On hatchet jobs – Becca Rothfeld in TLS:

‘Its focus is on Jude St. Francis, a corporate lawyer who endured frequent torments in his youth. At first, Jude appears to be largely functional, albeit enigmatically tortured. But soon we are subjected to a series of revelations, divulged in the breathless tones of the talkshow confessional, from which it emerges that our forlorn hero has been sexually assaulted by practically everyone he has ever chanced to meet. He finally commits suicide on page 811.’

(…)

‘As I trudged through the novel’s 700 pages, I found myself nostalgic for books plagued only by quaint defects, such as confusing descriptions and characters who behave inconsistently – not that Yanagihara, who has a special gift for garbled metaphors and bizarrely specific yet impenetrable imagery, spares us such infelicities. She writes of a character in a state of shock that he feels as if he has “been walloped about the head with something dense but yielding, a cushion perhaps”, which is not at all what shock feels like; another character reports that, when her grandfather brushes her hair, it is “relaxing … like falling down a long, cool tunnel”, which does not sound very relaxing. One character wonders whether he will ever fall in love; shortly thereafter, it turns out that he has been in love already. Did Yanagihara read over the book once she had finished writing it?’

(…)

‘Book III, the longest section by several orders of magnitude, uproots us once more, transporting us to a dystopian future that unfolds in a political universe that may or may not be contiguous with those of Book I or Book II. In any case, matters have developed so far beyond Yanagihara’s earlier world-building as to present readers with a fresh set of bafflements. Now, Hawaii is a separate country, and England has morphed into “New Britain”. New York, ravaged by a climate crisis and a slew of pandemics, is controlled by an authoritarian government that has sliced it up into “Zones”. Chekhov’s guns go unfired at every turn. America’s violent re-configuration plays no role in the plot of Book I, which centres on the dull, domestic travails of a prominent New York family. Aside from Yanagihara’s general preoccupation with Hawaii, there is no clear justification for the state’s independence in Book III.’

(…)

‘Instead, To Paradise’s inhabitants seem to be guided by the puerile motivations of villains and heroes. For the most part, they crave “adventure”, a word that recurs over and over. On three occasions, Yanagihara describes objects or experiences as being “like something out of a fairytale”. In Book III, New Yorkers barred from using the internet cluster around actual storytellers in the public square. Three of the work’s main characters – David in Book I, David’s father in Book II and the pandemic survivor in Book III – languish in a state of arrested adolescence, unable to care for themselves. To Paradise is perhaps the world’s most difficult book for, and about, children.’

Read the review here.

No one is better at the hatchet job than Michael Hofmann, he is a subtle master in this genre.

Just read his review of Tóibín’s book on Mann, recently favorably reviewed in a Dutch quality newspaper. (I haven’t read the book, so I can’t pass judgment, but to the connoisseur of Schadenfreude, and who isn’t a connoisseur of this emotion, Hofmann is a delight. And convincing.)

Here is Hofmann: ‘Description intolerably bland: “In the confusion created by the war”, or “her clothes understated and expensive”. And if not that, then mystifyingly self-annulling: “The young children enjoyed having friends with whom they could roam under the careful eye of a governess”. I bet they did.’

Also Yanagihara’s latest was rather favorably reviewed in some Dutch magazines and newspapers.
And of course in NYT: ‘This ambitious novel tackles major American questions and answers them in an original, engrossing way. It has a major feel. But it is finally in such minor moments that Yanagihara shows greatness.’

The truth is that a lot of commercial fiction, bestselling fiction, consists of rather difficult novels for and about children.

Don’t complain. Mailmen are still needed.