There is no detail too sordid that this writer will not rhapsodize about it, which gives the overall effect of an ugly and repulsive world. I wouldn't have minded this too much if it wasn't ridiculously overwritten and many of the metaphors just didn't work. This book could really have used some restraint and a better editor. It's a shame because there are some very epiphanous observations that Ms. Cline makes about girlhood and the girl we carry into womanhood for the rest of our lives. The story is just a vehicle for these revelations. I haven't decided if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
