This is part of the continuing series of random book reviews that'll be nothing like a New York Times book review. Gone is the ten thousand word analysis. Instead, here is a book review like you'd tell your friends.
The book: Virginia Woolf's Jacob's Room.
Great news if you're a masochist and have always felt like James Joyce's Ulysses was a casual read that cut corners and was too approachable. Virginia Woolf is here to make sure all your dreams of incomprehensible plot are possible.
Jacob's Room reads like how a conversation with a four year old hopped-up on Swizzle Sticks goes down. One moment you're talking about Transformers and Handy Manny, the next you're suddenly stuffing 37 marshmallows in your mouth and randomly throwing toys into the toilet. And to the four year old this is a natural progression of a conversation.
That's how Jacob's Room operates. At some point your brain just tried to squeeze 37 marshmallows into it and is now ODing on the Disney Channel.
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