Review: The Likely Resolutions of Oliver Clock

The Likely Resolutions of Oliver Clock by Jane Riley
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I just turned the last page of this unique novel and find myself ambivalent regarding its merits. Whilst the writing is solid, the structure well-constructed, there was just something missing.

Oliver Clock is a 39 year old man experiencing his very own midlife crisis. As his name implies, his clock is ticking, and he has suddenly become acutely aware of his lot in life. Oliver inherited the family business (a funeral home that enjoyed reputable status within the community) when his father quite suddenly passed away. This unexpected loss thrust Oliver into the role of running the entire enterprise, though his overbearing and rather abrasive mother retains 20% ownership and a highly coveted 99% of the decision making. Oliver is alone and lonely, though he fantasizes about a woman whom he professes to love from afar—the married florist who does the majority of the floral pieces for the funerals Oliver organizes. The story follows Oliver through his 39th year of life as he faces tremendous personal loss, becomes mired in his grief, then seeks redemption through a reawakening of self. It is this painfully slow journey toward self awareness that consumes the majority of the pages.

The story told is a straightforward first-person narrative from Oliver’s perspective, and so we must trust that he is a reliable narrator—even as we discover him to be a profoundly boring character. I never felt invested enough to root Oliver on or to wish him ill-will. In fact, the same held true for each of the characters—rather flat and predictable, with a few even portrayed as cringe-worthy stereotypes. I found myself simply disinterested and reading to just muddle through in order to finish the book.

The single redeeming factor was the author’s generous use of both similes and metaphors, figurative language that brought to life the colorful visuals. There are no true stunning moments, but rather a gentle integration of details that lifted the story from the pages and tickled the senses. For example, these few sentences when Oliver draws a bath and adds perfumed elements to the water:

“Instantly the water went yellow and fizzed like sherbet. Purple cornflower petals swirled like tea leaves. Steam aromatic with an oily fragrance curled up from the bath.”

Additionally, for those who appreciate a very dry humor, there are a few moments sprinkled throughout that tease a smile. For the most part, however, it’s a painful drudge as the story stumbles toward a predictable conclusion without ever gaining any momentum.

This author is clearly gifted, and as I’ve never read any of her other work, I cannot attest to growth or movement in her abilities. In the end, however, I’d leave this one on the shelf.


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