Theresa, Mary, Bonnie, Lux, and Cecilia Lisbon were five Catholic sisters who were growing up in an upper-middle-class neighborhood in Michigan during the 1970s.

Their local community was completely spellbound by the blond, elegant Lisbon sisters. They seemed to be forbidden and separate from the ordinary world that surrounded them.

Tragically, the youngest Lisbon girl, Cecilia, committed suicide at the age of thirteen. This inexplicable event set off a downward spiral that would eventually destroy Cecilia's four sisters within two years of her death.

The story is narrated in a group voice by the fascinated neighborhood boys. They obsessively observe the girls' last year and a half of life. Every glimpse of a Lisbon girl through a window and every piece of trash from their house is examined minutely as the boys try to unravel the shocking mystery of the Lisbon girls' life and ultimately their deaths.

"The Virgin Suicides" is an engrossing novel. It exemplifies the truth that often in life, there is no reason for why tragedy occurs. No matter how hard one tries to find an explanation, sometimes there just isn't one that can be found.

All readers bring to their identifications their own unique histories. In this book, the question of who one identifies with - whether it be the voyeurs or the object of their voyeurism - can significantly inform their reactions.

If one identifies with the people who are looking, they may experience a sense of unease, discomfort with the actions that "they" are engaged in. They might even feel repelled by the story and prefer to maintain a distance from the family being watched. Alternatively, they may imagine that they understand more than is actually possible.

On the other hand, if one identifies with the family being looked at, they may gain a wonderful new perspective as a voyeur of voyeurs.

The setting of The Virgin Suicides is a suburban Michigan town in the 1970s. The story, presented in the form of a report from an investigation, is told in the first-person plural by a now-adult male representative of the small-town residents who are the voyeurs. They marvel at the past childhood suicides of the girls in the Lisbon family and unravel their own complicated feelings, projections, and hurt as unwitting bystanders.

The author, who grew up in a New York suburb in the 1950s and ’60s, found that the small-town feeling was very similar. Kids went about their business independently, everyone knew everyone else, and there was an assumption of a certain safety. However, this was not the case in the author's family.

On July 20, 1968, the author's father shot himself, and their family's turmoil became shockingly public. It was reported in the local newspaper, and there was likely a stir among the town folk. But the author never knew the nature of this reaction because nobody ever talked to them about it. Unlike the Lisbons, their family had no funeral or ceremony.

For years, the author fancied that their family wasn't even noticed. But if they were, they wonder what their odd, dysfunctional family looked like from the perspective of the voyeurs. Who were these onlookers? Why did they gawk but never speak?

When the author's father committed suicide, he was living alone in their house. The mother and kids had fled for safety. After his death and before the now-empty house was sold, it was broken into by a bunch of kids who ransacked it. But the author doesn't know what they were looking for or who was interested because nobody ever told them.

A couple of months after the death, when the author was in a benign car accident, they got off with a warning for driving barefoot and without their license just by telling the officer their name. It turned out that the police and the local hospital were well aware of their family. But this fact - that they were "known" - never really registered in the author's consciousness until they read this novel.

The author admits that they started reading the book with a deliciously vindictive joy, enjoying the opportunity to gawk at the people looking in, breaking into the house, and examining the family details. But as they read, they realized that this was the point of the story. It is a lyrical, leisurely look through the façades of suburbia and deep into the first-person narrators - as virgin boys looking at girls who are in terrible pain, boys with no idea what to say or how to respond, and no capacity to understand the stink of the rot that they describe so well.

The story is very different from the author's own. The Lisbon girls reach out for help, yet they succumb to rage and their imprisonment. In contrast, the author and their siblings simply accepted that there was no help and individually broke out and ran for life. Nevertheless, this book was cathartic for the author in ways that were both surprising and difficult to articulate.

More a reminiscence than a story, The Virgin Suicides winds and slides around time and lacks urgency. But ultimately, the unnamed writers' effort to reconstruct what had happened in order to understand is moving, satisfying, and beautifully written. It is so real that the author finds themselves wishing they could talk to the boys-now-men. And if they could, they would say: "No matter how hard you might have tried, there was no changing the situation. And don't imagine for one second that you can ever understand the reasons if you haven't lived firsthand as the stink of living death." Perhaps this is easier to know for people who have been on the other end of the voyeur's telescope.

