Reread. Used as a classic in translation for the Back to the Classics challenge (in which I suppose I'm very lackadaisically participating).

I read this during a particularly difficult November. It did nothing to cheer me up; being alternately dragged and swept along with Emma Bovary was pure masochism. But the masochism did not arise from any fault with the novel.

I discourage you from watching the recent movie adaptation without reading the book first, at least. The movie wrecks the intent of the ending.

This is a book I read in eighth grade. Thank you, public library!

Surreal and somehow beautiful in its ugliness. Read at Thanksgiving; I felt gleeful in my own transgression, which is somewhat immature, but don't we all have those moments? The eye is the image we're supposed to remember, but the scene with the bicycle ride in the storm is what I think of first when I think of this book.

Read after viewing the Roman Polanski adaptation of the play based around this novel. If you want to be a decadent intellectual, as I so longed to be at the time*, I suppose that you must read this book. May I suggest pairing it with Depeche Mode, especially "Behind the Wheel"?

*I still harbor that longing, but aspire to slightly less decadence.

Used for a book set more than 5,000 miles from my location for the Book Riot Read Harder Challenge.

Initially I awarded this book 3 stars, but I upgraded it to 4 because it actually made me laugh, rather than smile wryly or forcefully exhale through my nose, which is what passes for laughter these days. I hadn't read David Sedaris in years. Now I think I'll use his books as palate cleansers when I've read too many depressing novels and need to stop feeling like life is a series of meaningless façades, at least temporarily.