Well

While I was out looking for a new cookbook I picked up a remaindered copy of The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry; it seemed like the sort of novel I'd like (Victorian era, monster storyline, female lead.) I also saw that it was the author's second book, which gave me pause. I prefer to wait to read a new-to-me writer until after they have at least six major works published, as the initial efforts (especially the first two) are usually problematic.

Keep in mind what follows are just my opinions, and allow for the fact that I am still quite upset with the book and myself for reading it all. I also debated a hundred times whether or not to actually post this write-up. I do think this author has a great deal of potential that I hope time and experience can develop.

With ongoing hope it would improve I did read the entire book. Issues started off minor but quickly multipled. Fundamentally it was the sort of kitchen sink novel that writers can't often avoid during their first years as pro (I don't say this to be patronizing; mine was a genre version of this, so I'm just as guilty.) It did seem to have a strong plot and defined characters and interesting settings, and sometimes books that start off badly get better, so I kept reading.

Unhappily the plot got lost, the characters never lived up to their definitions and (despite endless descriptions) the settings somehow faded into the background, which is why I won't bothering detailing any of them. The literary everyone and anything POV mashup with incessant head hopping was likely a flounce of the author's skirts at convention. Since this is hostile toward the average reader it made the book particularly unpleasant and perpetually jarring to read. Might be why it was remaindered, too. Who wants to read stories that keep kicking you out of them? I also got the sense this was poorly edited, if at all, which surprised me. British novels are usually extremely well-edited.

The author suffered from thesaurusitis (I now know every synonym for the color blue, for example) and an earnest need to impress. This is forgiveable. Other problems, not so much. Nearly all of the male characters are tarred and feathered with contemptuous styling; they all seem to be over-privileged, self-indulgent narcissists incapable of caring for themselves. They spend most of their time whining and relying on the female characters to bail them out of trouble. Certainly some men can be insufferable, and I'm sure everyone knows a guy like that, but not all are like this. My guy isn't. My dad wasn't. That collective misandry made my temper go into the red ranges.

The attempts to be literary by the author resulted in for me nearly unreadable chapters, meanderings away from the plotline, too many odd scenes that served no purpose, cardboard characters, characters who seemed to serve only as Bobs (explainers for the reader, in the sense of "As you know, Bob, yada yada yada) and descriptions that actually turned my stomach. The author's dialogue deafness likewise hampered the story (nearly all the characters sounded exactly like each other and without the name/said tags would have been impossible to identify by their lines, aka the litmus test for dialogue deafness.) None of the characters were at all admirable or even likeable, and nearly all of them did things that did not sit well with me. This book has neither hero nor heroine, just a bunch of selfish wafflers who can't be true to their own (and myriad, and overly inflated) opinions of themselves. Even the children characters made me shudder from time to time.

It all made for a truly miserable read, and by the end of the book that became quite exhausting for me.

An odd thing cropped up in the about the author section in the back, in which there's a mock interview with the author that was probably done by e-mail. The reporter claims that the author had a strict Baptist upbringing and was forbidden from reading any twentieth-century fiction. The author corrects the reporter and claims there was no contemporary culture like television or pop music in the house. Well, I had a very similar upbringing, but I never let it hamper me. In fact I went to the library on my own and read all the forbidden books there, and watched television shows while my mom was at work. With enough determination and motivation one can always find a way.

Obviously I can't recommend The Essex Serpent, but only hope that the television series is better than the novel. If the author wrote the screenplay I'd pass on that, too.