Tag: Fiction

Book Review: The Mystery of Mercy Close, by Marian Keyes

I am, without a doubt, what can only be described as a die hard Marian Keyes fan.

I have read all of her books multiple times. She is one of a very few authors seen to be in the ‘Chic Lit’ genre I can abide (Jane Green is the only other consistent one). As a result of this, I was more than a little astonished when The Mystery of Mercy Close received such mixed reviews upon release. It came out in hardback first, which meant I had to wait, as all my other Keyes books are in paperback and I cannot tolerate mismatched books. Consequently, by the time I read it myself I was a little apprehensive, horribly worried that one of my favourite authors was slipping.

I’m happy to say that my concerns were completely and utterly groundless. The Mystery of Mercy Close is now by far one of my favourite Keyes books to date, and believe me that takes some doing. It ranks up there with Anybody Out There, and Angels; it has supplanted Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married as my number three. The reason for this is very simple, and is of course the reason I love Keyes so very much: this book is so painfully real.

Following Helen Walsh, the youngest of the Walsh clan and the last daughter of Keyes’ enigmatic, signature family to be given a book of her own, the narrative folds Helen’s money worries, as she struggles as a Private Investigator in the midst of Ireland’s recession, with how she, her friends, and her family handle her bouts of depression, and of course, with the mystery of the eponymous Mercy Close, home of Wayne Diffney, missing member of the fictitious Irish Boy Band, Ladz. At first, you wonder how all this will possibly fit together, but it does, if not quite in the absolutely seamless style to which Keyes fans will be accustomed, certainly in a manner that far surpasses anything a lesser author could pull off, if trying to write this book.

There is the feeling that the two main aspects of the plot—Wayne Diffney’s disappearance and Helen’s depression—clash slightly, and never quite gel in one perfectly plotted book. The book, however, is the better for this fact. Anyone who has suffered depression, or anything similar, will know the devastating effect it has, not only on your life, but also on your capacity to think. Things that used to make sense no longer do. Pieces of your life don’t fit together anymore, and you find yourself wondering how you can possibly be the person everyone is saying you have been for the last lifetime. In this sense, the novel itself is depressed. It doesn’t quite understand how its separate parts are supposed to function as a united whole. That is not to say, in any way, that it isn’t a brilliantly written novel. It is. However, the pervading opinion in many reviews that this ‘isn’t her best’ appears to be based on the misapprehension that this oddity in style is not completely purposeful, and reflective of the deeper meaning of the book.

As always with Keyes, the plot revolves around characters who are drawn to perfection, the dialogue is both pithy and at times hilarious, and quirks that can only be described as Marianisms about; as with the dreaded ‘Feathery Strokers’ of Rachel’s Holiday, Helen has her own hilarious perspectives and idioms (the most wonderful of which is, without a doubt, the Shovel List). It’s a well paced read, and vanishes in no time, and while it has moments of extreme seriousness and others of total heartbreak, it is also – thanks to the enigma of Helen Walsh – hilariously funny. Genuinely, completely, laugh out loud, borderline-hysterics, funny.

If it has one fault, it is that the Mystery is not as mysterious as it seems. The whereabouts of Diffney is obvious within a few pages, however the nature of the book is such that you actually forget you thought of the answer, as soon as the notion forms; right up to the end, you’re vacillating between one of about four or five possibilities, and just as you think you’re certain you’re right, something else happens that swings you in another direction. So, while the ultimate solution is (in hindsight) very obvious, the journey to it is exceptionally enjoyable.

It’s no secret that Keyes herself suffered a horrendous bout of prolonged depression, between her last fictional release, The Brightest Star in the Sky, and Mercy Close. What is startling however, is reading interviews she has given, and then reading this novel, for you realise that she has literally poured her own experiences into it. She has not simply drawn on the feelings she had, she has recounted life events on the page. Hideous, traumatic, and very personal life events.

Keyes’ desire to share her experiences is heroic. There are parts that can’t have been easy to write, and for many it won’t be easy to read, and this, surely, is another reason for the mixed reviews Mercy Close received. The majority of this book is not ‘feel good’, unlike Keyes’ other offerings which, while always having serious elements, are enjoyable to read the majority of the time. This book, however, is not meant to make people feel good. It is meant to raise awareness, and give people a real, genuine look inside the mind of a person who, for a while, isn’t quite thinking like themselves, or anyone else for that matter. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but necessary, if only so that those who have never experienced depression come to understand that ‘everyone feels down sometimes’ is a perfectly legitimate statement, but has nothing whatsoever to do with depression.

Book Review: The Year of the Food, by Margaret Atwood

You would think that having written so many post-apocalyptic novels over the years, Margaret Atwood’s offerings would have become stale, dull, or at the very least a little repetitive.

