The Silence by Daisy PearceMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
Another case of a bridge too far, this is a decent book that could have been great but for the heavy-handed prose. Pearce takes a straight forward story that builds suspense and turns it on its ear, drowning in self-indulgent writing that takes itself far too seriously. Characters spend too much time opining in paragraph after paragraph of over-written narrative.
“I study him. He has a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw, shocks of grey in his hair. We’ve been together just two months and are still at the stage of our relationship when we want to devour each other, sinking our teeth into each other’s names, the details, the rich smell of him in the crook of his neck. Perhaps that’s why I can’t tell him where the money went. Perhaps that’s why the lie slips from my mouth like ribbon being pulled from between my lips. ‘I don’t”
Beyond just the morose text that drips like thick, wet seaweed from the page (what can I tell you—it must be contagious), there is just no great mystery here as to what is simmering between the lines. The gathering suspense isn’t the result of some tremendous secret suddenly revealed, as even the least astute of readers will see through the gaslighting and wonder why Stella, the main character, is so ridiculously naive.
Clearly, Pearce is a talented author, able to create incredible tone that resonates and builds. She is just in desperate need of an editor to reel her in when she gets lost in melodrama that steals the spotlight and disengages the reader.
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