A tiger somewhere in Eastern Europe

I read a lot, or try to, and I’m ashamed to say that I do start novels without finishing them. I try to give everything, what, at least four or five chapters? And I thought I was going to put down The Tiger’s Wife, by the young Tea Obrecht. The opening of the novel is dense, and switches times and narrators, and I was resistant to the Obrechtcomplexity of it, but I kept going. It’s a good one. Very rich, and funny in places, and very alive. Certainly has lovely writing but it’s not so jam-packed with images and metaphors that you spend an hour with three pages. Story’s all over the place, in terms of time and who’s doing the what, but I trust her, trust that we’ll get where we’re supposed to be going. Reminds me a lot of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated. 

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