<i>The Virgin Suicides</i> by Jeffery Eugenides

This was a very intense book. In that respect it reminded me of Ethan Froam. Throughout the story you have a sense of the tragedy that will come, but you don't yet know the true horror/terror of it until the last few pages.

The descriptions of the house embodied the intensity of the book. The first descriptions are about the thickness of the hormones, etc. that are found in a house where five teenage girls are cooped up. The image of the always-damp bathroom sort of made my skin crawl. Thinking about the moist dead skin even now gives me the heebie-jeebies.

The book, I believe, is trying to make the argument that you can't hold people back from the world. Individuals must have some outlet for their lives. If none is given, one will be found. First it was Lux on the roof, later it was the deaths of all the girls. The only parts of their lives where they felt they still had control was the matter of their death. Breath and heart beats were all they could master.

The entire cavalcade of protection brought on by Celia's death was understandable. The lack of adjustment of that protection seemed to be what did the girls in. The father was helpless---thought I don't know why; maybe the outward appearance of the house represented the inward feelings of the mother?

The point of view for this book---sort of juvenile stalkers recounting their collection---added to the intensity. These now-middle-aged men still spent their time going over and over their collections, bringing back sacred memories. Just a bit creepy. It makes it tightly and seemingly lovingly (in the manner of the first half of Lolita) written. I found, though, that I had to step away from the story to break the intensity. I couldn't have read it in one sitting---though it seemed to beg to be.