Small but perfectly dark in tone, The Cement Garden is a bit of a guilty pleasure. Not because it's not beautifully written, but because you will find yourself laughing out loud at some outrageous situations, and then looking around shiftily: "Did I really laugh at that?" It's a tragedy too, and a lesson in how keeping yourself to yourself can be a Very Bad Thing.
Day 306; book 296
Friday, 14 August 2009
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I had a similar response to Amsterdam, love Ian McEwan, but I have not read this one yet, must seek it out.
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