This was my first Deborah Levy and I was not familiar with her game! I wouldn't necessarily say that I get the game, but I can respect it 😎. I liked the atmosphere and it introduced me to some bits of classical music, which was quite entertaining/informative.
I read an online review that said "I didn't read this with any intellectual commitment... I just enjoyed it... fully enjoyed it!" and it made me laugh. I on the other hand, tried my best to read with and without intellectual commitment and struggled both ways. The way Elsa narrates her story is so dreamlike that I often wonder if "she" was ever even a real person or a hallucination of an alternate reality to help Elsa realise her true self. It also made me wonder if geniuses are all like Elsa, with a stream of thought that is both amusing and concerning. Is she ok? Depression? Psychosis? Is her mind finally giving in to a lifetime of sacrifice into her art?
But I understand the hate behind this book. There's no real plot line, things are just happening, conversations are not coherent, and Levy chose to write about the pandemic! Which was weird to read about in a fictional book. Most importantly, I think there wasn't any part of the book that felt significant. I was wasting my time, forced to be in Elsa's head, and gaining nothing to in return. Reading this book felt a bit like this quote!
...it's two contradictory thoughts, she said, the possibility of ending my life and wanting more life. So what?
Now knowing slightly more (a 5 minutes google search 😆) about Levy and her books, I might just stick to her memoirs!
