As it could not be otherwise, in a book by William Styron, this novel is superbly written, and the author's style is impeccable.
However, I didn't like it: it didn't hook me, I didn't empathize with any of the characters, and it didn't move me in the least. Which is almost incredible to me from the writer who moved me to the core and is the author of one of my favorite novels: "Sophie's Choice".
In contrast, in my opinion, "The Confessions of Nat Turner" is a formally impeccable book (notable, even), but it lacks a soul, hence it left me so cold.
I will not enter into evaluating the entire controversy surrounding this book, about whether it is racist or not, because I think that Styron himself in the epilogue he wrote for the 25th anniversary of the novel explains more than enough what his motivations were and what he feels about it... and in my opinion, racism is conspicuous by its absence. Nevertheless, I also understand that the narration may discomfort some people because it is crude on many occasions.
Be that as it may, for me the problem has not been the lack of absolute harmony with the book, but rather that, simply, it has not managed to convey anything to me.
I remain, light-years away, with "Sophie's Choice".