Just finished reading a book that has done much to discuss: "Steel", by Silvia Avalos.
sensed the approaching of internal churning that prejudice that comes from having heard, before you know, many reviews.
reviews and different opinions among them, the controversy following the Strega Prize, the disappointment of those who were expecting a masterpiece and a masterpiece was not found.
The disappointment of those who believes a masterpiece and does not accept the harsh criticism of those who can not find this masterpiece.
Here my opinion:
the book has some merits.
There 's some skill in describing the boring and monotonous life of a small town', when in reality 'nothing is happening and what little is happening and 'marked by shifts and repetitive actions of daily life' gray.
There 's some crudely Mestria narrative in reporting the stories of bored teenagers, looking for something big, different, but unable to actually' measure up to what the great and different and 'real.
There 's some Mestre in describing the scenery and the characters' emotions and stir up some excitement, particularly evocative, in the player.
The problem is, however, 'in just one word, evocative.
I was born in 1982, the protagonists of the novel in 1987, we lived our childhood and adolescence in a temporal context ALMOST 'identical, made of the same events, of the same songs, the same food.
The September 11, 2001 I was 19 years, their 14.
found inside the book suggestions related to their experiences, their past, their memories of the 90s and it was common and 'easy for me.
But now I wonder: this lies in the mastery of the author o 'must be something that happens within us whenever we recognize something that is part of our past and we share with the character who lives in the paper?
A 14 year old today, born in 1997, little reminiscent of the fall of the Twin Towers would feel the same emotions in that description?
A 63 year old today, which are unlikely and not 'never did fill the summer by the songs of the Crown, as his musical memory linked to very different tunes, and that he rarely chewed Big Babol cream and strawberries, acknowledge these details up to get excited?
During the reading and 'This was one of the first limits of the novel in which I came. The doubt that, in his capacity 'to arouse some feelings, be able to do so if applied universally or just to the right player, right where you want the reader to a certain age group', not born before 1976 and not more 'late 1988, possibly from a similar context.
But, although it may be a limit, say this is' perhaps the less and less relevant.
After all, where is it written that a good book should be able to reach everyone, without distinction?
There are, however, 'the other elements, so exasperated that I have almost tired when reading.
And it is the exasperation!
A 'exasperation all exasperated and exasperating to the point of becoming annoying, and partly cancel or offset the negative descriptions and beautiful moments of good writing.
The exasperation of the beauty of the stars, so repeated and taken to an extreme as to be absurd and ridiculous.
(overflight BLONDE hair and soft on the arms of Anna MORA, one thing that I personally have never seen in nature !!!!!!!!!)
An overemphasis on sex. Sex everywhere. Sex in Henry looking at the 13 year old daughter from the binoculars, sex in the calendars of Max scattered everywhere sex everywhere and at all times, sex in every thought, every sentence, almost every page.
E 'anywhere, check in any context, and' continuous, insistent, animal, absurd, unnatural, too too too much. And maybe, just there 'where it would need to refer to sex, there is no'.
E 'annoying, it becomes ubiquitous, useless, boring!
exacerbating stereotypes. For heaven's sake ', and there are stereotypes and' an honor to know how to describe, but about 10 people, we hope that someone is stereotyped, some other does not (like a little 'in life). In all my life and this novel 'formulaic. There is no 'way out.
The exasperation of the negative.
I join the chorus of comments that have panned the book, 'cause unlike other novels of today, it shows some skill and knowledge in the use of writing.
But beyond that my comment can not 'be positive, given the discomfort that caused in me from the first page.
For the umpteenth time, it is confirmed this year, the repetition, just the aggravation of a youth literature that require us, but that just is not right.
It 's a sin.
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