I just finished reading ‘Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close’ by Jonathon Safron Foer. It’s really a pleasure to just do nothing in bed and read the day away, especially when the sky is being really mean and rain-esque. Some bits of the book were a little puzzling, but that’s more my fault for reading it in stuttered breathes. Sometimes when I pick it up again, I seem to have lost my way and need to flip back a couple of pages, hoping that my memory and familiar words will meet halfway.
It’s a decent read, and Foer does try to use some nifty techniques in his writing. There is something really visceral that is missing from the story though, and I’m a little annoyed that I can’t put my finger on it.
