Review: The Handmaid's Tale

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Atwood is an acquired taste. Kind of like green olives or caviar. You need to commit to the experience, then find the fortitude to push through the first few pages— or put the book down and try again in a few weeks/months/years. As our experiences change so does our relationship to and engagement in the text. It was finally time for me to crack this one open. I was ready.

First, one must understand that Atwood’s style is detached and informal, messy and chaotic. The narrator, Offred (not her real name, but rather a generic label given as a way to further strip her of her individuality), tells the story through a sharing of her memories, sometimes stopping mid sentence to admit to being unreliable and then retelling the narrative as it “really” happened. It can be difficult to follow as she meanders from past to present with little structure. The beauty, however, is that once you have immersed yourself, the stories she tells become all-encompassing in their horror.

When this was initially published, many found it to be almost too dystopian in nature. Women’s rights are set back decades, and men are running the show. A contingent of seditious far-right Christian men kill the president, shoot up the Capital and leave every politician and left-thinking scholar in a tangled pile of decay following a bloody coup. It’s a new day, where woman serve to either procreate or indulge their husbands. Single women become Handmaids, who bear children for those wealthy and unable, settling between the legs of the wives and spreading their own, while the husbands attempt to impregnate them. The positional logistics are repeated again when it’s time for the Handmaid to give birth, after which the baby, should it survive, is ceremoniously given to the man who impregnated her and the wife who wrapped her own legs around the Handmaid as she conceived. Many of the babies, due to contaminates in a decaying world, are born only to die. There is no prenatal testing, no option to terminate. Babies who aren’t perfect when they emerge from the Handmaid’s womb are labeled shredders. No one is quite sure what becomes of them, though the implication is that they are killed or left to die. Those who refuse to become Handmaids (too old, too ill, too poor) are sent to Colonies, where the work is both dangerous and demeaning. One day might mean cleaning up rotting corpses from a recent battle. The next might bring a radioactive area that needs to be decontaminated. Life for colonists is difficult and short. It can be equally so for those who agree to be handmaids as they face a three strike rule, sent from household to household to be impregnated. Failure equates to death. There is always the option to perhaps become a prostitute and work in one of the forbidden clubs run by those in charge—the men with means. Women who choose this option are first sterilized so as not to muddy the waters of the organization. The written word has been abolished for women, men are the keepers of all monies, and a community wall serves as a showcase for detractors and those insistent upon resistance and rebellion, where hooded bodies hang from hooks as a warning: a reminder of what it means to say “no”. Women who remember the past are living out their days/months/years by paving the way for a generation that will know no different—girls born to become receptacles and incubators.

More recent readers, and those who reflect back, will find themselves with goosebumps and the tiny hairs standing on the backs of their necks. The far right, in the shadow of January 6 and led by the resounding bass of the Supreme Court, has begun the march over the rights of women, and while many are lowering their gaze and standing ostrich-like, head deep in the sand, the band continues to play. Atwood reminds us of the consequences of such ignorance and feigned obliviousness.

Five big stars, another certain spike in my level of anxiety and a few guaranteed nightmares—and I am waiting a bit before tackling the next book in the series. I need to reset and make sure the world isn’t truly imploding.

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Review: Nineteen Minutes

Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I waited a long time to tackle this one. As an urban high school teacher who has lost countless students to violence, I was wary of the subject matter here. I was right to be. The character development employed by Picoult is nothing short of brilliant. In lifting these characters from the pages, however, Picoult broke my heart into tiny little shards of glass that have continued, long after closing the book, to pierce my conscience. This is a rough ride that left me realizing just how close to the truth this author has aimed and how accurately she has portrayed the depth of cruelty that teenagers experience at the hands of one another. I carry my own scars from bullying, almost 45 years after the fact, and felt every push, shove, insult and humiliation to which the main character, Peter, was subjected. This one will live with me for a very, very long time.

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Review: The Resort

The Resort by Sue Watson
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

First, this book was simply awful. Second, I have no idea why I persevered and finished it. If I’d had a lick of sense, I would have closed the cover after the first ten pages and moved along. Third, do yourself a favor and learn from my mistake—hours wasted on what can only be described as utter nonsense.

