The Devil in the White City is one of the few books that gives me two emotional extremes in my reading time. Extreme anticipation and extreme fatigue.
Why is it extremely expected? A true story, extremely creepy and haunting. A story that since I heard the author’s name, who wrote all this truth, has not been able to suppress the stimulation of the nervous nerves. This Holmes case attracted me a very long time before, leaving such a deep impression that, when I heard a book, I had to buy it right away. Famous author, the case is attractive, I am looking forward to hearing new details that have not been revealed in documentary articles. And when I hold it in my hand, I’m excited.
But…. This book is too much for a goldfish brain like me. Erik Larson is such a powerful writer that not only does he see a case, he also builds a lively and eventful Chicago city. He is fluent in politics, ideology, culture, commerce, and now architecture. A large amount of knowledge about architecture and people here is recorded too detailed and specific to relate to the unique murder in the history of crime.
This book is not just a document, it is also a paper time machine. But the overwhelming amount of information being put into the book makes me feel overwhelmed and difficult to follow with a fiery mood. This is a good book, but not for me. I tried to drag for nearly 2 months, took a break a few times, alternated with a few more books to complete nearly 500 pages of books. The writing was not as dry as Ann Rule, but it was full of information, like cool beer pouring out of a glass just because of too much foam.
If you ask which book damages my nerves the most, then here, the White City Devil.
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