This book might be a literary milestone in its portrayal of the inner turmoil and despair of a very lonely woman, but personally I just can't seem to enjoy reading books that have no real plot. ( )

This featured a clearly mentally unwell woman who muses on her tragic past and obsesses about herself, her appearance, and men, and sex with men, while drinking vast amounts of alcohol and resenting the fact that she has very little money. She was very occasionally dryly funny, but otherwise everyone and everything was unpleasant, unlikable, hostile.

Possibly the most depressing book I have ever read (and I've read 'A Little Life'). ( )

This is a deceptively short and easy book. While it can be read quickly, the constant morphing of reality makes the simple story difficult to read, to the point where the ending hovers between a dream-state and reality. Alcohol, despair, and loneliness are all themes that permeate this novel and while it is bleak and grim, it is also punctuated with hope and liveliness, which brings the reader back for more... only to create a vortex back into the depths of sadness.

While I can't say I loved the book, it certainly didn't leave me indifferent, more a sense of unease than a revelation of the human heart. There was also a feeling that none of us are immune to such a fate. ( )

A story about a woman who has been hurt and used by her husband, who no longer believes in anything or anybody, and would just as soon die as anything. Surprise ending. ( )

Having read After Leaving Mr MacKenzie and Sleep It Off, Lady, this book wears out its welcome fairly quickly. We have another broke (but not really!) woman living in semi-squalor in Paris, unable to befriend other women and terrified (but not really!) of becoming involved with men.

It all wears pretty thin. Making things worse, in this novel, is Rhys clearly demonstrating just how incompetent and mentally unstable the narrator is: she works in a boutique, yet cannot find the cashier because she is too flustered after her ability to perform simple tasks is questioned; she takes a man back to her hotel, makes him leave once they have started to get down to business, then frantically wishes for him to return and finish the job; she tries her hand at guiding tourists, and does not know any of the places they ask her to take them; she tries to impress two foreigners and ends up taking them to a cafe where she is despised by the staff. All this in the midst of copious drinking and feeling sorry for herself.

Yawn. It worked better when it was tragic; here, it just feels inevitable. ( )