Bad writing gives me insomnia
Thank you everyone for checking in with me (both here and in actual real life) after my last post. The world in general is behaving much more reasonably, I'm happy to say, and everything including the store is going swimmingly at the moment.... well except for the reason I'm up after 2am in the morning. See.
Honestly, it's not often I will read a book and not be able to see at least see some good in it. Even less common with an author that has been prolific enough to have more than a dozen books out. Don't get me wrong, I have more than once picked up a book and realized quickly that it wasn't to my taste. Nothing wrong with a book just because I don't like it. Usually I even see where the author was headed and respect their talent, but it's just not my cuppa tea, if you'll pardon the pun. As readers of this LJ will remember, I almost always have a book to recommend, or something I've just read that is exciting and fun. Sometimes even if I don't like the book, I understand why others will and don't need to read it myself. When this happens I smile, put the book down, and walk away. Sadly, I was unable to do that simple task this time. I harbor some small hope that venting my frustrations here will allow me the rest that has been stolen from me by this torture between two covers. But first, the back story.
For all of the 7 years I have been working full time as the Teacup "Boss Lady", people have been asking me if I've ever read the The Tea Shop Mysteries. They are a large series of mysteries, with a woman that runs a teashop in Charleston's historical district as their protagonist. Each is named for a tea (Death by Darjeeling is the first one), and each includes a cute teatime recipe and everything. After years of "not having the time" I decided to read them while I was winding down over the holiday break. It's usually an odd time where I have no work to do, but my flywheel is still spinning at overdrive from the previous 6+ weeks.
So, there we were, fair audience, at the UW bookstore on the Ave, picking up some holiday gifts last week when I happened upon them. I thought "how bad could it be?" and picked not not just the first one, but the second one, Gunpowder Green, as well.
Dear reader, you will have to imagine how, over the last week, I have struggled mightily. The opening chapter wasn't bad. Contrived, and more than a bit over telling, but it got me acquainted with the time, place, and people. You meet Theodosia, the teashop owner, and it was so true to life I read a paragraph or two to L, and we both laughed nervously at how close the author got to the real life of a teashop owner. Seeing one's own life down in the pages of a book is very gratifying and exposing at the same time. All together odd, I must say.
But then see, by the end of chapter 2 the murder happens, and it quickly goes from quirky to straight down the chute to ridiculous. The tea theme moves from "amusing background for our play" deep into "clearly contrived and farking annoying" with amazing rapidity. Still, I stuck it through, telling myself this was important to read for the store. I swallowed the silliness, like the long introduction for her mutt, named, of course, Earl Grey. This dog apparently runs around a sit-down high tea shop, which is beyond stupid. No health department in the country would allow it. I even managed to make it through her clearly wholesale caricature of one of the tea industry's luminaries, down to the shoes, mind you. But then the name dropping starts. Paragraphs with tea names crunched into the text willy-nilly. Literally cheek to jowl, they are crowbarred where they are so unnecessary as to be actively distracting. But there is worse yet, dear reader. You may ask yourself what could be worse than using my livelihood as a cheep stained satin back drop for this farce?
It is simple. The writing is truly awful. We're not taking run of the mill bad here, we're talking "Someone literally published this sheit TWELVE TIMES?" bad. The reader is moved from our main character's head randomly into the heads of those she interacts with, mid-page mid-scene, with no acknowledgment of text break or even a space, which ends up making your head spin as you find yourself scanning back in text to figure out what the heck is going on. But you needn't have bothered, as we stay there for 2, maybe 3, paragraphs and then are suddenly whisked back into our main character, also without visual references of any kind. I find this beyond annoying, as I have always felt that changing protagonist is a crutch for a writer that hasn't thought out their story completely. I'm willing to admit that some trans-generational, or trans-continental, or otherwise multi-faceted stories may require this, but I do so a bit grudgingly. This, gentle reader, is not that. It's lazy, terrible writing. It makes me want to find the editors that had to have worked on this piece of trash and string them up.
