3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Spoilt Parisian brats, December 9, 2004
This review is from: Lovers or Something Like It (Pushkin Modern) (Paperback)
I did enjoy the book rather perversely but I so wanted to wring Tristan's neck most of the time. The guy's got too much choice, in fact, he's got it ALL! oh dear, my heart bleeds! Instead of whining and moping around, why can't he just enjoy his meaningless relationships - ever so underrated these days - while at the same time basking in the adoration of his steady and loyal girlfriend - who incidentally is not as predictable and boring as she seems anyway. Had T known that she didn't happen to just 'fall' upon him by complete coincidence, would that have made him respect her more I wonder.. Now, where have I read before about such unbearable lightness of brains... Still, Florian is not as boring and nearly as totally humourless as that dreadful epitomy of parisian brattishness Houellebeq (and far better looking). Thank goodness for small mercies. I fully realise that had Tristan been happy with his lot - who is - and had he known what he wanted we would not have had this book. I appreciate and respect the author's cynicism, maturity and skill at dissecting the nature of fidelity in modern relationships but, please lighten up dears...
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0 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
2.0 out of 5 stars
So this is what the flaneurs of the Left Bank are up to these days, November 7, 2007
This review is from: Lovers or Something Like It (Pushkin Modern) (Paperback)
The blurb of my stylish little Pushkin Press edition says 'Florian Zeller is arguably France's most famous 25 year old'. I would say very arguably. I read his third novel, 'The Fascination of Evil' which was a waspish little nasty souffle of a book mixing Houellebecq and Kundera in equal measure, and this earlier novel is a similar concoction. It is a short novella length work comprising very short chapters thus perfect for people whose Attention Deficit Disorder prevents them getting to grips with any serious length prose.
It captures the 'modern' (read self obsessed), heart and head nicely. A bit like Haruki Murakami, the Japanese pop scribbler. Tristan is a gorgeous talented twenty something (a bit like the author himself judging by the model agency type pic on the second page) who attracts more women than he can shake his stick at. He has a beautiful and devoted girlfriend Amelie, but that is not enough for him. See, he wants infinite choice in his life for ever and ever.
Oh, you can't have that. Ah well, plenty of angst saturated philosophical material to be dredged up from his profound musings on his condition then.
There is the odd nice observation: 'women like men who vaguely resemble a simplistic and preconceived image of perfection, an image available in the smallest of brains'. You can see the Houellebecq-lite misogyny steaming out there. If this is the only literary style in France that sells at the moment then French society is truly in a bad way. Are young Parisians really all so obsessed with preserving their achingly hip freedom of choice and modern relationships at the expense of actually living a decent life?
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