The Standing Chandelier



by Lionel Shriver (2017)
I have a low tolerance for boredom when it comes to fiction.  I need to read something that is either startlingly new or seeringly right within the first couple of sentences or the book is consigned to the darker recesses of my kindle library. 

Shriver doesn't disappoint.  She had me within the first couple of sentences.  It's all skewer and no fluff.  She, for example, leaves the reader to flesh out extraneous things like the setting - which will most likely be the last tennis court you ever used, and gets on with the business of dissecting male/female and female/female interactions with an eviscerating accuracy. 

The story borders on extremely painful not least because it is so believable, but thankfully, being a novella, one can get through it without becoming terminally depressed.

As a final point - albeit a trivial one, I can't help envying Lionel her androgenous name.  Aside from the observant writing, I am sure it primes one to think she/he is master of all she/he surveys when it comes to the minds of humans of either gender.

Rating 7/10 


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