In conclusion, The Virgin Suicides is an outstanding book.

This is not a book that can be easily classified or appreciated by everyone.

In many respects, it stands as a literary oddity. It deliberately shuns conventional narrative structures, narration styles, and everything in between. However, it is precisely this departure from the norm that makes it truly remarkable.

The Virgin Suicides strangely combines elements of fiction, memoir, and mythology to craft a tale that is less of a traditional story and more of an abstract portrayal of a specific time and place in American history. This time and place will be startlingly familiar to anyone who grew up in a suburb that was simultaneously mundane, magical, and nightmarish in its own understated ways.

Perhaps the most captivating aspect of this book is the voice of the story. It is a collective voice belonging to all the teenage boys who shared their neighborhood with the mysterious Lisbon girls. But these boys seem oblivious to their own unique and fascinating identity as they become fixated on the house across the street.

Somehow, Eugenides manages to make their hidden, seemingly secondary story just as compelling, if not more so. I found myself urgently desiring to know more about these neighborhood boys who were so enamored with the Lisbon girls. However, this book does not provide answers; it only poses questions, leaving the reader, much like the narrators, looking in through the window.

Yes, this is one of my favorite books!!!

Yes, I was on Tumblr in the early 2010s!!!

Yes, I illegally downloaded Fiona Apple’s discography from Limewire in 2008!!!

Yes, I’m just like the other girls!!!

When the war on men officially starts, I’m sparing Jeffrey Eugenides.

The Virgin Suicides is a perfect representation of the grotesque nature of the male gaze. It’s depicted satirically, yet not over exaggerated.

This book reminds me of the film ‘Hot Summer Nights’ dir. Elijah Bynum (Mackayla Strawberry being like the Lisbon sisters and having an unnamed town boy as the narrator). Both lack depth in the characters and have airy plots which can seem boring, but becomes fascinating once you’re aware of the forced perception.

Everything we know about the Lisbons is a legend. Things are assumed, implied, and altered through the town’s gossip. The boys narrating the story deduct from the girls’ personalities by forcefully fitting them into one dimensional archetypes created by the male gaze:

Cecilia - the outcast

Lux - the seductress

Bonnie - the prude

Mary - the poised

Therese - the brains

It’s very reminiscent of Marina’s Electra Heart!!! The way the male gaze objectifies and simplifies the female characters is truly thought-provoking. It makes us question how society often views and pigeonholes women. The book’s exploration of this theme, along with its dreamy and somewhat mysterious atmosphere, makes it a captivating read that I keep coming back to.

I love how Eugenides manages to create such a vivid and disturbing world, filled with characters who are both familiar and strange. The Virgin Suicides is not just a story about a group of girls; it’s a commentary on our society’s perception of femininity and the consequences of that perception.

Overall, I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in exploring themes of gender, identity, and the power of perception. It’s a must-read for fans of literary fiction and anyone who wants to understand the complex relationship between men and women.

How can a novel about the suicide of five teenage sisters be enjoyable? How can it be anything other than devastating, painful, heartbreaking? The genius of Jeffrey Eugenides makes all the above reactions possible.

Set in the 70s, the narrator is the collective voice of the neighborhood teenage boys, now grown men. Twenty years past their infatuation with these doomed young women, they are still haunted by their memories. They had idolized the girls, dreamed of them, been mystified by them. This is a coming of age story of unimagined tragedy but written with such realistic teenage angst that anyone, male or female, can recall having similar feelings or doing things or acting like the characters. The styles may change, the popular music may change, but the worries and confusions of a certain age often remain the same.

With a brilliant eye for detail, Eugenides gives the reader peeks at the life and thoughts of these girls as well as how they are viewed by boys who are trying to understand their mystique. We can vividly imagine the daily lives of the Lisbon sisters, their hopes, dreams, and the pressures they faced. I could feel the change this tragedy had on the family, the boys, the neighborhood. There was also a change happening to the society and to the environment, a change no one could anticipate. Changes as unfathomable as the deaths of five young girls.

