Andorra by Peter Cameron
Peter Cameron
I really love Cameron’s writing. His sentences are often exquisitely evocative, although you sometimes feel like you’re somehow stuck inside a DeBeers diamond commercial.

Crisp, clear, descriptive, and dryly golden-ripe: finely hollowed out, albeit in a real way.

Unfortunately, the story doesn’t really move along very organically, and the meta-crap enveloping the tale is clumsy and doesn’t hold together in any interesting way. (Full disclosure: I love good meta-crap.)

Please note that I only give the book such a harsh review here because there is so much potential. I’d love to read a rewritten version of the same book in which the characters possess just the tiniest bit more blood in their veins — the “peppery smell of her skin” doesn’t count — and in which the last 75 pages feel less like a rock rolling back down the hill after it’s been carried up for the first 200.

I do want to read more by this author.

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