There’s – almost, if not completely – a decipherable line between reading The Magicians and The Vacationers. The Magicians reads well as separate sentences – the metaphor and story telling are there as well – though when plopped all together the story seems a little rushed and the language and prose are found a little lacking. I wrote a review over on GoodReads so I’m not going to rehash it here but I will mention again that a lot of the books missteps are redeemed by the last 50 or 60 pages of the book (again though, a bit rushed).
The Vacationers is a book that will be classified as literary fiction and to me that just means that as soon I read the first few sentences – whether I know that this book is classified as literary fiction or not – I’m home. I’m in love. It really is like curling up into a friends life and spending time with them. There’s never any wonder as to why something is phrased the way it is or if it will lose that spark. These books live and breathe. I’m not even sure the book has to be good or not, or that the lives lived need to be believable. This language just sparks something inside of me, there being nothing else like it.