Even that I could stand if I must. I could push through, gritting my teeth and move forward if it wasn't also for the complete lack of skill the writer so clearly demonstrates. The story is chopped up nearly into gibberish. In places moving too fast to keep up, leaving you disoriented and confused, but more often it drags like a snow sled in July, forcing you to resist the urge to get up and do something more engaging and amusing, like... oh I don't know.... clean toilets with your toothbrush?. Then there is the dialog. It defies description. Decide for yourself, dear reader, have you ever heard anyone ever talk like this:
"I am delighted he came to a well deserved end"
"Plus, my taste buds have just been awakened and treated to this rather amazing Japanese tea"
"I haven't made the necessary decisions on graphics and Web architecture"
Now, these are all fine phrases for a piece of email to a friend, well, okay, the first two aren't. What makes it hideous, however, is that these collections of works supposedly came out of the mouth of a real human. By the way, those were three pretty much chosen at random; I could have turned to any page and found 3 more just like them. Everything is like that. If reading those sentences above to yourself doesn't convert you to my opinion, try reading them out loud. Just try. Nobody would ever say any of those. Ever.
Unfortunately, characters insist on telling us what is going on with plastic sounding dialog and ridiculous turns of phrase that seaming go on forever. Making it even better, all of the characters have the same speech patterns, the same word choices, even down to the same cadence for the "in my head" thoughts. Oh yes, dear reader. We get not only to see the world from there perspective, but we get to hear inside the head of nearly every single person introduced, no matter how fleetingly. Jumping from head to head like a bad case of lice.
As you move through the book it slowly dawns on you that dialog is used so that the writer need not describe anything to which she can not attach the words "cute" or "charming" or "picturesque". At one point she sneaks into a morgue, and we are given no functional descriptions of the space. No colors, no smells, no sounds, nothing. Just piles of bad "telling not showing" dialog and random vacations from our main character into the heads of friend and foe alike.
Now, I'm a fast reader. I can easily finish a paperback in 3-5 hours, no problem. I've been known, in my earlier, less responsibility-laden days, to work though an entire stack in one marathon day, reclining in bed with a pots of tea and plates of food refreshed often. But not this time, I am sad to say. I've had this book 8 days now, and I'm on page 180 out of 242, and it's not due to lack of time to read. Every time I pick the book up, I get fewer pages read than the last time. I simply must stop before hurl the book across the room. (I've only ever thrown 2 books. They both richly deserved it.) I can hear my voice is getting louder and more shrill each time as I simply must comment, enthusiastically, to whomever is within hearing distance about how irritating this book is getting.
So, it is in the interest of preserving my friendships, marriage, and the will to live, that I have decided to leave dear Theodosia where she was on page 180, dining with her staff on overly silly pasta dish,which unlike anything relevant to the story, is described in excruciating detail. I will dream, with my dancing sugar plums, that she and everyone around her is hit by a freak hurricane, and washed off the face of the earth, and I will smile a small private smile.
Please, whatever you do, take my advice and don't read these books. I can't even imagine picking up a later book to see if the writing got any better. The guys are threatening to take the book out of my hands and burn it to make me stop reading it because it's making me so irritated. Save your families, dear readers, and don't go there. Trust me, there lie monsters.
*deep breath*
Oh, and for those that have interest and access, I wrote a couple of book reviews for the relaunched NWSFS quarterly magazine. Let me know what you think, as it may be possible that I'll have at least one review in the next issue as well. We'll see.
In other news, I've spent most of the day at home, or sharing meals with friends that were traveling through for one reason or another. I expect tomorrow will be equally split between time at the store and being home preparing for the feasts the next day. Brunch is going to include my special, risen over-night, cinnamon-crunch topped, potato yeast coffee cake. I only make it for Christmas morning, as it must rise at least 12 hours before baking, and when else do I have the time to do that?. Also, I think for dessert, after the salmon and new potatoes with lemon butter and dill, I will make my grandmother's chocolate pie recipe, which I've wanted to try for years and years, and inherited with her other recipes. Wish me luck.
