Before I Go To Sleep
by S.J. Watson
After reading the incredible premise, I put Before I Go To Sleep on my to-read list. Time passed, and eventually I saw the movie before reading the book. I loved the movie. Superb acting, especially from the always incredible Colin Firth, and an endlessly suspenseful pace. After finishing my third viewing of the movie, I went out and bought the book. I knew it would be equally fantastic.
Apparently, I'm not psychic. This book is one of the worst books I've read. The characters in the film were likable and interesting; in the book I found the protagonist's first-person account of her surroundings irritating and idiotic. Rarely have I liked a protagonist less. The male characters were stripped of their strength; I missed the romantic tension--the book's lack of a love triangle made the read even more boring.
Without giving away any spoilers, the main character has short term memory loss and wakes up every day believing she is in her twenties and unmarried. The opening scene is actually quite good; she wakes up naked, next to a middle-aged man with a wedding ring. She thinks she's had a one-night-stand until she sees her reflection in the bathroom mirror; her husband wakes and explains the situation he explains every morning the past twenty-plus years. She starts keeping a journal (I'm cutting to the chase) which is the majority of the novel. In the film version, she doesn't write down her activities and sudden revelations; she keeps a video camera and records pertinent information.
Let's think about this for a minute. If you had a limited time in which to record your findings into the humongous mystery of your life, including whether or not you can trust your own husband, would you take the time to write out an entire scene, complete with descriptors and each fleeting feeling you experience? Or would you hurriedly record a ten-second encapsulation on your video camera? And, if you had short term memory loss and knew you'd be reliving all your recordings every morning, would you take up more and more of your very precious time writing out scene after scene of your daily events? It would take her hours to re-read her diary; if she knew she was involved in a mystery--which she obviously did--why would she sabotage herself? The movie was infinitely smarter; it makes sense that she would create a video diary; she could watch the entire recording while brushing her teeth!
That was only one of many problems with the plot. For no reason I can come up with, the author saw fit to bombard his readers with his protagonist's overtly sexual thoughts. Call me crazy, but if my world was turned upside down every morning, and the very structures to which I was clinging were on shaky ground, I would hardly find it a fitting time to explore my lady parts.
Had I not already seen the film, I probably wouldn't have finished the book. Do me and yourselves a favor and rent the movie instead. One last thought: thank you Rowan Jaffe for seeing the potential in what was ultimately a terrible book. Your screenplay was excellent.
Apparently, I'm not psychic. This book is one of the worst books I've read. The characters in the film were likable and interesting; in the book I found the protagonist's first-person account of her surroundings irritating and idiotic. Rarely have I liked a protagonist less. The male characters were stripped of their strength; I missed the romantic tension--the book's lack of a love triangle made the read even more boring.
Without giving away any spoilers, the main character has short term memory loss and wakes up every day believing she is in her twenties and unmarried. The opening scene is actually quite good; she wakes up naked, next to a middle-aged man with a wedding ring. She thinks she's had a one-night-stand until she sees her reflection in the bathroom mirror; her husband wakes and explains the situation he explains every morning the past twenty-plus years. She starts keeping a journal (I'm cutting to the chase) which is the majority of the novel. In the film version, she doesn't write down her activities and sudden revelations; she keeps a video camera and records pertinent information.
Let's think about this for a minute. If you had a limited time in which to record your findings into the humongous mystery of your life, including whether or not you can trust your own husband, would you take the time to write out an entire scene, complete with descriptors and each fleeting feeling you experience? Or would you hurriedly record a ten-second encapsulation on your video camera? And, if you had short term memory loss and knew you'd be reliving all your recordings every morning, would you take up more and more of your very precious time writing out scene after scene of your daily events? It would take her hours to re-read her diary; if she knew she was involved in a mystery--which she obviously did--why would she sabotage herself? The movie was infinitely smarter; it makes sense that she would create a video diary; she could watch the entire recording while brushing her teeth!
That was only one of many problems with the plot. For no reason I can come up with, the author saw fit to bombard his readers with his protagonist's overtly sexual thoughts. Call me crazy, but if my world was turned upside down every morning, and the very structures to which I was clinging were on shaky ground, I would hardly find it a fitting time to explore my lady parts.
Had I not already seen the film, I probably wouldn't have finished the book. Do me and yourselves a favor and rent the movie instead. One last thought: thank you Rowan Jaffe for seeing the potential in what was ultimately a terrible book. Your screenplay was excellent.