Not so.

At once a complex and simple tale of survival at the end of the world, her latest novel is The Year of the Flood, the sequel to the stunning Oryx and Crake.

Ren is an upmarket sex worker, trapped in her place of work.

Toby is a tired member of The Gardeners, a odd, underground, eco-warrior movement which predicted the man-made plague that has all but eradicated human life on the planet.

With peculiar animals created from gene-splicing and human meddling running amok, a growing concern over food, and the ever present question in each woman’s mind of whether they are, in fact, the only human alive on the planet, both tell their own tale of how they came to be where they were when the ‘waterless flood’ hit.

This is not a novel for easy reading, when you can’t really be bothered to pay too much attention to what is going on, and you don’t mind so much if there isn’t much of a plot, as long as it’s a fun read. This is the sort of novel you pick up and literally can’t put down until you know what happens. Atwood, as always, delivers perfect prose and gritty, yet sympathetic characters, who show us all too clearly how easy it would be to end up in a similar situation. From the Ren’s childhood memories of her best friend Amanda, to her more recent musings of life as a dancer in the fully-condoned sex trade, we see a vulnerable and somewhat tragic character, whose only real ambition in life has been to have a place where she belonged. Toby, on the other hand, has a hardness about her, a stubbornness, which allows her to survive as she has, and yet she also possesses – as we see from her earlier life – a similar vulnerability to Ren, and an unfulfilled craving for love.

These are two wonderfully drawn women, in a bizarre world that is falling apart, where morals and standards were turned upside down long before the plague wiped out most of the human population, and the survivors scrabbling for avoid death. As always with Atwood, it is difficult to read this and come away from it having simply read a good novel. Rather, you come away pondering, and continue to do so for some time to come, finding events from the book popping back into your head at strange times, and leaving you considering things you otherwise might never have thought to mull over.

Undoubtedly another splendid achievement for Atwood, leaving us in eager anticipation of MaddAddam’s release in August of this year, The Year of the Flood is a quirky and unique take on the possible fate of man, and the dangers of interfering with nature.

Book Review: Daughter of Smoke and Bone, by Laini Taylor

Like so many books published of late, Daughter of Smoke and Bone had what promised to be a wonderful premise. Pseudo-angels vs. pseudo-demons, with portals into the human world from the mysterious realm of Brimstone, the ‘Wishmonger’. A funky female protagonist, Karou, and all set in the beautiful city of Prague. Throw in a little forbidden romance and the stage is set. Karou is instantly a character with whom you wish to spend more time, if only to find out how such a peculiar human being came into existence. Karou herself has questions, not only about her life, but also about her inexplicable job as a globe-trotting trader in teeth.

Billed as Northern Lights meets Pan’s Labyrinth, this novel should be utterly spectacular.

Alas, while it started well, with complex and unique characters, and a relatively lively pace, it was soon plagued by the pit falls that have become many a book since the runaway popularity of the Twilight Saga. Clichés overtook the elements that were at first so absorbing, and it took the form of a story you have now read so many times, which you can put the book down as soon as it begins to unfold, for you already know exactly how it will play out, and exactly how it will end.

While the romantic aspect is present from the start, it is initially interspersed with an intriguing set of circumstances the reader is drawn into, and a puzzle you cannot help but need to solve. The writing is solid, not spectacular literature, but certainly far better than a lot of Young Adult material, with some beautiful descriptions and a smattering of amusing dialogue. Then there comes a point where the plot takes, what can only be described as, the Twilight Twist. The entire novel becomes about the romance, and as a consequence drops the aspects of the plot which were actually unique and interesting. Major events are somehow left unresolved as a brand new and totally unoriginal subplot pops up out of nowhere, overtaking the whole novel. You are left with the impression that the printers made an error, and stuck the first part of a promising novel to the second half of something very dull.

You feel cheated.

Another let down of the novel is its setting, for while there are some stunning descriptions of Prague, you get no sense at all of Czech culture; it’s an American novel on holiday. In addition there are several scenes – some of them quite lengthily – which have no real function, other than playing out what is obviously something the author thought was a fun idea. While there is no disputing that some of these scenes are, indeed, quite fun, others are simply girlish fantasies, the rest just plain dull.

The saving grace of Daughter of Smoke and Bone is, as with Twilight, as with Fifty Shades of Grey, that it is – at least for some people – wonderful escapology. For the actual Young Adult audience, there’s no doubt it’s a magnificent read, a fact attested by the popularity of the novel. For the older audience who still like to indulge their inner teen once in a while, the same can probably be said. For the rest of us though, who like a little more substance to the books we read, even when reading for an escape, it falls short. Worse still, one can only infer from the direction the novel takes that the best has already occurred, and the sequel will bring nothing but further disappointment.