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides remains one of my all time favorite books. Although many years separate my reading of the two novels, I believe this novel is as good. It explores themes of adolescence, sexuality, family, and the human condition with such depth and nuance. I only wish Eugenides was a more prolific writer, so that we could have more of his masterpieces to enjoy.

I really struggled with this book on multiple levels.

On one hand, "The Virgin Suicides" is an in-depth exploration of the issues in 1950s suburbia and how society views suicide and the trauma of young girls as something dangerous rather than real. The story is told from the perspective of the boys around the girls, which purposefully fetishizes their pain and trauma to critique this very fetishization. However, the male narrators almost erase the tragedy of Cecilia, treating her death as a true crime to solve rather than a real tragedy, and thus failing to solve any mystery. They must learn to see the girls as actual human beings.

This critique works to some extent, but the book falls apart when it comes to the sisters themselves. The five suicidal virgin sisters, despite some moments of characterization, are a monolith, used as representations of a deeper societal problem rather than individual people. They are sexualized and yet devoid of sexuality, and their deaths are fetishized to such a degree that they cease to exist as real individuals.

In other words, the five sisters are both given agency and then have their agency taken away by a narrative that doesn't allow them to tell their own stories. I believe the author may have intended the former, but the result for me was the latter.

I also had trouble with the strange fascination with the destruction of gender roles in the home. The girl's father, Mr. Lisbon, is more feminine, and his daughters discuss their menstruation openly in front of him. This is a common problem in media, and I disliked it, as well as the narrative's focus on Mrs. Lisbon as the source of the girl's trauma.

Eugenides' writing is beautiful in places, but it feels so cold and distant towards the characters that I was put off.

There are some good aspects to the book. The discussion on how teachers deal with the suicide is well done, and the scene where the Reverend equates suicide with not winning a title game is both hilarious and deeply sad. The adults try to blame Celia's suicide on her crooked nature rather than her actual life, which leads to the suicides of the other three. The imagery of the decaying house is also compelling. I also recognize that this book was more revolutionary when it was written in 1993. Overall, the book is not terrible, and I'm glad I read it, but I didn't gain much from the experience.

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The Virgin Suicides is truly a remarkable book. It's one of those rare literary gems that leaves such a profound impact that you find yourself wishing you could somehow wipe your memory clean after finishing it, just so you could experience the entire journey all over again. Jeffrey Eugenides, the author, possesses a unique and extraordinary talent. He has the ability to take a seemingly simple story, in this case, the suicides of five adolescents, and transform it into a work of complete and utter beauty. Despite the rather somber and unpleasant nature of the topic, Eugenides handles it with such finesse and skill that it's impossible not to be in awe of his writing. He artfully blends just the right amount of dark humor into the narrative, ensuring that it remains tasteful and engaging. Additionally, he incorporates passages of deep melancholy that have the power to completely numb the reader. In fact, almost every page of this book contains a meaningful quote that makes you stop and reflect.

As mentioned in almost every review, the first-person plural narration in this book is executed expertly. By using "us" and "we," Eugenides manages to draw the reader into the story in a way that makes them feel as if they are one of those neighborhood boys, completely obsessed with the Lisbon girls. This narrative technique adds an extra layer of depth and authenticity to the story, making it all the more immersive and captivating.

I find it difficult to put into words exactly what makes this book so special. The real beauty of this story truly comes through when you're actually reading it. It's a story that defies easy explanation or analysis. It's a work of art that must be experienced firsthand to be fully appreciated. Even the movie adaptation, which is one of my personal favorites, fails to capture the full essence and magic of the book.

This book has been sitting on my To-Be-Read (TBR) list for an eternity.

Finally, I got the opportunity to read it, and my feelings are rather ambivalent.

Right from the start, we are aware that all five of the Lisbon girls take their own lives. As you read, you almost anticipate this tragic event. The youngest, Cecelia, is the first to go, which makes the entire neighborhood reevaluate how to deal with teenage depression.

