ramblings

Having read both of Lahiri's books before, I think I can somehow see why this one wasn't enjoyable for me. (I didn't like "Interpreter" either, although I could very much appreciate her style.) This book has over-used and obvious metaphors, unlike her first story collection. Interpreter left you haunted with its stories; while this one, though it shows you the frailty of the human condition, just pretty much does that. It tells stories, makes you reflect, and lets you forget them. In fact, the stories feel quite tiresome, as they themselves are quite over-used. You feel as if you're meeting different characters which, when they turn their backs on you, make you realize that it's the same person being used as different characters over and over again. The formal restraint in her previous story collection showed you the stories' profundity and the writer's maturity, whereas in this book, it just felt annoying and clicheish, if not amateurish.