narrator. Also, the 'intellects' weren't challenging in the slightest; I don't know if this was intentional, or if Robbins doesn't quite have the grasp on academic issues he thinks he does. Also, did not give a shit about any of the characters.

Normally, I think every creative endeavor can be improved through the addition of gayness. But strangely, I think this book is much more engaging and winning when it is focusing on how the narrator's religion (they are fundamentalist Christians in 1960's England), isolates her and her mother from the rest of the world.

The gay coming out and being rejected by family and friends is so old and done. It bores me.

I like the fantasy story bits when they don't too directly parallel the events of the plot. When they're a little en point, they are overly obvious as a cute storytelling technique, rather than illuminating something one didn't already understand.

I really, really enjoyed this. Very clearly written, hilarious, devastating, woven so seamlessly into fairytale ... very sexy, very tragic.

Exciting in every possible way.

Exciting in every possible way.

I'd forgotten how fucking amazing this book is. Read it. Read it, now.

I'd forgotten how fucking amazing this book is. Read it. Read it, now.

I was interested in finding out more about Assia; the telling of her I found to be hopelessly indulgent.

I was interested in finding out more about Assia; the telling of her I found to be hopelessly indulgent.

For God's sake, Emma: appropriating poetry that will always be better than your own does not make you a good author. Your fraudulence, in fact, is even more obvious than Sylvia Plath's meglomania. Get out of my house, slash just use your own frickin' words in the future, because some of the turns of phrase that were actually yours were kind of pretty (when they weren't being gushing or intrusive, that is). I suspect I only even gave this book a two because I am so interested in its subject matter - what a myth are Ted and Sylvia.

For God's sake, Emma: appropriating poetry that will always be better than your own does not make you a good author. Your fraudulence, in fact, is even more obvious than Sylvia Plath's meglomania. Get out of my house, slash just use your own frickin' words in the future, because some of the turns of phrase that were actually yours were kind of pretty (when they weren't being gushing or intrusive, that is). I suspect I only even gave this book a two because I am so interested in its subject matter - what a myth are Ted and Sylvia.

Re-reading seems an unnecessary luxury at the moment, but this is short, and it's in my top three favourite books of all time, and I needed it. This book sets out everything imperative to my being; I can think of nothing as beautiful or as perfect in the world.

The little prince is
from another planet so
he's different from me.

Re-reading seems an unnecessary luxury at the moment, but this is short, and it's in my top three favourite books of all time, and I needed it. This book sets out everything imperative to my being; I can think of nothing as beautiful or as perfect in the world.

"It is in the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invicible to the eye."