3.5 stars. Shame stories and life-long manipulations. Worth it, but recklessly implausible. ( )

The first 50 pages and the last 20 were very slow and/or disappointing, and really, no matter how good the middle is, if the ending sucks, then what's the point? I think the biggest redeeming factor for this novel was the fact that I often forgot that I wasn't reading a story by Chuck Palahniuk - he and Julavits have similar styles and employ the use of short narrations from multiple characters to build a tale with many unexpected twists and shocking surprises. Unfortunately, I was dissatisfied with the way the author chose to end the story and I felt that there were some questions that should have been answered (or at least answered more clearly). I did find some passages difficult to follow and, while Julavits definitely has a way with words, it was at times superfluous and boring. I would like to read this again sometime because I have a feeling I might have missed some things the first time around. ( )

This one started out entertaining--I liked the narrator's hostility and sharpness, and was intrigued by the introduction--but I very quickly became disenchanted. Maybe I'm just not ready to read a farcical, satirical romp about terrorism. It's possible. More likely, the author simply failed to convince me on every level: plot, characters, tone--everything. I ended with a sense that Julavits didn't really know what sort of a book she was writing--political commentary? family drama? inquiry into the nature of identity? examination of the nature of humanity based on how quickly it dissipates in extreme situations? Julavits tried to do all and failed at capturing any, in large part because of this fracturing overambition, but also because of her over-attachment to being clever, detached, and postmodern.

Two stars not because "it was ok"--it was not--but because I have read far worse books and would like to save the dread one star for them. And Julavits' lauded (by the blurbs, at least) "savage humor" did indeed amuse me a couple of times on a sentence level, and I was mildly interested in the sibling dynamics for maybe a quarter of the book. Overall, though, the book failed to create any emotional or intellectual resonance at all. ( )

This is one of those hall of mirrors-type books where not everything is as it seems. I couldn’t help thinking I might have liked it more if that side of things had been kept secret until close to the end rather than being splashed all over the back of the book and laid bare in the first chapter. Don’t get me wrong, the writing is superb, the energy invested in even the tiniest detail hugely impressive. I suspect I have only teased out one tenth of its meaning. The only bit that didn’t quite ring true was the voice of narrator Alice, who is painted as plain and unloved yet she comes across throughout as sparkly, bubbly and full of wit and energy. ( )