As the story opens, Barrett has received a break-up text from his latest boyfriend. While walking through the city at night in the snow, he views a pale aqua light hovering over his head. He is an atheist, but this vision awakens his spiritual curiosity. Barrett lives in an apartment in Brooklyn with his brother, Tyler, and Tyler’s fiancé, Beth, who is terminally ill. Tyler is a musician, struggling to write songs. He believes cocaine will help but becomes addicted. He gets involved with Beth’s friend Liz.

I did not particularly enjoy this book. It is filled with existential angst. The thin plot meanders and does not seem to have any driving force. The brothers are looking for clarity in their lives and appear to be getting in each other’s way. The unusual vision is not explored in any depth. I picked it up on the strength of Michael Cunningham’s The Hours, which I loved, but this book pales in comparison. I can only say it was okay.
( )

A horrible effort of a novel that wanted to be ‘’smart’’, ‘’literary’’, ‘’raw’’ and ‘’haunting’’. What it really was can be described thus: Sleeping pill.

And not very effective, I am afraid.

Yes, there are lovely, melancholic descriptions of New York.

And that’s about it.

I don’t particularly enjoy reading about a character’s endless thoughts on drugs or shagging every living thing that moves and even if that kind of a story was my cup of tea, I’d still feel bored because the writer decided to populate its novel with caricatures instead of characters. The dialogue was atrocious, the gimmicky questions on life and miracles and death were laughable.

You cannot ‘’cramp’’ a story with themes like politics, ethics, religion, sexuality, family relationships, marital relationships, life after death, death after life, miracles, illness, art and whatnot if you don’t have the chops to do it. And I am sorry to say but this is my third novel by this writer and my third disappointment.

So. No. ( )

Gave up on it at around page 50 when I realized the only thing that was going to HAPPEN in this book had already happened, and the rest was going to be all inner monologue.

I'm a fan of inner monologue, don't get me wrong, but only when there's reason to listen to it - for example, while we're waiting for something to happen. Monologues need to be punctuated by plot, not parenthetical monologues inside monologues. ( )

Married women tell me I’m making the worst mistake of my life and this is a terrible age to be divorcing: ‘You’ll never get another man.’ A very sophisticated, honey-highlighted blonde divorced mother from my daughter’s school confides in me outside the swimming pool: ‘When you’d rather live in a tent in a field than in your nice house with your husband, that’s when you’re ready for divorce.’

This book is human and, hence, non-humane. Whatever "humane" means. What I'm trying to say is that this book contains loads of insight and reflections on "the human condition" from the two lead characters in the book, which are two brothers that most in white, western society can relate to.

And there are many a reflection culled from the mind of people.

He imagines her dreams as pale and buoyant, bright even in extremis; no lurking invisible terrors, no shriek of annihilation, no innocent-seeming heads turning to reveal black holes instead of eyes, or teeth like razors. He hopes that’s true.

Eventually, he’ll meet someone younger. Men do. He’ll be tormented about it, there’s not a trace of cruelty in him, which means she’ll have to nurse him through his betrayal of her, bolster him, assure him that his happiness matters more to her than anything, which will, of course, be a lie.

I enjoyed Cunningham's way with language, and his style almost rocked me to a feeling of comfort that stayed with me throughout the book, even though I thought it went a bit downhill towards the end; I got bored without knowing why, but the style of the book, the "sound" of it, made it OK.

All in all: not as good as Cunningham's [b:By Nightfall|8100015|By Nightfall|Michael Cunningham|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1405855363s/8100015.jpg|12872162] but that would be strange; they are very different books. ( )

Love dies, as do those we love. But that doesn’t decrease its value, or stop us from learning to love. Love heals and hurts. Love soothes and betrays. Love plays wonderful music on the senses, or leaves the musician seeking solace in white powders. Love can’t be forced into patterns defined by another. And true love just might be the perfect surprise, as a lonely guy falls, in a chance encounter, for the love of his life.

While plans and dreams go awry, when almost-miracles change the point of view, and as chance purchases delight just as surely as chance encounters, author Michael Cunningham invites readers into the lives of a small group of people—brothers, lover, wife... Small windows reveal small details of their lives, leaving readers to deduce how the story got here from where we last saw them. And always that theme of love, loving, music, art and hope reaches out the window-ledge.

Haunting, almost-sad, almost-beautiful and vividly real, the Snow Queen’s lure is set against true longing and love might win through.

Disclosure: I really enjoyed meeting these characters and reading this book. ( )