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A review by versmonesprit
Death in Her Hands by Ottessa Moshfegh
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
0.25
On just page 12 the narrator Vesta (who by the way mispronounces her own surname) asks “Wasn’t I a bore?” and my God, YES. YES. I’m pretty sure I was already bored and fucking tired of this shitty book by the end of page 1.
Here we have as narrator and main character a blubbering idiot and misogynistic cunt, whose first person voice is a complete, inauthentic, unconvincing failure — it could have well been Eileen speaking, it could have well been the unnamed narrator of My Year of Rest and Relaxation speaking. Is Moshfegh capable of writing first person? McGlue would suggest yes; everything afterwards makes it feel like McGlue was a one-off fluke of brilliance, and Moshfegh is just a shitty writer who neither respects her readers nor gives a shit about her books seeing as they feel like Eileen rewritten over and over again by slamming the keyboard. Death in Her Hands certainly feels like it was potentially written by several monkeys smashing at typewriters, because it was nothing but random sentences stringed together.
Its pathetic attempt at meta with the “I’d write a book starting with the note this book starts with if anyone would read it” spiel almost gave me a facial paralysis. Moshfegh as a whole seems more and more like a caricature with her shallow “controversial just to be controversial” spiel with feces being mentioned in every book and some run of the mill anti-abortion rant and dog abuse here. I can’t conceive of a writer as anything but cheap when said writer resorts to cheap tricks time and time again. None of these characters are “unhinged women” or “unlikeable characters” — they’re just lazy characters that lack any and all character and only hinge on cheap shock factors that are so mainstream and cowardly that they aren’t even real, actual shock factors.
Could the premise have been something special at the hands of an accomplished writer who cares about writing? Yes. But at Moshfegh’s hands it’s nothing but headache inducing drivel. I regret every single penny I have paid for her books. I can’t wait to read Lapvona and be forever done with Moshfegh — I wish I had read all these books within a single month so I could still return them. RIP my hard earned money and self-respect as a reader.
Here we have as narrator and main character a blubbering idiot and misogynistic cunt, whose first person voice is a complete, inauthentic, unconvincing failure — it could have well been Eileen speaking, it could have well been the unnamed narrator of My Year of Rest and Relaxation speaking. Is Moshfegh capable of writing first person? McGlue would suggest yes; everything afterwards makes it feel like McGlue was a one-off fluke of brilliance, and Moshfegh is just a shitty writer who neither respects her readers nor gives a shit about her books seeing as they feel like Eileen rewritten over and over again by slamming the keyboard. Death in Her Hands certainly feels like it was potentially written by several monkeys smashing at typewriters, because it was nothing but random sentences stringed together.
Its pathetic attempt at meta with the “I’d write a book starting with the note this book starts with if anyone would read it” spiel almost gave me a facial paralysis. Moshfegh as a whole seems more and more like a caricature with her shallow “controversial just to be controversial” spiel with feces being mentioned in every book and some run of the mill anti-abortion rant and dog abuse here. I can’t conceive of a writer as anything but cheap when said writer resorts to cheap tricks time and time again. None of these characters are “unhinged women” or “unlikeable characters” — they’re just lazy characters that lack any and all character and only hinge on cheap shock factors that are so mainstream and cowardly that they aren’t even real, actual shock factors.
Could the premise have been something special at the hands of an accomplished writer who cares about writing? Yes. But at Moshfegh’s hands it’s nothing but headache inducing drivel. I regret every single penny I have paid for her books. I can’t wait to read Lapvona and be forever done with Moshfegh — I wish I had read all these books within a single month so I could still return them. RIP my hard earned money and self-respect as a reader.