EASIEST 5 stars i've ever given.

This book is truly haunting and uncomfortable, yet at the same time, it is beautiful and illusive. Reading it was an extremely unusual experience for me. On the surface, it may seem like a simple story that doesn't offer much. However, the more you think about it, the more you begin to unravel layer after layer of darkness.

The male gaze defines this story. It is told from the perspective of a few neighbourhood boys, now in their thirties. We follow them as they attempt to uncover why the Lisbon sisters commit suicide. In their relentless pursuit for answers, they reveal an obsession with the girls that still continues to haunt them decades after their suicides.

The boys' fetishism and romanticisation of the Lisbon girls is deeply unsettling. Consumed by their obsession, they spend all their time spying on the sisters. Even after their suicides, the boys create an "exhibit" consisting of the girls' journals, photos, Lux's bra, and candles. The girls are reduced to a projection of male fantasy and desire, even in death. The boys witness the girls slowly deteriorate, but blinded by their own infatuation, they fail to help or realise the extent of the situation. It is disturbing, to say the least.

I think Eugenides excelled in his portrayal of the Lisbon sisters. The girls are truly mesmerising. Placed in the position of the boys, the reader can't help but feel the girls' strange hypnotism. Erased by the male narrators, the girls simultaneously exist and are non-existent. It is impossible to separate the girls from the warped male gaze and projected fantasies, and so it is impossible to determine how much of them is a constructed illusion. Personally, I couldn't help but feel this uncanny feeling of just wanting to know them. The girls are constantly just out of reach.

This was one of the most striking elements for me. How easy it is to be swept up in the male gaze and the boys' obsession. I think Eugenides is a masterful writer. The author's ability to blind the reader along with the boys and to evoke such strong reactions from me is incredible. I was simultaneously distraught for the girls and sickened by the boys, while still feeling hypnotised by the sisters and being swept up in this male gaze. It is intense, to say the least. There is a lot going on, with much to reflect on.

Very quickly, let's not forget how the girls are also confined and controlled by religious parents. The girls become an emblem of repressed sexuality and oppressive parental control, along with projected male fantasy. Let my girls breathe, my god.

The Virgin Suicides is also a critique of 70s American suburbia. The story is a fabrication of various different perspectives (the boys being the overarching perspective). From the neighbours' recounting of their experiences with the girls, as well as newspaper articles etc. It is the neighbourhood's story just as much as it is the girls'. The way that the suicides are perceived as a danger to the community rather than something that strikes concern. The way the neighbours are happy to watch the family slowly decay rather than help.

After their suicides, the death of the girls almost morphs into a metaphor for the slow disintegration and decay of the neighbourhood. The trees that the sisters loved so much are slowly being consumed by disease and have to be cut down. The girls' suicides are portrayed as a cancer that slowly spreads and causes the destruction of the entire neighbourhood.

Sooo, the plot is unique, the story subtly offers a lot to discuss and explore, but I think where this book shines the most is in its writing. It reads more like poetry than a novel. The writing was flawless and added to the rapturing lure of this story. It almost felt dream-like, at times. Along with the boys, I was also consumed. Though I know this type of lyrical writing doesn't work for everyone, it definitely works for me. I found myself constantly rereading passages and underlining and posting quotes of this book on my story.

I think it's important to mention that this is a novel that blurs lines. Considering a lot of it is discussing issues that the author himself will contribute to, in some way or another, whether it's the male gaze or the discourse on American suburban culture. I think, for the most part, it's very clear, but there are instances where it is difficult to tell whether or not something was intentionally written, or unconsciously included (so differentiating between the male gaze of the characters, vs the male gaze of the author).

Even the racial slurs (which there are a few of, something to keep in mind!!), I believe to be an extension of this critique of white American suburbia. A culture that is all about outward performance, illusions, and aesthetics. On the surface, it appears welcoming and perfect. Underneath are layers of bitterness, ignorance, archaic views, and festering decay. I think that the racial slurs, like with the uncomfortable romanticisation of the girls, were purposeful and intentional. That doesn't erase its unpleasantness. I think it's one of those things that contributes to this book's polarising reception and will definitely be a deal breaker for a lot of readers.

If you're looking for a conventional story, this won't be for you. Nothing is explained. In fact, by the end, I was left with more questions than answers. I think that contributes to the unsettling beauty of this story. But it definitely won't be for everyone.

Thankfully, it worked for me. This is a new all-time favourite book. It's one that I feel like I could discuss for HOURS. I'm so excited to read the rest of Eugenides' books!!

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I'm not sure if I've ever defined a book as pretentious, but if I had to do so, then precisely "The Curses of Innocence" would deserve this title.

It seems that the author is trying too hard to be profound and intellectual, using overly complex language and convoluted storylines.

However, I must admit that my rating is somewhat inflated due to my sentiment towards the movie adaptation.

Although the book may have its flaws, the movie managed to capture the essence of the story and present it in a more engaging and accessible way.

Nevertheless, when evaluating the book on its own merits, it falls short in several aspects.

The characters lack depth and development, and the plot often feels forced and contrived.

Overall, while "The Curses of Innocence" may have some redeeming qualities, it is ultimately a disappointment.

Rest in peace, Lux Lisbon. You were such a tragic and captivating figure. It's a shame that you left this world so soon. I can't help but think that you would have adored Lana Del Rey's unreleased songs. Her music has this dreamy, nostalgic quality that seems to perfectly match the essence of you and your story. The lyrics are often filled with longing, heartbreak, and a sense of lost innocence, much like the emotions that surrounded you. I imagine you listening to those songs, lost in your own thoughts, perhaps finding some sort of solace or connection in them. Although you're no longer here, your memory lives on, and I'm sure that Lana Del Rey's unreleased songs will continue to touch the hearts of many, just as you did.

Influenced by a chance conversation with a babysitter, who told him how as teenagers she and her sisters all attempted to take their own lives, Eugenides has crafted an eccentric, often amusing, and dreamy American fantasy. Set within the leafy suburb of Grosse Pointe, Michigan, a place where he spent his own years growing up, the story unfolds.

I ignored other reviews and went into this knowing absolutely nothing. My initial concerns that it was going to be a rather dark affair were quickly brushed aside. After all, in January when some of us get the blues, the last thing I wanted was to wallow in the pits of despair reading a novel about suicide. Thankfully, Eugenides doesn't focus so much on suicide. Instead, it delves more into the realm of unrequited love, while also having an assured and heartfelt nostalgia coursing through its veins.

Like suburban archaeologists, the narrators (a group of middle-aged men) piece together memories from twenty years previous, fixating on five sisters. It's like mentally sifting through a rubbish tip of evidence - diaries, snapshots, dried-out cosmetics, sanitary towels, soap dishes, bras. Anything to better understand the sisters, whom they didn't really know well. They search for an explanation as to 'why' what happened, happened. They interview former neighbours, friends, teachers, and the dazed and divorced parents coasting through life. They collate gossip, but the answers to their questions remain an enigma. All this is described in a tone that is both elegiac and comic.

The five sisters - Therese, Mary, Bonnie, Lux, and Cecilia - remain a mystery throughout. One thing we do know is that they live sheltered lives under the thumb of their tyrannical and disturbed mother, and the sympathetic but docile father, who is a maths teacher. In the ordinary suburban world of lawnmowers and barbecues, the girls somehow represent the extraordinary, as well as the odd, the inexplicable, and the romantically extreme. There are pondering thoughts such as - why don't the girls rebel? Why don't they reach out to friends or run away from home? Why don't the authorities insist that they go to school? What drove their mother to impose such a strict regime in the first place? These obvious thoughts are never addressed by Eugenides, and his willful ignoring of these issues can grate on the reader's nerves, momentarily breaking the spell of his tale.

Although his powers of observation are startling and acute, in some parts, I found the narrative, and I hate to say this, a bit of a chore.

As debut novels go, Eugenides writes with a swaggering confidence, not like a literary novice. The Virgin Suicides cleverly masquerades as a book about teen suicide, when its real exploration is into the delicate dynamics that hold a family together.

One striking aspect of the novel that didn't occur to me until later is that it relies entirely on the male gaze. Unfortunately for me, the narrators seem overly romantic and deluded. Not overly sentimental or cheesy, just a little too exaggerated and goofy. One thing I can't fault is its creatively original nature. But I would still be surprised if it lingers in my thoughts for more than a day.

The Virgin Suicides is a hauntingly beautiful and eerily atmospheric novel. Tinted with the hues of 1970s American suburbia, it is narrated by an unnamed Greek chorus of men.

They look back on their teenage years and the suicides of the five beautiful Lisbon sisters who lived in their neighbourhood. As they scavenge through the past, it becomes evident that they are still stuck in adolescence, their growth stunted.

The exploration of the male gaze is one of the most striking aspects. Through the eyes of the boys, we see how they fetishize and objectify the girls, peeking at them through windows and around corners.

Despite claiming to be in love, they don't see the girls as individuals but as a fantasy of perfect femininity. The girls are mere bodies for the boys to project their fantasies onto, even in death.

Another strong theme is adolescent despair, especially for teenage girls. The Lisbon sisters are caught between youth and womanhood, buckling under pressure, anger, and confusion. It's angsty but realistic, as summed up by Cecelia's statement.

This novel delves deep into the mysteries of adolescence, love, and loss, leaving a lasting impression on the reader.

This book truly enrages me.

First of all, it seems to lack any real point. It's as if the author just threw together a bunch of words without any clear purpose.

Secondly, it blatantly showcases the complete objectification of women that Eugenides seems to propagate in all of his novels to this day. What could have been a powerful and moving story about five sisters who commit suicide turns out to be boring, overly nostalgic, and sentimental.

The collective anonymous narrator only serves to obfuscate the truth and make the reader question the authenticity of any one narrative. The viewpoint of a group of obsessed, idealizing teenage boys tells us nothing about the girls, their viewpoints, or anything in particular. It's simply pathetic and annoying.

So, what are we supposed to take away from this? Can we never truly understand our neighbors or anyone for that matter? Does privilege mean that we will never help our fellow man? Is suicide always selfish and meaningless? Are some women just ideals and nothing more? I have no idea. And I think the only way to find out is for Eugenides to tell us directly. But you know what? I'm done reading his works and I'm done listening to his stories. Eugenides now ranks among my all-time least favorite authors. However, at least he can write a good first line.

-disgusted-

The truth is that I have thought about giving this score. In the year so far, the novels that have had the maximum score have been rather few, and it is partly because I wanted to be a bit more demanding and be stricter with my reviews. But "The Virgin Suicides" has achieved it. I could say that I read it in a day, because from page 41 to 230 it has been just a few hours of travel. But they have seemed like months. And that is the magic of the novel.

The narration is spectacular, with a rather peculiar style that completely immerses you in the story despite the fact that the story is told in a diffuse way. We do not encounter a case of mystery about why these young women commit suicide, which is what I expected to find (and which, according to the synopsis, seems to be the theme of the book), but rather something more intimate. It is a novel that studies many things: appearances, false judgments based on assumptions, family, oppression... It is more than curious to realize how you really do not get to know the Lisbon sisters but you think you know them, something that Eugenides plays very well.

What I can praise the most is the narration, because as I say, although it does not really tell anything in an objective way or adorn a couple of actions with stories of completely secondary other characters, it keeps you on the edge of your seat, swallowing its words. I like that an author has that magic. And in this case, it is true magic, without tricks. Pure.

Five girls are showing signs of severe mental health issues. They are signalling that they need help so very obviously. Their pain and struggle are palpable, yet it seems that they are not being noticed or taken seriously.

The boys, on the other hand, are completely oblivious to the girls' distress. Instead of offering support or reaching out, they are making comments about how pretty and feminine the girls are. Their focus is on the superficial aspects of the girls, rather than on their well-being.

This situation is truly concerning. The girls' mental health should be a priority, and it is essential that they receive the help and support they need. It is also important for the boys to become more aware of the signs of mental health issues and to learn how to offer appropriate support.

We need to create a more inclusive and empathetic environment where everyone feels safe and supported. This means listening to those who are in need, offering help without judgment, and working together to address the complex issues surrounding mental health.

Let us not turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. Instead, let us be the ones who reach out and make a difference in the lives of those who are struggling.

Feeling a bit bored, just like the lives of the Lisbon sisters. Their days seem to pass by in a rather uneventful manner. There is a certain monotony that lingers around them. They wake up, go through their daily routines, and then go to bed, only to repeat it all over again the next day. The lack of excitement and new experiences makes them feel a bit trapped in this cycle of sameness. It's as if time has slowed down for them, and they are waiting for something, anything, to break the boredom and bring some color and vitality back into their lives.

The Male Gaze

The concept of the male gaze has been a topic of significant discussion in various fields, including art, media, and sociology. It refers to the way in which men view and objectify women, often reducing them to mere sexual objects or commodities. This gaze can have a profound impact on women's self-esteem, body image, and overall sense of self.

In art, the male gaze is often evident in the way that female figures are depicted. They are frequently shown in poses that are designed to be sexually appealing to men, with little regard for their own agency or subjectivity. In the media, the male gaze is perpetuated through advertising, television, and film, where women are often portrayed as being obsessed with their appearance and constantly seeking male approval.

The male gaze is not only a problem for women, but also for society as a whole. It reinforces gender stereotypes and inequalities, and can lead to a culture of sexual objectification and violence. It is essential that we recognize the existence of the male gaze and work to challenge and subvert it. This can be done through education, awareness-raising, and the promotion of more positive and empowering representations of women. Only by doing so can we hope to create a more equal and just society for all.

4/15/20: I read this with my spring 2020 Growing Up class. In the isolation and chaos of Covid 2020, which has brought severe mental health challenges, this topic might seem regrettable.

