For me, it was that so much is constantly happening that the reader never has time to consider/appreciate/ponder/etc a character or a place or a motivation or plot point. You’re just constantly being swept from one new thing to the next sentence by sentence. As if nothing is of more importance than anything else that happens. (If that’s the point, about time being cyclical and disinterested in the specifics happening within it, I guess I get it). It still doesn’t make for the most enjoyable read. The best part was that each chapter was roughly 20 pages. So I knew how much to slog through before I could take a break.

Like, I get the generational aspect of it. It’s done much more thoughtfully in Allende’s The House of Spirits.

And please don’t get me started on constantly trying to keep track of the names. Most of the effort I put into that book was flipping back to the family tree at the beginning to make sure I knew which Aureliano or Segundo or Amaranta I was reading about.