![]() ![]() ![]() Purity tries harder than these books, and fails more miserably-though we’re told Pip, its heroine, is “like a bank too big in her mother’s economy to fail.” You can always count on Franzen to make a lame joke six years too late, just like a parent without self-awareness. The prose from the early chapters is less polished than Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, and the sex is less sexy than Fifty Shades of Grey. In this way, Purity, whose author aspires to universality in a way only an author contemptuous and jealous of pulp can, is worse than lowbrow genre fiction. Even the very first line, spoken by one of Franzen’s “characters,” is unbelievable: “Oh pussycat, I’m so glad to hear your voice”-the voice that of no human who has ever walked this earth, except an inept and pretentious novelist. It is obvious from its first page that Purity is a worthless novel and its author, Jonathan Franzen, a worthless writer. ![]()
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