Homesick for Another World

There is nothing I don't like about Moshfegh's prose.
She is clean, laser-sharp and full of tough love for her language, in a way that commands respect.

The lunacy of her characters? Also admirable in the way it relentlessly comes at you from left field.

But reading this short story collection was, to me, a sad affair.

I get that the underlying thesis of the book (and perhaps the author's vision) is that people are awful and on my average day I might feel inclined to agree with her.

But I still think someone fumbled with the quantities in this one: the - exquisitely crafted - fascination with filth gets easily repetitive and ultimately boring: There is little to no plot in most of the stories (which probably qualify better as ‘character studies') and while I'm not necessarily a fan of plot-heavy prose, I definitively would have enjoyed a bit more of it, because - with the exception of four of these - ‘awful' seems to have many faces but the same exact tone of voice.

I get how, rationally, an old chauvinist who only sees women as commodities could sound quite like a young chauvinist who only sees women as commodities, but I don't necessarily want to read about it for 300 pages, if this is all I get.

Again: I love Moshfegh's writing and I admire the way she seems to be on a quest to use every single English word (agog!). But I like her best when she takes the time to flesh out her characters a little more and actually puts them up to something.