Sign in with Facebook
Kelly's Reviews > Liquid: A Love Story
Liquid: A Love Story
by
by
I genuinely hate giving bad reviews but this book was truly not for me. In fact, it was very nearly a DNF for me, but I powered through. Was it worth it? Meh.
I’ll start by agreeing with another review I read: BOTM hypes this book as “high brow,� but it feels more like pretentiousness disguised as intellect. You know those people who insist on being called Doctor Jones outside of any professional context? That’s the vibe this book gave me. I consider myself a pretty smart person, but Liquid is the kind of book that practically requires a dictionary to decode every other sentence. And when I’m reading, I don’t want to be constantly looking up words—I just want to enjoy the story. Instead, I found myself plowing through, waiting for it to end.
Part One, in particular, felt disjointed. We jumped from one thought to another without clear transitions, which made it hard to follow. And then there was that bathroom scene early on, when the narrator goes to dinner with Adam. Maybe if the writing had been funnier, I wouldn’t have been so annoyed? I think it was trying to be amusing, but it fell short. Instead, I was left wondering why we were spending so much time in her head while she squatted on a toilet.
Speaking of the narrator—she was frustratingly unlikable. She carries herself with a sense of superiority for someone who’s unemployed, struggling financially, and concocting a plan to marry rich rather than recognizing the obvious, viable romantic option right in front of her. And for a supposedly intelligent person, who lights a book on fire inside without ventilation or any plan to prevent the fire from spreading?
Beyond that, certain details just didn’t make sense. When she goes on a date with Eugene, he claims he had to drink three pots of coffee just to remember their plans. But� they made the date earlier that same day? Then there are the timeline issues: at one point, we’re told it’s 2014, and she says it’s the year she turned 16. At the beginning of the book, it’s 2017, and she’s supposedly being awarded her doctorate. That would make her 19. The majority of the book takes place in 2019, and she claims to have known Adam for 13 years, since freshman year of college. But on September 11th, she would’ve been in eighth grade, around 12 or 13 years old. The math simply doesn’t add up, and it’s frustrating that this wasn’t caught in editing.
By the time the narrator gets to Tehran, the writing finally becomes more readable—less reliant on unnecessarily complex vocabulary, more fluid. But at that point, I had already checked out. The narrator was too grating for me to root for, even as she went through something undeniably difficult. I’m glad she had her moment of self-discovery or whatever, but I just didn’t care anymore.
The most interesting thing about this book was its synopsis. It completely drew me in� only to leave me feeling like I’d been gaslit by the promise of a better book.
I’ll start by agreeing with another review I read: BOTM hypes this book as “high brow,� but it feels more like pretentiousness disguised as intellect. You know those people who insist on being called Doctor Jones outside of any professional context? That’s the vibe this book gave me. I consider myself a pretty smart person, but Liquid is the kind of book that practically requires a dictionary to decode every other sentence. And when I’m reading, I don’t want to be constantly looking up words—I just want to enjoy the story. Instead, I found myself plowing through, waiting for it to end.
Part One, in particular, felt disjointed. We jumped from one thought to another without clear transitions, which made it hard to follow. And then there was that bathroom scene early on, when the narrator goes to dinner with Adam. Maybe if the writing had been funnier, I wouldn’t have been so annoyed? I think it was trying to be amusing, but it fell short. Instead, I was left wondering why we were spending so much time in her head while she squatted on a toilet.
Speaking of the narrator—she was frustratingly unlikable. She carries herself with a sense of superiority for someone who’s unemployed, struggling financially, and concocting a plan to marry rich rather than recognizing the obvious, viable romantic option right in front of her. And for a supposedly intelligent person, who lights a book on fire inside without ventilation or any plan to prevent the fire from spreading?
Beyond that, certain details just didn’t make sense. When she goes on a date with Eugene, he claims he had to drink three pots of coffee just to remember their plans. But� they made the date earlier that same day? Then there are the timeline issues: at one point, we’re told it’s 2014, and she says it’s the year she turned 16. At the beginning of the book, it’s 2017, and she’s supposedly being awarded her doctorate. That would make her 19. The majority of the book takes place in 2019, and she claims to have known Adam for 13 years, since freshman year of college. But on September 11th, she would’ve been in eighth grade, around 12 or 13 years old. The math simply doesn’t add up, and it’s frustrating that this wasn’t caught in editing.
By the time the narrator gets to Tehran, the writing finally becomes more readable—less reliant on unnecessarily complex vocabulary, more fluid. But at that point, I had already checked out. The narrator was too grating for me to root for, even as she went through something undeniably difficult. I’m glad she had her moment of self-discovery or whatever, but I just didn’t care anymore.
The most interesting thing about this book was its synopsis. It completely drew me in� only to leave me feeling like I’d been gaslit by the promise of a better book.
Sign into ŷ to see if any of your friends have read
Liquid.
Sign In »