Please everyone have a safe, happy, and restful holiday.
Honestly, it's not often I will read a book and not be able to see at least see some good in it. Even less common with an author that has been prolific enough to have more than a dozen books out. Don't get me wrong, I have more than once picked up a book and realized quickly that it wasn't to my taste. Nothing wrong with a book just because I don't like it. Usually I even see where the author was headed and respect their talent, but it's just not my cuppa tea, if you'll pardon the pun. As readers of this LJ will remember, I almost always have a book to recommend, or something I've just read that is exciting and fun. Sometimes even if I don't like the book, I understand why others will and don't need to read it myself. When this happens I smile, put the book down, and walk away. Sadly, I was unable to do that simple task this time. I harbor some small hope that venting my frustrations here will allow me the rest that has been stolen from me by this torture between two covers. But first, the back story.
For all of the 7 years I have been working full time as the Teacup "Boss Lady", people have been asking me if I've ever read the The Tea Shop Mysteries. They are a large series of mysteries, with a woman that runs a teashop in Charleston's historical district as their protagonist. Each is named for a tea (Death by Darjeeling is the first one), and each includes a cute teatime recipe and everything. After years of "not having the time" I decided to read them while I was winding down over the holiday break. It's usually an odd time where I have no work to do, but my flywheel is still spinning at overdrive from the previous 6+ weeks.
So, there we were, fair audience, at the UW bookstore on the Ave, picking up some holiday gifts last week when I happened upon them. I thought "how bad could it be?" and picked not not just the first one, but the second one, Gunpowder Green, as well.
Dear reader, you will have to imagine how, over the last week, I have struggled mightily. The opening chapter wasn't bad. Contrived, and more than a bit over telling, but it got me acquainted with the time, place, and people. You meet Theodosia, the teashop owner, and it was so true to life I read a paragraph or two to L, and we both laughed nervously at how close the author got to the real life of a teashop owner. Seeing one's own life down in the pages of a book is very gratifying and exposing at the same time. All together odd, I must say.
But then see, by the end of chapter 2 the murder happens, and it quickly goes from quirky to straight down the chute to ridiculous. The tea theme moves from "amusing background for our play" deep into "clearly contrived and farking annoying" with amazing rapidity. Still, I stuck it through, telling myself this was important to read for the store. I swallowed the silliness, like the long introduction for her mutt, named, of course, Earl Grey. This dog apparently runs around a sit-down high tea shop, which is beyond stupid. No health department in the country would allow it. I even managed to make it through her clearly wholesale caricature of one of the tea industry's luminaries, down to the shoes, mind you. But then the name dropping starts. Paragraphs with tea names crunched into the text willy-nilly. Literally cheek to jowl, they are crowbarred where they are so unnecessary as to be actively distracting. But there is worse yet, dear reader. You may ask yourself what could be worse than using my livelihood as a cheep stained satin back drop for this farce?
It is simple. The writing is truly awful. We're not taking run of the mill bad here, we're talking "Someone literally published this sheit TWELVE TIMES?" bad. The reader is moved from our main character's head randomly into the heads of those she interacts with, mid-page mid-scene, with no acknowledgment of text break or even a space, which ends up making your head spin as you find yourself scanning back in text to figure out what the heck is going on. But you needn't have bothered, as we stay there for 2, maybe 3, paragraphs and then are suddenly whisked back into our main character, also without visual references of any kind. I find this beyond annoying, as I have always felt that changing protagonist is a crutch for a writer that hasn't thought out their story completely. I'm willing to admit that some trans-generational, or trans-continental, or otherwise multi-faceted stories may require this, but I do so a bit grudgingly. This, gentle reader, is not that. It's lazy, terrible writing. It makes me want to find the editors that had to have worked on this piece of trash and string them up.
