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Eileen

av Ottessa Moshfegh

Andra författare: Se under Andra författare.

MedlemmarRecensionerPopularitetGenomsnittligt betygOmnämnanden
1,9801078,202 (3.47)157
Dreaming of life in the city while caring for her alcoholic father and working in a 1960s boys' prison, a disturbed young woman is manipulated into committing a psychologically charged crime during the holiday season.
  1. 10
    Bury Me Deep av Megan Abbott (RidgewayGirl)
    RidgewayGirl: Both are excellent examples of American Noir.
  2. 00
    Hangsaman av Shirley Jackson (sturlington)
    sturlington: Moshfegh's style reminds me of Shirley Jackson; both novels had young, unreliable narrators.
  3. 00
    Looker av Laura Sims (RidgewayGirl)
    RidgewayGirl: Both feature unsympathetic main characters who constantly make the worst possible decisions.
  4. 00
    Min kamp. 1 av Karl Ove Knausgård (JuliaMaria)
  5. 01
    An Awfully Big Adventure av Beryl Bainbridge (Anonym användare)
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» Se även 157 omnämnanden

engelska (103)  nederländska (2)  lettiska (1)  piratspråk (1)  Alla språk (107)
Visa 1-5 av 107 (nästa | visa alla)
Eileen Dunlop is the narrator of this story which takes place in 1964 before Christmas in New England. Her dysfunctional life consists of working as a clerk at the local juvenile detention centre and living with her alcoholic father in a nice neighborhood.
She has no friends, is estranged from her only sister and puts up with verbal abuse from her widowed father who only leaves the house to attend Sunday mass with his sister. He is a former city cop and now has advanced liver disease and paranoia but drinks all day. It’s a dreadful existence but the author makes it seem very interesting with her character development and story lines. It’s a good study of family dysfunction, substance abuse, co-dependency and some hope for a better life.
Eileen makes plans to run away to New York York city and start a new life. All of this changes when a new employee, Rebecca is hired as a pedagogical consultant for the detention centre. ( )
  MaggieFlo | Mar 9, 2024 |
Well, Moshfegh's writing continues to be soaked in the repugnancy of the flesh, as were her previous two published books. But here there is also a forceful, difficult to resist lure to it. Eileen hates her body and treats it with the disgust she believes it deserves - starving it, leaving it unwashed, suffocating it in layers of oversized clothes, purging her colon in fearful sounding laxative binges. Unwillingness to have anyone else see her naked flesh is her main reason for not killing herself. She works in a prison, maybe a rather surprising note from Moshfegh in light of her career thus far insofar as it could suggest that this attitude is a bit... askew. Previously her characters may have been down and out, but they were placed in normal society.

But Eileen actually takes hesitant steps to develop beyond this negative fixation on the flesh. She lusts after one of the prison guards, the subtly named Randy, in the fairly normal manner. She views with awe and admiration the stylish new prison educator, Rebecca, and admires her well-adjusted body image. Look, we've got characters here whose bodies aren't written as disgusting! Finally, the book is narrated by Eileen in old age looking back on this, her far past, with a rueful yet self-forgiving attitude toward her previous hang-ups, having been married a few times and now apparently a healthy liberal old gal.

Looking forward to seeing how Moshfegh's writing develops from here.

( )
  lelandleslie | Feb 24, 2024 |
Suspense
  BooksInMirror | Feb 19, 2024 |
What. The. Hell ( )
  the.lesbian.library | Jan 15, 2024 |
Most of the novel gratuitously details the elaborate inner life of a neurotic woman and her dysfunctional relationship with her father, while promising an unspecified transformative event in the future. When the event occurs it's a little anticlimactic until you realize that it was all a bait-and-switch. The big event was never the point; the intended focus of the book is the main character herself. The climax is intended to reveal another facet of the narrator's personality. It occurred to me days later that the title of the book is "Eileen" and not "The Thing that Happened to Eileen." ( )
  ethorwitz | Jan 3, 2024 |
Visa 1-5 av 107 (nästa | visa alla)
Excess drives the descriptions. It is as if Moshfegh has grasped the fact that few things excite modern publishers more than the grotesque and an author daring to be offensive. As a bottom-scratching, finger-sniffing, no hand-washing creation, Eileen never becomes more than a disgusting, impersonal caricature caught up in her fascination with her self-loathing: “Having to breathe was an embarrassment in itself. This was the kind of girl I was.”

