The book is, essentially, a lesbian love story. Sadly, it isn’t, despite such a beautiful descriptor. I had come so close to really enjoying The Little Stranger, an oddly captivating ghost story, that I thought The Paying Guests would be the novel that finally converted me. The copy of The Paying Guests that I picked up, quoted USA Today, stating that this was “A fever dream of a novel….”. To me, almost any novel by Sarah Waters is the equivalent to what I imaging dating Jeff Goldblum must be. You would never go out on a second date, just because someone asked you. Books to me are like relationships, you have to enjoy them, remember the good times and when you are ready, move on. I don’t believe for an instant that with books, once started, you must finish. It must be the same treacle that sticks to my fingers, as oddly, I never actually give up on her books. Yes, yes, these novels are beautifully written, have great plotlines and wonderful character development, but actually each novel is a little like wading through treacle. To me, they are like the promises you make at a book club, where readers coo over their favorite parts of a book, but secretly hope that no one asks them anything too taxing. People tell me how wonderful they are, but I do find myself secretly wondering whether they have actually ever finished one. I want to love to Sarah Waters’ novels, I really do, but in actuality I don’t.
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