by
Rebecca Makkai
339
pages, Viking Adult, Digital Review Copy
Review by
J. S. Colley
I should
have written this review a week ago, but I was on jury duty and, to be honest,
this is going to be a very hard review for me to write, so I've been
procrastinating. How to not sound self-righteous nor like a pedant? I don’t
know, but I will try, because my intention is not to be either of those things.
I will say this author is a talented writer. I highlighted many passages that I
found well-crafted or otherwise remarkable. But one’s overall reaction to a
novel is very subjective and this review will be just that—one person’s
opinion.
I’ve had
debates with readers (and writers) about the fairness of judging a book by the
“likeability” of the characters. Is it the responsibility of the writer to make
the reader love every character? Do we expect to agree with the protagonist on
all issues in order to enjoy a book? My answer is, of course not! How boring would that be? Don’t we learn
something about human nature when we read fiction? Isn't that what writers
do—reveal, unwashed, the innermost workings of the human mind and take us
places we might never go in real life? But where is the line drawn between
unlikeable characters and characters so shallow that, because of their very
lack of depth, there is no room for us to gain any insight? There is only room
for us to wallow around in the muck with them; only wanting to escape.
This
story is told in a reverse timeline, starting with the present inhabitants of The
Hundred-Year House and working back to the original occupants. The book
covers, as indicated by the title, one century. The decisions and actions of
the characters during each of the eras are, at best, mean-spirited and, at worst,
unethical and immoral. Do all protagonists have to be ethical to be compelling?
Again, no. But the actions of these
characters—which ranged from blackmail (twice) to stolen identity—were excused
by the author for the flimsiest, most selfish of reasons. An example is when
one of the several protagonists sets up her colleague to be falsely charged
with watching porn on his work computer so her husband might have his job
after he’s fired. This woman sees nothing wrong with her actions, in fact she
feels supremely justified, because she doesn't hold the same ideological views.
Here’s the problem: when the writer has an agenda and it shines through, with
no subtly or attempt to make the reader work for it—shoving it in their face
like a shaving-cream pie—it jars (if not offends) them.
As
viewers, we didn't “like” Norman Bates as he was stabbing Janet Leigh in
“Psycho” but neither were we expected to think his behavior was acceptable, no
matter that Ms. Leigh had just robbed a bank. He was a compelling character
because we knew he was off-balance. And here’s where we might find the real
problem: if the author of this novel intended the reader to see that these
characters were somehow unhinged, then it was not apparent, at least not to
this reader. Was the house supposed to be possessed? Was it evil and made
anyone who inhabited it become evil too? In fact, it would have made the book
more gripping. If there was even a hint of this, then I missed it and, if I
did, then I apologize.
I could go on and on to try and explain my visceral reaction to this book. I could quote and give more examples, but it's probably better to just fall back on that old standard of book reviewers; the characters weren't likeable. Unfortunately, this trumped everything for me, even the splendid writing skills of the author.
I could go on and on to try and explain my visceral reaction to this book. I could quote and give more examples, but it's probably better to just fall back on that old standard of book reviewers; the characters weren't likeable. Unfortunately, this trumped everything for me, even the splendid writing skills of the author.
Thank you
to NetGalley for the review copy.
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