What the hell is up with all the praise lavished on “Love In The Time Of Cholera”?
While the prose describing the setting and background was competent and at times evocative, the central theme is not a great romance. It is, rather, just a grindingly detailed story of a vile misogynist. There’s not even an antihero vibe here; simply unremitting crimes against women, lovingly described in intimate detail, for 424 pages.
The book features stalking, rape described as lovemaking, really icky paedophilia/incest (Is there any other kind?), and streams of sex-object women and girls with barely one-dimensional characters.
This novel strikes me as nothing more than a protracted rapist’s fantasy. Half a star, for the feisty parrot alone.
Categories: gender & feminism