In nine pictures this book disappointed me; in the tenth, I loved it.

I’ve mentioned before that I find it absolutely impossible to visit a used bookstore without buying at least one book. I find it easily justifiable, because we all have to do what we can to battle the monolithic Barnes and Noble and support independent book sellers. One recent purchase of this kind was Veronica by Mary Gaitskill. Several of my fellow book clubbers had mentioned it as a possible book group read, so even though I hadn’t heard much about it when it came out I decided to give it a try.

The story, according to the back cover copy, focuses on the friendship between two very different women in the 1980s. One of these women is the titular Veronica, and the other, Allison, is the narrator. The full first half of the book is a build up to their friendship and focuses extensively on Allison’s family, modeling experiences, and disappointing adulthood. Throughout, we’re fed teasers about how Allison ultimately ends up so physically and financially damaged, but Gaitskill seemed to run out of energy by the end of the book and races through the actual events as if they’re afterthoughts. An argument can be made that they are afterthoughts, really, because the heart of the book is supposed to be the women’s friendship. Gaitskill skillfully portrays these two imperfect characters, but I never felt an emotional connection to either. Again, this is arguably the author’s intention; she’s honest about what ties Allison to Veronica and it’s often not affection. I appreciated the book and the way the Gaitskill found beauty in ugliness (and vice versa). I’m not able to really recommend this book and honestly didn’t even like it that much. That said, Gaitskill, every thirty pages or so, writes a sentence or paragraph of such clarity and beauty that it stopped me in my tracks. She was able to turn a phrase just so, capturing an entire person, relationship, emotion in just a few words. Much of the book felt like slogging, but those moments kept me going.