I don’t know what possessed me to read another novel by Wolitzer after the disappointment of the utterly uninteresting The Interestings. But I heard a movie was out based on The Wife, and Glenn Close starred in it, and I like Glenn Close. There is almost no chance I’ll see the movie, so I decided to read the novel instead. And oh goodness. Was it bad or was it ever so horrid.
The worst part is that the novel didn’t have to suck this badly. If Wolitzer had cut out about two thirds, threw away the ending, and turned the novel into a short story about the resentful and envious wife of a talented writer – which is the only part of the novel that didn’t feel completely fake – it could have been good.
And that ending, God. I guessed how this sorry mess of a novel would end on page 4. But I hoped Wolitzer would be able to stay away from such a dumb ending. But hey, when did you ever see Wolitzer stay away from anything.
The novel is also kind of anti-Semitic. I don’t know, isn’t Wolitzer Jewish herself? It’s weird.
In any case, the novel had some potential to be OK but it was all wasted. Never again will I touch anything by this author.