The story is that of three couples, meeting for the first time whilst on holiday at Fitzgerald’s, a posh, exclusive resort. Now this could have been a great name for a lavish getaway situated on its very own island. Instead, however, it is rendered positively cringeworthy the moment the second couple is introduced—Tom and Daisy. (No, I’m not kidding. F. Scott is somewhere in the ether, downing migraine meds and praying he doesn’t have a stroke.). When a Fitzgerald’s waitress is found dead on the beach, no one knows for sure whether it is murder or suicide, but finger-pointing runs amuck, and everyone is a suspect.

There are so many issues here I’m not even sure where to begin. The character development is abhorrent—not a single one likable or even interesting. It’s as if the author created these shells she intended to imbue with personalities but then realized a couple hundred pages in that she had forgotten to do so. Their behaviors are inconsistent and erratic, up and down more often than a whore’s drawers. In case that isn’t enough of a deterrent to keep turning pages, there are also numerous errors in continuity. One of my favorites is as chapter five opens, and Daisy is on her way to the beach:

“Daisy climbed down the rather rickety wooden steps to the beach, and once there pulled off her sandals, immediately soothed by the feeling of warm sand between her toes. She stood at the bottom of the stairs…”

In THE VERY NEXT PARAGRAPH:

“She tried not to think of what might have been and counted her blessings as she stood quietly at the top of the wooden steps down to the beach, her art director’s eye scanning the view for shots.”

Come on, seriously? It’s a ONE PARAGRAPH follow through!

Here’s another gem:

“‘You sure you’re okay?’ Sam was saying. ‘You look terribly pale.’

To Sam, she probably looked like the picture of sophistication drinking Aperol in her chichi beachwear, but in truth she was just a scared and fragile woman.”

So Sam tells Daisy she looks pale, and Daisy interprets that to mean Sam sees her as a picture of sophistication? I….but….::sigh::

Those are just two examples of the myriad issues that plague this book. Although classified as a “mystery”, the only true mystery is how The Resort made it to publication. This editor needs to be in the unemployment line whilst seeking training for a new career.

Reading back, I realize the brutality of this review, but it truly angers me to spend hard earned money to purchase a book that I then invest time into reading, only to discover that clearly my own investments are far more than those made by the author.

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Review: The Measure

The Measure by Nikki Erlick
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is one of the most intriguing books I think I may have ever read. The premise is that one spring evening, everyone in the world over the age of 22 awakens to discover a small box. For some it’s on the doorstep, for others it is outside of the homeless shelter where they are seeking refuge, while still others find it outside of their tents, apartments, etc. No one is spared the gift. Inside the indestructible box is an equally indestructible length of string, and the exterior of each is inscribed “The measure of your life lies within”. It doesn’t take long for people to postulate that the length of the string is equal to the length of one’s life. Scientists are eventually able to prove this theory, and the world is suddenly thrust into a society of “long stringers” vs. “short stringers”. How we as human beings square off and either lose or find our humanity when we know the exact time we will leave this earth is at the crux of the tale. Some turn to religion; some turn to one another. Some seek isolation and still others seek meaningful connections. There are those who take full advantage of the fear that grips the nation in an effort to further their own agendas. Some simply refuse to open the boxes at all. No matter the response, the fact remains that life for every living being is forever altered.

The characters brought to life by author Nikki Erlick are simply brilliant in their complexity. They each have just enough depth to be relatable without Erlick falling into the minutiae of their lives. Each has a story that is filled with heartbreak and hope, and though some of the plot direction is visible many pages in advance, the reader is nonetheless moved to shed tears for these fictional yet oh-so-real people whom Erlick breathes into being.

Whether or not you are a sci-fi fan, set aside any preconceived notions and allow yourself to get lost in the pages here. You won’t regret a single moment. Five big gold stars.

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Review: Schooled

Schooled by Ted Fox
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Whilst this book did offer some amusing anecdotes, the overall “feel” was that the author was just trying too hard and stretching for the laugh.

