Empty flat, only for us. Loll at the windows studying buses, guessing what ages Blustons has seen. Hang those dresses for a hundred years. On the sofa, he flicks through the flatmate’s Stage that’s been circled, re-circled for telemarketing jobs but peace in the bright, bright sun.Such writing works for the sex scenes (and that’s what the novel is primarily about—the relationship with a much older man rather than the actual goings-on of the drama school), but the choppiness makes it difficult to muddle through all the rest. It felt like the author was trying be literary and poetic, but it came off as pretentious.
Review copy provided by Blogging for Books.