Rachel Cusk’s seventh novel explores a day in the life of five women in an ordinary English suburb. I have mixed feelings about the book. It is split into sections, as the day – and the rain – goes on. As each section ends, the woman whose point of view we are being shown shifts to the next woman. These shifts in perspective seem pointless, as it is often difficult to tell the characters apart.
What I find problematic with Arlington Park is that I don’t understand Cusk’s intentions. She alienates the reader through characters that are hard to distinguish, relate to and even harder to redeem. They are mothers and wives who seemingly hate their children, their lives, and each other. Women who care only about themselves and ‘keeping up with the Joneses’. Maybe it’s because I’m a man, and as Juliet asserts: “All men are murderers.”
Christine seems the…
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