Louisa
The strength of this book is the sum of brave moments where the author/narrator spits out her honest feelings and opinions on (not) having children. Its principal weakness is its overindulgence (both in quality and quantity of writing) in overthinking spirals and meandering thoughts that follow the same pattern, express the same ideas, and reach the same conclusions, yet repeatedly come up throughout the book.
This is why the book drags and feels bloated. The bluntness on motherhood becomes the side story to this main structure (that itself has no structure) and together they do not form a whole that could be described as a novel, even a loose/stream-of-consciousness one, thought it seems to have been the aim.
Other notes:
- It's classified as a novel. It reads/feels like a memoir.
- You know the author has run out of ideas when they resort to *repeatedly* recounting their dreams. This happens too often in this book. I found myself saying out loud, PLEASE STOP I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR DREAMS THAT MUCH I AM NOT YOUR PSYCHOANALYST
- The HYSTERICAL moment at the end of the book when the author/narrator suddenly ends her overthinking spirals that have plagued most of the book, literally ceases to be tormented by the topic of motherhood, because she started anxiety/depression medication. She then concludes that the medication has solved all her problems, answered her questions, and made life markedly better. Though I applaud her for taking care of her mental health and feeling better as a result, it's HILARIOUS because it renders most of the writing in the preceding 230 pages pointless. In this vain the book's central question should have been antidepressants, their reported efficacy, and what it's like taking or not taking them.
I don't know how to express my thoughts about this book without being tiringly unoriginal: repellent narrator and story, but the -in my understanding- intentionally mannered and overwrought prose is so astoundingly executed, consistently multilayered, allusive, and punning, for the duration of the novel. The only problem with reading the book (other than the mild nausea that naturally accompanies you throughout the journey) is that I now find my inability to write correct, remotely non-repulsive sentences in English, insufferable.
To keep in mind i) two previous Poirot mysteries are minorly spoiled in this book (Murder on the Orient Express and and Lord Edgware Dies ) ii) the polarity of the pacing between the first and second half of the book: the first half's leisurely-paced presentation of the characters switches to a dizzyingly fast-paced second-half where the crime and its resolution take place.
Ok – I think this is definitely an overhyped book, largely because although the idea, the characters and the story are refreshingly heartwarming through the love of nature and how well it blends with the protagonist, everything else is underwhelming. The language (took me 70 pages to get into it, so flowery, so pretentious, so overdone, until you get used to it and stop minding), the issues that have been raised with the dialect and geographical inconsistencies (did she barely research it? did she purposefully resort to old tropes of good vs bad = non dialect vs dialect? who knows), and then there were many weak plot developments that were too convenient to be true (the tie plot points in a bow and call it a day type of scenario).
Overall I gave it 4 stars because I still was absorbed by the story, emotionally convinced of it, and cared about the characters to feel the melancholy of finishing the last page, but that's because I know nothing about North Carolina or dialects, and because I persevered through the sluggish parts.
What I would recommend instead of this: Why Fish Don't Exist by Lulu Miller. EXCELLENT
I've read more than 2/3 of the book, or rather, forced myself to, but I cannot do this anymore, it keeps getting worse, the writing is bland -to put it nicely- and after the 2/3 mark the triteness and artificiality of the dialogue took over and I could not do it anymore. I would not be this upset if this book was not a prize winner that has been received with SO MUCH HYPE. I rarely write disparaging reviews and if I do, they usually stay private, because why spread the negativity? After all, someone spent years on producing a written work and put effort and time and money into it. But there are so many great reads out there that remain unrecognised, unread by most people. They gather dust in used bookstores because they are out of print. Or they have a beautiful cover and are fresh out of the printer's but they are from a small press and barely sell and are forgotten after a few years because they are published in the age of bookstagram and amazon book shopping, a time when most people don't go out to discover random reads or receive recommendations from booksellers or friends, a time when small publishing companies don't sell copies and independent bookshops barely make ends meet if they survive at all. So what I'm trying to say so ineloquently is that I'm seething. THIS of all books won the women's prize a few years ago? It doesn't deserve it. The premise is great but ideas are not enough to constitute a good book; I have many ideas, can someone give me a prize for them please?
