I am this woman. The grouchy teacher who is aging less than gracefully. The one who means well, but forgets to ask herself who she thinks she really is. The one who does not see how she crowds those around her and forgets that the things that she often sees as flaws in others are truly their strengths.
This one a good book.
This was not a good book. I honestly have not disliked a novel this much in a very long time. Was it poorly written or translated? Did Stieg Larson have no sense of purpose, or was it a bad editor? Do the Swedes have a very different aesthetic or was this truly bizarre?
I am cheating here. I am half way through and am enjoying it. The author's voice is authentic enough that I feel as though I am the fly on the wall. I am trying to make myself remember that even though a six year old would never speak with such authority, she is telling the tale through the pen of an elderly woman. Not too bad considering I am reading it hard on the tail of this next one. For a book of Salem, not too bad at all.