Even that I could stand if I must. I could push through, gritting my teeth and move forward if it wasn't also for the complete lack of skill the writer so clearly demonstrates. The story is chopped up nearly into gibberish. In places moving too fast to keep up, leaving you disoriented and confused, but more often it drags like a snow sled in July, forcing you to resist the urge to get up and do something more engaging and amusing, like... oh I don't know.... clean toilets with your toothbrush?. Then there is the dialog. It defies description. Decide for yourself, dear reader, have you ever heard anyone ever talk like this:
"I am delighted he came to a well deserved end"
"Plus, my taste buds have just been awakened and treated to this rather amazing Japanese tea"
"I haven't made the necessary decisions on graphics and Web architecture"
Now, these are all fine phrases for a piece of email to a friend, well, okay, the first two aren't. What makes it hideous, however, is that these collections of works supposedly came out of the mouth of a real human. By the way, those were three pretty much chosen at random; I could have turned to any page and found 3 more just like them. Everything is like that. If reading those sentences above to yourself doesn't convert you to my opinion, try reading them out loud. Just try. Nobody would ever say any of those. Ever.
Unfortunately, characters insist on telling us what is going on with plastic sounding dialog and ridiculous turns of phrase that seaming go on forever. Making it even better, all of the characters have the same speech patterns, the same word choices, even down to the same cadence for the "in my head" thoughts. Oh yes, dear reader. We get not only to see the world from there perspective, but we get to hear inside the head of nearly every single person introduced, no matter how fleetingly. Jumping from head to head like a bad case of lice.
As you move through the book it slowly dawns on you that dialog is used so that the writer need not describe anything to which she can not attach the words "cute" or "charming" or "picturesque". At one point she sneaks into a morgue, and we are given no functional descriptions of the space. No colors, no smells, no sounds, nothing. Just piles of bad "telling not showing" dialog and random vacations from our main character into the heads of friend and foe alike.
Now, I'm a fast reader. I can easily finish a paperback in 3-5 hours, no problem. I've been known, in my earlier, less responsibility-laden days, to work though an entire stack in one marathon day, reclining in bed with a pots of tea and plates of food refreshed often. But not this time, I am sad to say. I've had this book 8 days now, and I'm on page 180 out of 242, and it's not due to lack of time to read. Every time I pick the book up, I get fewer pages read than the last time. I simply must stop before hurl the book across the room. (I've only ever thrown 2 books. They both richly deserved it.) I can hear my voice is getting louder and more shrill each time as I simply must comment, enthusiastically, to whomever is within hearing distance about how irritating this book is getting.
So, it is in the interest of preserving my friendships, marriage, and the will to live, that I have decided to leave dear Theodosia where she was on page 180, dining with her staff on overly silly pasta dish,which unlike anything relevant to the story, is described in excruciating detail. I will dream, with my dancing sugar plums, that she and everyone around her is hit by a freak hurricane, and washed off the face of the earth, and I will smile a small private smile.
Please, whatever you do, take my advice and don't read these books. I can't even imagine picking up a later book to see if the writing got any better. The guys are threatening to take the book out of my hands and burn it to make me stop reading it because it's making me so irritated. Save your families, dear readers, and don't go there. Trust me, there lie monsters.
*deep breath*
Oh, and for those that have interest and access, I wrote a couple of book reviews for the relaunched NWSFS quarterly magazine. Let me know what you think, as it may be possible that I'll have at least one review in the next issue as well. We'll see.
In other news, I've spent most of the day at home, or sharing meals with friends that were traveling through for one reason or another. I expect tomorrow will be equally split between time at the store and being home preparing for the feasts the next day. Brunch is going to include my special, risen over-night, cinnamon-crunch topped, potato yeast coffee cake. I only make it for Christmas morning, as it must rise at least 12 hours before baking, and when else do I have the time to do that?. Also, I think for dessert, after the salmon and new potatoes with lemon butter and dill, I will make my grandmother's chocolate pie recipe, which I've wanted to try for years and years, and inherited with her other recipes. Wish me luck.
Please everyone have a safe, happy, and restful holiday.