Quote:
Originally Posted by kak125
She ruminates, but it never leads to despair.
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After Tusk, Stevie repeatedly creates stories of grand passions and deep despair. The thing is, sometimes the melodramatic sweep of the passions engages me—as in the kinetic, Keatsian
The Nightmare—and sometimes it doesn't.
The Tragedy of One's Own Soul, for example, is saved by a pretty vocal melody, but the words are narcissistic hyperbole in which the subject finds herself in a very ordinary relationship with communication troubles ("We don't have so very much in common/You don't have really very much to say. . . We don't talk to each other. . . In fact, sometimes weeks go by/We don't speak"), yet inflates her situation into a soul-searing tragedy. It's a kind of bathos or navel gazing, and it's a common Stevie thing.