Reading Chsbon’s The Final Solution. Was quite taken with chapter 1. Then chapter 2 was like returning to the hell of War & Peace: loads of character dropped on you at once and some absolute horrors of run-on sentences like this:
She was a large, plain, flaxen-haired Oxfordshirewoman whose unimaginably wild inspiration of thirty years past, to marry her father’s coal-eyed, serious young assistant minister from India, had borne fruit far mealier than the ripe rosy pawpaws which she had, breathing in the scent of Mr K.T. Panicker’s hair oil on a warm summer evening in 1913, permitted herself to anticipate.
After reading it 5 times and still not having a clue why the County she came from should be significant, nor frankly if the pawpaws are actual or metaphorical (kids?), I moved on.
