It is, quite literally, a maddening experience. Every time Jeff picks up a glass of wine or looks at an album label the narrator has to interject with some kind of commentary on the vintage or irrelevant facts about the career of that band.
She's not just a woman she has pert yet simultaneously round breasts that rise just the right amount as she raises her long, slender arms above her head. It's not just a table it's a luxurious oak table with a fine gold inlay that Jeff purchased with money he won or got from investments or whatever. Grimwood feels it's necessary to describe every single thing in detail. I listened to the audio version (because that was the only version available from my library), mostly at 2.4x speed, and it still felt like too long. Grimwood's prose is so purple I'm surprised it's not gangrenous.
Because when you get right down to it, Replay has a sick and amazing premise, but Ken Grimwood's writing leaves much to be desired. And then I figured I might as well finish the whole thing just to learn why Jeff keeps replaying parts of his life. Just as I was starting to lose all hope, there was a glimmer a couple of hours in that made me hang on a bit longer. For the first time in a while, I actually regret sticking out this book instead of DNF-ing it.
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