twenty-two review

I have a very bad habit of not finishing books. Either I'm too lazy, too bored, or just run out of time. (Mostly too lazy.) I've taken a book with me to the laundromat every time I've gone, and, guess what? I haven't finished any of them.

In fact, I take a new one each time.

So let's make this premature cycle of books worthwhile and start a 22 page book review!

WHAT:
I'll read the first 22 pages of a book and then offer a short review.

WHY:
I never finish a book.

WHY 22 pages:
"22 Review" rhymes.

The inaugural novel is The Scapegoat by Daphne du Marier (1957).


The edition I'm reading doesn't have a snappy cover like this.



Amazon's quick synopsis:

Two men--one English, the other French--meet by chance in a provincial railway station and are astounded that they are so much alike that they could easily pass for each other.

From the beginning, I can connect with the protagonist, John. Not because he's an academic wandering through Paris, lost in his own empty world and unsure of himself, his life, and why he is who he is. But because he realizes that he "must get drunk, or die."

John is grappling with a sense of the "real" him stuck inside his English tweed jacket--and how perfectly fitting for him to find Jean--his French doppelganger, shortly after John potentially has an existential meltdown.

After a series of drinks and staring at each other, wondering how two people could look exactly the same, French Jean convinces English John to return to a hotel with him. And the homosexual level soon turns way the hell up. As the chapter closes, John recalls "I remember that one of us laughed as I hit the floor," and Jean asks "Shall I put on your clothes and you wear mine?"

The tension up to this point is palpable. English John is a lonely loner, accustomed to very little interaction with other people. French Jean is the opposite. He's quite possibly a swindler and a good ol' man-about-town. John complains that he has nothing in life, Jean complains that he has too much.

Do you see where this is going?

At this point I'm nearing my 22 page limit, but I'm actually really into the story.

John wakes up from his drunken (and I can only imagine sodomy-filled) night, only to find himself naked in bed, surrounded by Jean's clothes. Jean's chauffeur is here to drive him home, and bashfully kids with John (whom he thinks is really his master, Jean) about why he is naked and completely delusional.

I'd like to say I'll finish reading this book. It was actually difficult ending page 22 in the middle of the sentence. The sentence didn't even ring with any profound importance, but I really wanted to keep going.

However, I stopped. It's an experiment.

The Scapegoat reads like a Hitchcock mystery, and the Johns are gripping. Parts within the first 22 pages, admittedly, started to drag. Jean may be a little too swanky. But, overall, I love reading about guys living an existential life devoid of (what they think is) meaning.

I can only hope the rest of the novel is about how French Jean carouses through English John's life (per his characterization so far), and how English John learns to stop being a sad little man and totally destroys French Jean's relationships.

Number ratings are overrated, but The Scapegoat by Daphne du Maurier receives: