I'm sure you won't believe me, but the main problem with this novel isn't the 'flowery language' or the rather sprawling plot, it's the fact that the main character becomes obsessed with human faeces.
It's a shame that Roberts felt the need to introduce that particular scatalogical strand into the plot, because the concept the novel's based on is quite brilliant, and there's really no need for poo to be involved.
The other problem is that, due to the insertion of the short story the novel's based around, at the beginning it appears that there are two protagonists. There aren't. Eleanor gets a couple of chapters to herself but then becomes a secondary character for the rest of the story. Which is a real shame, as she's much more interesting and sympathetic than the actual protagonist, who is wracked with self-doubt, shame and self-loathing, largely due to being obsessed with do do brown.
This would be a four-star novel if the plot was a bit tighter and there were less plop-plops in it. Just to be clear, I'm not being prudish or anything, it's just that the cover blurb led me to believe I'd be reading a novel about Lilliputians and Brobdignagians, but it's mostly about self-doubt and poo poo.