The writing is undoubtedly literary, and the story is narrated by the neighborhood boys who observe everything through windows and conduct impromptu interviews. I think this is a very clever approach.

However, I just wanted a bit more. I was as captivated by the Lisbon girls as these boys were. I simply desired their perspective. The house they lived in felt极其真实 to me, down to the smell of decay and dampness. I would have given anything to get inside their heads, but perhaps that was the whole point of the novel. We never truly know what was happening inside their house or their lives.

Honestly, I truly desired to develop a profound love for this. I have long been cognizant of its status as a cult classic. Many individuals I know, as well as those I don't know but whose tastes seem to align closely with mine, have openly declared their adoration for it.

So, I feel a certain degree of unease in revealing that I disliked it. I'll confess that I have been culpable of passing a bit of judgment on people when I see they've criticized a book I truly cherish, and this appears to be a book that holds great significance for numerous readers. But, there it is, I simply can't help it.

I DO 'comprehend' a great many of the things that people love about the story. There's the hazy, filmic quality of the writing, which creates a unique atmosphere. The sense of indefinable loss and nostalgia for childhood is palpable. The effective utilization of the first-person-plural narrative adds an interesting perspective. The clever structure, with the obsessive boys cataloguing every scrap of information they can discover about the Lisbon girls and collating it into a sort of testament, is quite engaging.

However, I derived very little enjoyment from reading it. The tone reminded me a great deal - A GREAT DEAL - of The Lovely Bones, which I also didn't like. I presume this book must have been a major influence on Alice Sebold's style. Some of the descriptive language seemed identical(ly ridiculous). For instance, the inventory of items thrown out from the Lisbons' house, including 'blankets sopped with the picnic of the girls' spilled sleep' - what on earth?! I felt repelled by a significant portion of it - the descriptions, the characters - and the overall queasy atmosphere made me feel rather unwell. I understand that this might be part of what some people appreciate, but I simply couldn't get into it at all. With the narrators seeming so peculiar, and the Lisbon sisters so distant from them due to the way they are idolized and analyzed, I didn't feel any connection with anyone or anything in the story.

Upon reflection, this might also be because the characters' everyday experiences were so completely divorced from anything I recall about being a teenager. So, I didn't find any of it to be something I could relate to. I'm aware that you're not supposed to understand why the Lisbons committed suicide, but as someone who was severely depressed and at times suicidal at that age myself, it all felt so empty to me. I couldn't shake the feeling that the book itself (as opposed to just the narrators) was romanticizing suicide. This is especially evident in a passage towards the end, discussing the girls attending a debutante party after the suicides: 'they were bound for college, husbands, child-rearing, unhappiness only dimly perceived - bound, in other words, for life.' So, I suppose the Lisbons got the better end of the deal by escaping this predestined boredom and misery early? I also couldn't suspend my disbelief enough to accept that ALL THESE MEN would remain so fixated on the Lisbon girls for the remainder of their lives. The bits about always thinking of Lux during sex, etc. Yes, it's believable that being a witness to the suicides of five young sisters would haunt them for a long time, but surely by middle age at least some of them would have moved on? Surely they wouldn't still be constantly fantasizing about the early fumblings of a 14-year-old as grown men?! And if any of this is supposed to be in the least bit romantic, I just found it downright strange. By the end, I was极其 sick of their tedious obsession.

Definitely not for me.

The Virgin Suicides

The Virgin Suicides truly made me deeply ponder what the term 'classic' precisely implies when it pertains to books. Spoiler alert: I still remain clueless. I unearthed the fact that it was initially published in 1993 only after I had selected it as my eleventh classic of the year. It had never crossed my mind before that one could have been published within my lifetime. However, according to Goodreads, numerous others have also shelved it as a 'classic'. Moreover, it has that distinct modern classic feel. It appears as if everyone has either read it or heard of it. It's not merely popular; it's widely acknowledged as a literary gem. Whether it truly is or not, I felt that it was one of those novels that I simply had to read. And so, I did.

