Such an unpleasant book in the best way possible. The atmosphere from the beginning feels utterly dead and stagnant so that the events depicted in the book— equally grotesque to the setting— have a weightless and inconsequential feel; as the decay and corruption have already penetrated to the core of the novel, what difference is a little more scandal? It only confounds the disgust you feel as a voyeur to it all.
The grotesque is not isolated to a single character or event. Every page is stained with an unsettling thing. The "norm" of this novel exists off the page in dreamy ideas of foreign countries with lovely weather, but they are only imagination— you never leave the realm of the military base. The norm becomes the grotesque. As a reader, you are implicated in this norm. You are, just as the private, a voyeur simply sitting back in silence, voiceless, taking pleasure in observing the awful plot unfold. When you read the words you are in this world, your reference for the norm is what McCullers has given to you. I feel dirty when I finish this book, but in a GOOD way, I promise.
One of the best attempts at Southern Gothic every one.
