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I’m not sure I can say I like the story. Of course it’s a story written by a Master and I admire (for sure) his style of writhing, but there 2 (or even more but they are the most important) points why I don’t like. The usage of details is great, but the plot… I don’t know why but I felt a real rejection while reading. So static outside, her mind was tossed by different me-annoying thoughts: “to go or not to go?” Are these - manners of a newly-made Hamlet, huh? She is so discordant and doing-nothing, that it really gets on my nerves, because… Or, so we came up to the second point. Because it is so… me-like. No matter, who her boyfriend is. Her character – is mine. Her thoughts – are mine. That’s why I so dislike her. Cause in real life I can do nothing, because I’m afraid. But I really hoped that my literary dual would set right everything I did wrong here. But no: Joyce left her disrupt onto two halves, he made her destroyed inside. What a breath-taking astonishing pleasing ending! Thank you, Master, you’ve left me without answers on the shore. Alone. Hate.
