Reviews for The happy marriage

The average rating for The happy marriage based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2013-08-06 00:00:00 Michel Veillette 4.5/5 Good thing I don't have Keats on hand, else there I go. A lie, for I have a form of it in nightingale, third from the top of a section labeled 'Poetry' in some chimera thing brewed for the last six years if the transcribed origin date does not lie. Six hundred pages passed just this week, the cut and paste accumulating in smallish fur, micro soft for the consumer, so pardon my crankiness whenever the adulation for paper and pen and etc grow a bit much. I chomped the bit in typing school on the digital plane, pitter pattered in trepidation of tendonitis across the backs of books wedged to the height of the keyboard, and when the time came to write my thought has never been on good terms with my penmanship, so why shouldn't I make use of the time I was born in? If not for that, I would never have my Keats, and what a pity that would be. Carson frightens me. She's a single focus to an extraordinary extent, run run run after a solitary author till she can write a work even I can recognize as totally immersed, something I have spent year and page in six and six hundred outrunning in an effort to find my 'self'. Whereas Carson is those respectives reversed, reminding me too much of that dread of being on the cusp of graduating to engineer to a single celled slice of idea pitted and potted to pieces with all the money in the world riding on a single bloodying calculation and not a blessing of literature and/or diversity to be found. I'd sacrifice the span of my attention in a heartbeat to forgo being stuck, and that's a line on which I've stood both sides. How does she compose, I wonder? I do so in fluid stutters never looking back, so the fact she feels the same is suspect. Then I think on the more obvious references and the even more damning bibliography and I wonder just how much of an academic is she? I'm a fair hand at the journal article myself, judging by the published results, but my current train of composition is different, no matter how long I must go. Try as I might, I can't imagine careful checking beyond the interspersed quote (instinct, now) without a full throated cringe, although I do so admire the sheer density of allusion woven with play. For, despite all the Greek and French and English, she is playing; a trickster tonguing our supposed truth, beauteous as the shine and twice as likely to slit our throats for that's the only way to talk of love. She looks up from her work, deep/ in the pleasure of it as he can see, something about her/ blinds him. Excuse this digressive brevity as inadvertent incentive to try your own hand.

Review # 2 was written on 2013-08-16 00:00:00 S Christopher Lirely What is it that binds one person to another? Why does beauty have such sway? How is it that one is bound to someone who is destructive, or faithless, or fickle, or deceitful, or who constantly disappears, or who can never love you the way you want or need? Or all of the above, and yet the bond persists: Why? How is it that you can not escape? What cruel trick of fate or nature can give you over to such a creature? "Don't call it my choice, I was ventured: by some pure gravity of existence itself, conspiracy of being!" "and I do not apologize because as I say I was not to blame, I was unshielded in the face of existence and existence depends on beauty. In the end. Existence will not stop until it gets to beauty and then there follow all the consequences that lead to the end. Useless to interpose analysis or make contrafactual suggestions." Is this convincing? Not as such, but the book is convincing, but also, like the beautiful husband, seductive and intoxicating. The protagonist, she loved him so. Despite everything, and we understand why she can't move on. Sure, the husband, he's an asshole. Deceitful, destructive, disappearing, faithless, fickle, and unable to love her as she needed. But his appeal wasn't his physical beauty, but in the way he created worlds, wove words into stories (or lies), and how those worlds and words spun dependence and love, and how with those worlds and words he pushed her boundaries, but all in a way that was tied to her; that tied her; that ties us: we and she, enthralled, entwined, enraptured. What is it that binds one person to another? Why does beauty have such sway? How do people get power over one another? This book is a stab; an attempt to understand how love works its spell. The book stabs at the phenomenon of obsession and love from different directions; using different rhythms, styles, meters, techniques. It's a painful book that draws blood from old wounds. Your old wounds. And yet, when the wounds recur, does that help illuminate the invisible ties? Does the new blood glow? Or do we just remain wounded; simply reliving the pain of broken love? And those old wounds, they just throb. And hurt. But at least in this book they hurt beautifully. A whole world of pain, but a whole world that is created in lies and love; that tie us, we and she: enthrall, entwine, enrapture. In the end, Carson gives no real answers, and maybe it's useless to interpose analysis or make contrafactual suggestions. In the end love binds; beauty has sway; and there is no escape, just wounds after bloodletting.