Books in '15 | Eleanor & Park

Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

One of those latest and popular American novels. Sounded like a love story, I gave it a try.

Narrative was good, keeping things interesting, as should happen in a romance book. Double POVs are great for a love story. Even though it cuts on the thrill part where one is oblivious to the inner feelings of the other guy or girl, this one gives insight into what people on the either side are feeling.

A stupid Asian boy, in spite of his inner disapproval of how the girl looked, eventually ends up falling in love with the troubled red haired girl. Together, they experience their first love. They fear their time together is short. Still they give it a shot. Even if first love seldom lasts, it's still worth it.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, it's my favourite poem. I liked Eleanor's theory that Shakespeare is only making fun of Romeo and Juliet. I know the story but haven't yet read the original piece. Someday I will find out if she's right.

All that's there in a love story is the way the emotions and feelings are expressed; this one is done in sort of a poetic style: And Eleanor disintegrated....what a way to express that instantaneous feeling, way to go man - oops, the author is a woman.

Sometimes though it's overly done:... wanting to eat Park's face and all, isn't Eleanor too horny for her age. Or maybe that's how it happens in America. Doesn't matter, such things are cherished in a love story.

The thing about Eleanor's stepfather is disturbing. What's the deal with him anyway, I wonder. And why does Eleanor's family has to put up with that man, some of the things left unexplained.

Not so bad an ending. It could have been better

View all my reviews

Comments

LIFE AND LIES #57 | Neil Nitin Mukesh (#2)

"Krishna is a married man but he's always revered along with Radha, his lover. What if... say Rukmani, said to Krishna one day, that she'd rather be Radha?" Nitin uttered his thought out loud then looked around the room. While the others had stopped long back, Neil was pouring himself another drink. Only he could drink so much on a Sunday night, because unlike the others, his Monday had been declared a Bank holiday. It was Mukesh who was sober enough to reply to his question. "Radha spent her years in sadness longing for Krishna. Rukmani would not want to be in her place." "What if...'' smiled Nitin. He always placed the actual question he wanted to ask as the second question. "One day, after reading my work, my wife says to me that she'd rather be one of the women I write about so passionately." "The women you choose to write about are also inherently sad," Mukesh was quick with a reply. "Ask your wife then, would ...

LIFE AND LIES #85 | By God's Grace

Gaumukh Tapovan Trek - Part 3 of 3 Click to read Gaumukh Tapovan Trek - Part 1 of 3: The Bhagirathi Sisters Click to read Gaumukh Tapovan Trek - Part 2 of 3: A Hearty Submission "Did you sully my good name again to justify your coming here?" "The mountain is named after you. It wasn't that long a shot." "Why can't you stay in the city like a normal person? Plan your life ahead. Get married, have kids, and so on." "When I was a kid, we had this clay modelling class where the teacher expected us to combine earth and water to build statues of God. I always ended up with a dried lump of clay." "That's your take on marriage? Doesn't science tell you that life arose from a mixture of earth and water? Nature gave that a chance. Why can't you?" "Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?" "I know almost everything. That doesn't mean I can't delight myself with a conversation now a...

Whispers and Words #22 | The Red Letterbox

A day before my vacation came to an end, while I readied my luggage, already occupied mostly with the snacks prepared by my mother, my father had only one thing to add - a stack of postcards, along with an instruction to drop one in the letterbox every week, during my time in school. I used to be a dutiful son in my childhood days. I did as I was asked. Every Sunday evening, I took a stroll on my own, carrying a written postcard. Where the road from the hostel turned towards our classrooms, there was a huge tree, and attached to its massive trunk was a red letterbox. It was cylindrical and had two openings at the front side. The top opening had a flap that swiveled back on a gentle push, allowing me to drop the postcard. The bottom opening had a small door with a tiny lock on it. There was a certain kind of mystery associated with the entire thing - from the moment the postcard dropped with a hollow sound in the box to the moment it was delivered to my home. I never got to see the post...

Whispers and Words of M R Maiti

Search This Blog