Every day as I approach the El, the first thing I see are the suicide hotline posters. They're everywhere due to the rising suicide rates. I grew up in the sixties and in the seventies, I worked a suicide hotline and in a psych hospital. I vividly remember several suicide attempts and some completions, even among family members. You never truly get over all the emotions - rage, sorrow, and mystification.

I had three sisters and lived in a girl-centric home with slumber parties, make-up, frizzy combs, lotions, girl books, and whispers. I didn't even date until my senior year in high school. Girls were a mystery to me, and I was stymied about how to approach them, feeling like I was on Mars and they were on Venus.

I first read Jeffery Eugenides’ The Virgin Suicides in 1993 when it was published. This time, I read it with some students in a small seminar on Growing Up novels. I thought then and still think now that it's one of the great novels. It features a narrator using the first person plural pronoun, a group of boys obsessed with a group of five sisters in Grosse Point, north of Detroit, in the mid-sixties. The ending is given away in the first sentence or actually in the title. So, the question is not so much what happened but why, and the answers the boys, now men, come up with are not definitive.

This is the story the unnamed boys - and later, men - tell of Cecilia, Lux, Bonnie, Mary, and Therese. From the boys' perspective, they are "all lace and ruffle, bursting with their fructifying flesh," but remember, this is the male gaze. How the girls see themselves remains a mystery to the boys. For the boys, these girls seem to be the sum of the catalogue they compile of their artifacts: "a room full of crumpled panties, of stuffed animals hugged to death, a crucifix draped with a brassier, of gauzy chambers of canopied beds, and of the effluvia of so many girls becoming women together in the same cramped space."

The tone here is sometimes black comedy, with the boys' obsession with the girls. But the story delves deeper into a consideration of what we can actually know about anyone else. In this case, a group of boys are curious about the natures of five girls who are mostly cooped up in a house by their mother. Why are they what they seem to be? Can the boys know them? The short answer is no. This question of why is also relevant to those who commit suicide in the book. Why? And we'll never know for sure. Eugenides won't make it easy for you to decide. In the process of their investigation, the boys/men gather evidence into various "exhibits" to try and determine who these girls really are.

In the process, one boy not in the geeky narrator group, a kind of James Dean sex god named Trip Fontaine, asks Lux out and successfully has a (ultimately disastrous) prom date. After that, things get progressively worse and more repressive. So, there is a touch of sex, unrequited love, and all the related emotions in a gothic teen fashion, like Wuthering Heights, driven mad by desire. But it's not clichéd, and the narrators are not grossly (at least primarily) sex-obsessed about the girls. They think, ". . . if we kept looking hard enough we might begin to understand what they were feeling and who they were."

Throughout the book, various people offer explanations and theories for why the girls do what they do. Some say capitalism has led to material well-being but spiritual bankruptcy. Others suggest that the seeds of death are lost in the mess God made us. There are also descriptions like, "Added to their loveliness was a new mysterious suffering, perfectly silent, visible in the blue puffiness beneath their eyes or the way they would sometimes stop in mid-stride, look down, and shake their heads as though disagreeing with life."

Maybe the reason has to do with the loosely gothic frame of the story. In the inevitably tragic end of the family (which is never hidden from us), the madness of adolescence is central. Like in Jane Eyre, there are "madwomen" upstairs, and as in Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher,” the house they live in begins to collapse in ruin and decay. Dutch Elm Disease, fish flies, and the rich smells of decay are everywhere, even as the girls are largely confined indoors. The girls seem like ghosts from the beginning.

But in the end, in this investigation and inquiry, only mystery remains. The girls, as girls and as humans, are unknowable to the boys. The boys seem wisest when they just stand amazed or bewildered or not knowing, as when they speak of ". . . her inexplicable heart." and "All wisdom ends in paradox." In the end, The Virgin Suicides is about our ultimate unknowability from each other, no matter how hard we try. It was also an exhilarating trip down sixties memory lane for me, with some wonderful writing.

Some relevant films/books include Penelope Spheeris’ Suburbia (suburbs, punk), Revolutionary Road (sixties), The Ice Storm (sixties), Ordinary People (suburbs, suicide), Todd Solonz’s Happiness (suburbs, sex), any John Waters film (youth and pop culture), American Beauty (sex and despair), Stepford Wives (suburban conformity), Peyton Place (suburban sexual intrigue), Larry Clark’s Kids (brutal teen realism), The Sweet Hereafter (teen tragedy and social trauma), Ghost World (teen urban girls), Heathers (teen girls, suicide), 13 Reasons Why (suicide), Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther (suicide), Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights (gothic), Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher” (gothic), and many more.