Wordy, Confused, Stream of Consciousness
Why did I hesitate? I was afraid of awakening her, I suppose, which I'd call ironic if I were a poet, but I'm not, and anyway, I hate poetry. A poem doesn't come out and tell you what it has to say. It circles back on itself, eating its own tail and making you guess what it means. (2.17)
Okay, Shmoopsters—get ready for some confusion thanks to the narration of one Briony Larkin. The writing style in this book, as highlighted in the quote above, is wordy, confused, and disorganized in a stream of consciousness sort of way—instead of simply saying she didn't visit her stepmother on her deathbed, Briony explains herself for nearly two paragraphs. Talk about wordy, right? Right.
This excerpt above isn't the first or last time Briony asks herself questions and generally acts confused about her own thoughts, feelings, and memories either. And because we're stuck in Briony's head for this book, we spend a good deal of it following her brain around as it wanders—that is, until Briony mentally yells at herself to stop, which she also does plenty of.