Well-reviewed in the US, Eileen reveals a great deal about the gimmicky quest for the next big thing which often turns out, as it does here, to be far less worthy of attention than yesterday’s superior offerings.
 
Eileen could have stepped out of Flannery O'Connor or Shirley Jackson. Wonderfully horrible Humbert Humbert also comes to mind. Eileen may be "unfit for the world," but I was pulling for her. I wanted her to escape the prison of life with father, wished that her dreams of fleeing to New York might come true.

Eileen is a coming-of age novel about a formidable, yet flawed young woman. The norms of society disgust and seduce her at the same time. There is a sweetly sinister humor in Moshfegh's prose.
tillagd av Lemeritus | ändraNPR, Jean Zimmerman (Aug 23, 2015)
 
Moshfegh, whose novella, “McGlue,” was published last year, writes beautiful sentences. One after the other they unwind — playful, shocking, wise, morbid, witty, searingly sharp. The ­beginning of this novel is so impressive, so controlled yet whimsical, fresh and thrilling, you feel she can do anything....But for this reader, the thrill is the language. It is sentences like this: “The terrain of my face was heavy with soft, rumbling acne scars blurring whatever delight or madness lay beneath that cold and deadly New England exterior.”...Rebecca and her motivations, once we learn them, feel pasted in from another book. They do not square with the universe Moshfegh so meticulously created in the first part of the novel...The real excitement toward the end is watching Eileen come into a position of authority for the first time in her life.
 
It’s hard to imagine the terrible, drunken, addled father who visited the toilet with a handgun ever tolerating Eileen’s “blabbering on about my ideas, regurgitating barely read synopses from the backs of books … talking about how I felt about myself, life, the times in which we lived”.

The bad thing that is eventually revealed, and the bad thing that happens as a consequence, don’t quite live up to the atmospheric badness with which the novel draws along the reader. But there is something satisfyingly unsettling about the novel – the awfulness of Eileen’s life crackles throughout the air of X-Ville like static electricity, ready to discharge in some unlikely place or upon some unlikely person. And when it does, when the bell jar lifts, our heroine “open to the circulating air” and finally free, we can’t help but feel the slightest bit glad.
 

» Lägg till fler författare (19 möjliga)

Författarens namnRollTyp av författareVerk?Status
Moshfegh, Ottessaprimär författarealla utgåvorbekräftat
Alou, DamiànÖversättaremedförfattarevissa utgåvorbekräftat
Bresnahan, AlyssaBerättaremedförfattarevissa utgåvorbekräftat
Guerzoni, Gioiamedförfattarevissa utgåvorbekräftat
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I looked like a girl you'd expect to see on a city bus, reading some clothbound book from the library about plants or geography, perhaps wearing a net over my light brown hair.
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He was a drunk, as I said. He was simple in that way. When something was the matter, he was easy to distract and soothe: I’d just hand him a bottle and leave the room. Of course his drinking put a strain on me as a young person. It made me very tense and edgy. That happens when one lives with an alcoholic. My story in this sense is not unique. I’ve lived with many alcoholic men over the years, and each has taught me that it is useless to worry, fruitless to ask why, suicide to try to help them. They are who they are, for better and worse. Now I live alone. Happily. Gleefully, even. I’m too old to concern myself with other people’s affairs. And I no longer waste my time thinking ahead into the future, worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. But I worried all the time when I was young, not least of all about my future, and mostly with respect to my father—how long he had left to live, what he might do, what I would find when I got home from work each evening.
I must have looked nineteen going on sixty-five in that foppish approximation of decency, that adult costume.
What I mean to say is that I was not fundamentally unattractive. I was just invisible.
Her lipstick was a cheap and insincere fuchsia.
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Dreaming of life in the city while caring for her alcoholic father and working in a 1960s boys' prison, a disturbed young woman is manipulated into committing a psychologically charged crime during the holiday season.

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