As is my usual practice, I didn't read the blurb prior to commencing the book. Consequently, I had presumed that it would be about a suicide pact, perhaps one initiated by a group of friends at school. But in reality, it's about far more than just the suicide. You already know that it's going to occur and how, yet not why. It revolves around five sisters, the Lisbon girls – Therese (17), Mary (16), Bonnie (15), Lux (14), and Cecilia (13). It is narrated by the boys who adored them, but twenty years later. They simply refer to themselves as 'we' and seem to tell the story in a rather emotionally detached manner. Thus, I couldn't quite figure out who they were at first. They frequently refer to specific 'exhibits' such as photographs. Yet, they also often lapse into dreamy reminiscence. The Virgin Suicides felt almost blissful despite the impending tragedy. The boys knew the girls better than anyone, yet also didn't know them at all.

I typically view storytelling as being more crucial than the writing. But in this instance, I couldn't separate the two. The writing is exquisite, and the style seems integral to the story. I felt that The Virgin Suicides portrays heightened (and somewhat exaggerated) realism, compelling you to truly reflect upon the Lisbon girls, not just as fictional characters, but as real individuals with their own intentions. Although the reader is observing them from the outside, it is still very much the girls' story – it's just that they aren't the ones doing the telling.

The Virgin Suicides is a poignant, contemplative, and quintessentially American novel that takes us on a distorted flashback through the heartache and emotional pain of adolescence, which can be challenging to fathom unless experienced. I will definitely be watching the movie adaptation because I've heard that although it's very well executed, it's quite different. I'll also have to read Jeffrey Eugenides' other novels, Middlesex and The Marriage Plot.

I also reviewed this book over on Pretty Books.

Where to begin?

I have perused some of the reviews of others who didn't care for or understand this book.

I'll admit that the plot/storyline, while unique, isn't what makes this story truly great.

No, it's the prose.

The writing is luminous and reads more like poetry than a novel.

We don't even know precisely who the narrators are; it's told in the first person plural, and the name and even the number of narrators remain vague.

Eugenides employs metaphor to describe the sisters' deaths as the disintegration of a suburban neighborhood.

The trees are being felled due to the threat of Dutch Elm disease; there are dying flies everywhere, which the first sister to commit suicide describes as not even having time to eat before their lives end.

There are so many themes in the story; delving through the layers is like peeling an onion.

The writing is so exquisite that it induces a dreamlike state in the reader.

Everything is described so perfectly that you can not only vividly envision what's being described but also smell the various odors and clearly recall everything from that time period.

Eugenides didn't throw this book together haphazardly.

In my mind's eye, I picture him sitting at his desk, turning each phrase over and over in his hands until he gets it just right.

Yet, the writing doesn't seem strained at all; in fact, it appears to have flowed effortlessly from his pen.

This is a gifted writer whose work will be read for generations to come, long after "Eat, Pray, Gag" is in the remainder pile.

Elizabeth Gilbert, Chris Bohjalian, Jodi Picoult, Robert James Waller, John Grisham, read this and weep.

To this list, I add myself, since I would give anything to be able to write half as well as Eugenides.

As for those who seek a conventional plot line like all the other books out there and don't find it (why EXACTLY did the girls kill themselves?), in the real world, not everything in life can be explained.

I loved the book so much that I immediately rented the movie.

It was awful, with the exception of James Wood, who nailed the part of the father beautifully.

I did like the writing and narrative style of the book.

However, I didn't love it as much as I had initially thought I would.

The premise of the book seemed quite promising, especially since I have a penchant for depressing books.

But unfortunately, it didn't truly resonate with me.

It felt rather strange to observe an experience similar to one's own through the perspective of an onlooker, especially when it was presented in a way that seemed to romanticize something that was, in reality, quite ugly.

Moreover, the explanations they came up with at the end seemed rather ridiculous.

They didn't even consider the most obvious one: the girls were trapped inside a house that was falling apart and where they weren't even being fed.

They were literally pulled out of school.

Wouldn't that make anyone feel trapped enough to give up?

This isn't even accounting for the death of Cecilia.

It just seems that the book missed some crucial aspects that could have made it more impactful and relatable.