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A review by franklekens
Lust and Other Stories by Susan Minot
1.0
What a weird little collection of stories. Minimalist writing, the ‘biography of Susan Minot’ at the end of the book calls it. Indifferent, lacklustre prose is what I would call it.
My impression of this book: pretty much all the stories are about women falling in love or at least having sex with men whom they’re about to lose or have already lost. And from the stories it’s not too hard to see why. (“You push too hard,” one of the men tells one of the interchangeable women in one of the stories, and you feel that, possibly against the author’s intentions, he certainly has a point.) They’re mostly stories about an insecure woman trying to garner praise and explicit shows of affection from the people, correction: the men around her.
Of course one should beware of reading the stories as so many self-portraits, but it's tempting, all the more so because of that weird ‘biography’ at the end. It is lavishly illustrated with photographs of the author in different stages of her life. Why are her childhood pictures in this book? Or pictures with a description like this: “In addition to being a writer, Minot is also a talented artist. She is seen here doing watercolors in a London restaurant in September 1997.” This seems to serve no other purpose beyond showing us that Susan Minot is one hell of a multitalented and independent woman (“lives with her daughter and, when not travelling, divides her time between homes in New York City and Maine”), and also isn’t she lovable and, even now in her fifties, still really hot? It’s like the book is saying to the reader exactly what the various women in the stories are saying (or trying to refrain from saying) to the men they meet: but don’t you love me?
The biggest problem is that the stories are rather boring. They don’t have much to offer by way of style, the characters are mere ciphers, there is no interesting plot and precious little humour. Anyone interested in stories with similar themes (women finding out about the pitfalls of love) would do better to turn to the stories of Edna O’Brien, for instance.
Am I an asshole for saying that? You do know I’m really quite a nice guy, don’t you? Do you still love me?
My impression of this book: pretty much all the stories are about women falling in love or at least having sex with men whom they’re about to lose or have already lost. And from the stories it’s not too hard to see why. (“You push too hard,” one of the men tells one of the interchangeable women in one of the stories, and you feel that, possibly against the author’s intentions, he certainly has a point.) They’re mostly stories about an insecure woman trying to garner praise and explicit shows of affection from the people, correction: the men around her.
Of course one should beware of reading the stories as so many self-portraits, but it's tempting, all the more so because of that weird ‘biography’ at the end. It is lavishly illustrated with photographs of the author in different stages of her life. Why are her childhood pictures in this book? Or pictures with a description like this: “In addition to being a writer, Minot is also a talented artist. She is seen here doing watercolors in a London restaurant in September 1997.” This seems to serve no other purpose beyond showing us that Susan Minot is one hell of a multitalented and independent woman (“lives with her daughter and, when not travelling, divides her time between homes in New York City and Maine”), and also isn’t she lovable and, even now in her fifties, still really hot? It’s like the book is saying to the reader exactly what the various women in the stories are saying (or trying to refrain from saying) to the men they meet: but don’t you love me?
The biggest problem is that the stories are rather boring. They don’t have much to offer by way of style, the characters are mere ciphers, there is no interesting plot and precious little humour. Anyone interested in stories with similar themes (women finding out about the pitfalls of love) would do better to turn to the stories of Edna O’Brien, for instance.
Am I an asshole for saying that? You do know I’m really quite a nice guy, don’t you? Do you still love me?