Middlemarch
Sunday morning I finished reading Misfortune, by Wesley Stace. As of Saturday morning, I was maybe 100 pp in (about 20%), and wondering how much I would regret it if I quit. My compromise was to read it quickly.
I had slowed down by the end.
Page 483 bears sensible (and perhaps self-referential) advice for any who would read the book: "'Though parts of this story may upset you, you must know that even if you find the facts unbearable, the narrative ends happily.'" (Perhaps I have just spoiled things for you, but I doubt it: I suspected its ending by the 5th page, and a published reviewer by page 35.) The dust-jacket makes clear that the story revolves around a metaphorical train wreck.
Frankly, the first half of the book is nothing special. The dust-jacket reveals the plot through that point, so there is little else to engage besides detail and character development. Of the latter there is less than I wished; of the former, there is plenty that is germane to the second half of the book, but little that is of any particular interest as it relates to the first half of the book (there is some, but not much, and what there is I found repetitive and not particularly illuminating). But, I suppose you have to survive the disaster to appreciate the second half of the book. And, then, the end of the book was basically filling in details, and then using them to achieve the happy ending. The dénouement is predictable and probably sappy, but it is short. It struck me as being there for form's sake more than anything else.
My favorite part by far was the middle. I will not forget this book any time soon, because of the middle. It was worth slogging through the first half to have the middle.
It bears repeating that this is not a 19th-century novel. It is set between 1820 and 1840, but it is very much a novel of the 21st century, not so much in its subject but in its construction. Throughout the book I noted several apparent anachronisms that bothered me (although not enough to look into), and Mr. Stace seems to have read just enough about certain aspects of identity theory to annoy those who have read more. I also found his gratuitous use of vulgar anatomical terms distracting. I do not know what he was trying to accomplish thereby, so I can't say whether he succeeded or not. The coarseness seemed not to fit the tone of the rest of the book, though.
Whatever the literary merits of the book, it will be haunting me (in the non-spooky sense) for some time. That alone made it worthwhile. It actually resolved itself, in contrast to Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, which struck me as a prequel through and through. The latter seemed to me as though it were always leading up to something that never quite happened, and the central mystery seemed even more mysterious by the end. (I don't think Harry Potter has any great literary merit, but they're engrossing, satisfying reads in a way that JS&MN is not.)
Update (with spoilers): In the week since I wrote this post, my enthusiasm for Misfortune has abated significantly. The more I think about it, the more careless and unconvincing the details of setting and characterization seem. For example, shaving? I think plucking would have been more likely. And another: kiddo was a foundling, not a bastard, and even nurse would have known the difference. I don't know what the contemporary laws governing adoption and inheritance were; but given Stace's cavalier treatment of other historical details, I'm loath to give him the benefit of the doubt for avoiding that.
I had slowed down by the end.
Page 483 bears sensible (and perhaps self-referential) advice for any who would read the book: "'Though parts of this story may upset you, you must know that even if you find the facts unbearable, the narrative ends happily.'" (Perhaps I have just spoiled things for you, but I doubt it: I suspected its ending by the 5th page, and a published reviewer by page 35.) The dust-jacket makes clear that the story revolves around a metaphorical train wreck.
Frankly, the first half of the book is nothing special. The dust-jacket reveals the plot through that point, so there is little else to engage besides detail and character development. Of the latter there is less than I wished; of the former, there is plenty that is germane to the second half of the book, but little that is of any particular interest as it relates to the first half of the book (there is some, but not much, and what there is I found repetitive and not particularly illuminating). But, I suppose you have to survive the disaster to appreciate the second half of the book. And, then, the end of the book was basically filling in details, and then using them to achieve the happy ending. The dénouement is predictable and probably sappy, but it is short. It struck me as being there for form's sake more than anything else.
My favorite part by far was the middle. I will not forget this book any time soon, because of the middle. It was worth slogging through the first half to have the middle.
It bears repeating that this is not a 19th-century novel. It is set between 1820 and 1840, but it is very much a novel of the 21st century, not so much in its subject but in its construction. Throughout the book I noted several apparent anachronisms that bothered me (although not enough to look into), and Mr. Stace seems to have read just enough about certain aspects of identity theory to annoy those who have read more. I also found his gratuitous use of vulgar anatomical terms distracting. I do not know what he was trying to accomplish thereby, so I can't say whether he succeeded or not. The coarseness seemed not to fit the tone of the rest of the book, though.
Whatever the literary merits of the book, it will be haunting me (in the non-spooky sense) for some time. That alone made it worthwhile. It actually resolved itself, in contrast to Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, which struck me as a prequel through and through. The latter seemed to me as though it were always leading up to something that never quite happened, and the central mystery seemed even more mysterious by the end. (I don't think Harry Potter has any great literary merit, but they're engrossing, satisfying reads in a way that JS&MN is not.)
Update (with spoilers): In the week since I wrote this post, my enthusiasm for Misfortune has abated significantly. The more I think about it, the more careless and unconvincing the details of setting and characterization seem. For example, shaving? I think plucking would have been more likely. And another: kiddo was a foundling, not a bastard, and even nurse would have known the difference. I don't know what the contemporary laws governing adoption and inheritance were; but given Stace's cavalier treatment of other historical details, I'm loath to give him the benefit of the doubt for avoiding that.
posted by Dr. Bubbles at 14:07
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