Stuart Little by E.B. White
My rating: 2/5 cats
uh-oh—someone just lost two stars cats. i remember liking this book when i read it as a child, and i loved The Trumpet of the Swan and Charlotte’s Web like no other, so i just sense-memoried this into 4 stars cats. now that i reread it for my paper, it gets what it deserves. it is no good. it is inexplicably bad. and i’ve since learned that the ending on this was rushed because e.b. white was a hypochondriac who was convinced he was about to die and wanted to get this out to the publishers before that happened. and then it did. 40 years later. but that doesn’t excuse the beginning or the middle of the book, both equally atrocious. the premise is disgusting, the characters are either delusional or petty or just plain jerks, the story is flimsy, the central conflict is who-caresish. and then there’s this, about e.b. white:
He never stopped loving New York, calling it “a riddle in steel and stone,” but he also prophetically saw the vulnerability of the city: “A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate millions…Of all targets New York has a certain clear priority. In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm.”
so now i blame him for 9/11, too. rereading Charlotte’s Web and The Trumpet of the Swan was great—they can keep their five stars cats. but this was as bad as 9/11, and the overripe pluot i just ate. (i am procrastinating from paper—must return)
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