Acting on my long held idea that "any bane of Oprah's is a friend of mine," I purchased the book. That was my first mistake. An ardent believer that most modern American (and English) fiction is largely unreadable, I have generally avoided the work of such contemporary luminaries as Cormac McCarthy, E. Annie Proulx, Toni Morrison et al. in favor of the dusty older works of authors long since gone to the great bookstore in the sky. However, every so often I venture to read a select modern work based on the ardent recommendation of friends in whom I put my trust or reviewers held in high regard. Both failed me in this present case.
The idea for the story is not a bad one, although it does tend to fixate on the negative aspects of contemporary society (not unlike the dysfunctionalia of so many other writers today), and leaves one with the vague feeling that the author attended one too many screenings of "American Beauty." However, even mediocre plot can be saved with exceptional writing. Alas, no rescue was forthcoming with this work.
Whether it is simply a lack of education on rhetoric, an inability to gently lead the reader into the story, or simply too much television is difficult to determine. The fact remains that the characters simply spring up from the void upon the textual stage, fully trusting in the reader to comprehend them, their activities, and their motives. Scenes are choppy and distorted, either lacking crucial details necessary for a fully developed picture to be achieved or awash in too many details irrelevant to the action. Then there is the question of empathy.
To become engrossed in any story, you must either hate or love at least one character. In The Corrections neither is possible. There is no connection made from the reader to the characters, thus half way through the reader is left not caring how the story finally resolves. For all the empathy elicited, the result doesn't matter. That, and that more than anything else, is this story's primary failure.
Acting on my long held idea that "any bane of Oprah's is a friend of mine," I purchased the book. That was my first mistake. An ardent believer that most modern American (and English) fiction is largely unreadable, I have generally avoided the work of such contemporary luminaries as Cormac McCarthy, E. Annie Proulx, Toni Morrison et al. in favor of the dusty older works of authors long since gone to the great bookstore in the sky. However, every so often I venture to read a select modern work based on the ardent recommendation of friends in whom I put my trust or reviewers held in high regard. Both failed me in this present case. The idea for the story is not a bad one, although it does tend to fixate on the negative aspects of contemporary society (not unlike the dysfunctionalia of so many other writers today), and leaves one with the vague feeling that the author attended one too many screenings of "American Beauty. " However, even mediocre plot can be saved with exceptional writing. Alas, no rescue was forthcoming with this work. Whether it is simply a lack of education on rhetoric, an inability to gently lead the reader into the story, or simply too much television is difficult to determine. The fact remains that the characters simply spring up from the void upon the textual stage, fully trusting in the reader to comprehend them, their activities, and their motives. Scenes are choppy and distorted, either lacking crucial details necessary for a fully developed picture to be achieved or awash in too many details irrelevant to the action. Then there is the question of empathy. To become engrossed in any story, you must either hate or love at least one character. In The Corrections neither is possible. There is no connection made from the reader to the characters, thus half way through the reader is left not caring how the story finally resolves. For all the empathy elicited, the result doesn't matter. That, and that more than anything else, is this story's primary failure.