I have been recently been thinking about relocating to a new abode. In the immortal words of my [imagined] avuncular Edina Monsoon,
I don’t want what modern was, or what it is…I want what modern will be.
I also want it on a shoe-string. You know, fancee but cheep! Real estate is bewitchingly compelling. Good architecture that *gets* you, even more so.
The Girl Before traverses, albeit very tenuously, my two current loves. Slick minimalist architecture with a ‘oh-my-god-what-the-actual” thriller. I mean, as Eddie once proffered:
Surfaces. Surfaces. Where are my surfaces?
Who doesn’t love a slick clean benchtop???
The Girl Before skims the borderland. However, it then gets trapped and is somewhat hoisted by its own petard. The juxtaposition of the premise probably signifies its inevitable struggle between itself. The current infatuation in the publishing world of books with “Girl” in the title is well understood (The Girl on the Train, Gone Girl, The Good Girl yada yada). Throw into the mix slick architecture, a Gen X, Gen Y, Millennial struggle for home ownership and a modern novel is maketh. But it’s kinda not enough. To be an ‘also ran’ in the “Girl” symposium, a tale really, really, really needs to suck you in.
Completely. Envelop. I mean, I want don’t-leave-the-room-avoid-shower-sleep-food good.
The Girl Before is not this. It is good, but not great. As its title eludes, it been done before.