I picked up this novel by Jeffrey Eugenides along with a bunch of other books I was in a rush to buy, but not so much in a rush to read. After finishing the Hunger Games series I needed a little break, and then I needed something a little more substantive than young adult fiction (even though, technically I’m a young adult).
The Virgin Suicides is told from the perspective of neighborhood boys who have gathered evidence regarding the suicides of the 5 Lisbon daughters who lived in a house across the street.
It’s beautifully written, though sometimes tedious. I wouldn’t read this if you’re looking for a mystery about five suicides. They’re laid out for your pretty cleanly and the reasons are most obvious.
In text, book becomes mostly about one sister Lux and her rebellion against her mother’s strict. Figuratively, though, it challenges larger themes like the horrors of mundane society, the American notion of what makes happiness, and how unreliable time and memory become.
If you’re looking for some contemplation, I suggest reading this. While there’s less action than The Hunger Games, there’s much more contemplation.
It didn’t matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn’t heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the tree house, with out thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all of time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.