Love and respect to my opera heads, but I did not enjoy Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. This novel, about a large hostage situation conducted by terrorists in an unnamed South American country, has an intriguing premise, some really beautiful passages, and some interesting characters and themes, but it was such a slog for me to get through. I respect Ann Patchett’s writing style, which really takes its time describing everything in extreme detail with robust metaphors, but it was too much for me. In college, my thesis advisor told me to cool it with the mixing of metaphors, and now I finally understand why he told me that. The bombastic and beauty-focused language is cool sparingly, but in bulk it feels like a scattershot of images to the point of numbness.
I can recognize that this book has objective merit and a lot to offer for somebody willing to dig in, particularly if they believe in the healing and unifying power of opera. However, for me, who doesn’t give a damn about opera (except for the fact that it has a popular “phantom” associated with it), I just couldn’t really give it my patience, especially because, despite its dynamic premise, doesn’t really get interesting until halfway through the book as its characters’ relationships really start to cement.
Alexa, play my “Kendrick-Drake Beef” playlist in chronological order, please.
2/5