The upshot is that Jack, a recently unemployed father of two, suddenly finds himself a stay at home dad. His successful wife Kayla, an accountant, swings out the door each day and increasingly travels for her work (a scenario that eventually becomes tiresome for both husband and wife), as Jack spends his days changing diapers, doing the laundry and taking care of the kids. When Jack encounters his high school nemesis during a school drop off (Lulu, his oldest has just started kindergarten), the game is a afoot as both decide to jump into elementary school politics and run for president of the Active Alpacas Parent Board.

Without providing spoilers, suffice it to say that the reason Jack is unemployed is due to a ludicrous series of events that happen right out of the gate, setting the tone of “oh-come-on-now” that pervades the remaining pages.

Three stars, mostly for effort.

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Review: The Drift

The Drift by C.J. Tudor
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

As a rabid fan of post apocalyptic fiction, I was beyond excited to read this new release by CJ Tudor. I dove in feet first, but it didn’t take long to feel as if I was drowning in details that were too obscure to connect. From the first page, I was thrown off balance and truly puzzled about where Tudor was headed. I could find no frame of reference to allow me to place the characters into a scenario that made sense and instead spent an inordinate amount of time trying to manufacture connections that would allow me to find an actual story I could follow. There just wasn’t enough background to anchor the events. Whilst the writing itself is on point, the structure and lack of depth just made for a chaotic read. Add to that a series of similar characters who remained flat and lifeless, and the result is a selection I would recommend leaving on the shelf.

The book unfolds in cycling chapters that focus on three different locations where characters are caught in the aftermath of a viral epidemic. One group finds themselves trapped on a bus that crashed during a snowstorm, while the second group of six is stuck high in the frigid air on a stalled cable car.. All, in both locations, were volunteers en route to “The Retreat”, an isolated former ski lodge now functioning as a facility focused on finding a vaccine. It is at that research institution that the reader finds the third and final group, a diverse mix of men and women engaged in various nefarious activities. One fact is made crystal clear—in each location, and to a person, everyone is harboring secrets.

From the beginning, the chapters exist in isolation. No group has knowledge of any of the others, and so the reader is left with the impression that they are reading three separate stories, related only by the virus that has decimated the world around them. The expectation, of course, is that the reader is being set up for a grand intersection. I have seen this technique utilized successfully when links between those parallel plots are revealed before they again divert and gain traction as completely separate storylines. They eventually spiral down into a single event that melds them seamlessly together when the plots collide, leaving the reader wondering how they missed the connections. Here, however, Tudor waits far too long to offer the reader any common threads. Instead, the stories stand apart with no clear relationship to one another, each weaving distinct paths that at times become tedious in their ambiguity. There’s a fine line between expecting the reader to infer and dissect clues and making the clues so obscure that it is nearly impossible to follow them to any logical conclusion, Tudor never closes the gap between the storylines in any satisfying way, and when the big picture is finally made clear (too little, too late), the result was, for me, a big “so what”.

Character development, or lack thereof, is another disappointment. In each group, the characters aren’t just eerily similar, they are near carbon copies, down to their vocabulary and the cadence of their speech. Some of these similarities are eventually explained, but others are just the result of inadequate character development. It’s as if Tudor storyboarded four or five stock character sketches, then recycled them as he moved forward.

Overall, the promise of a post-apocalyptic tale was replaced with a story borne of revenge and violence, structured in a way that left me disconnected and unable to invest.

I am grateful to NetGalley and Random House Publishing (Ballantine Books) for allowing me to receive an ARC in exchange for an honest review. Publication is set for January 31, 2023, at which time I look forward to reading other reactions and reviews.

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Review: The Quarry Girls

The Quarry Girls by Jess Lourey
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I will admit that after the uncomfortable preface, I didn’t expect to enjoy this book one bit. Anout twenty pages in, however, I found myself completely hooked. Jess Lourey has taken all the parts of a small-town rural upbringing in the 70s and poured them onto pages that chronicle the lives of those of us who as children were also finding ourselves during that tumultuous time. The cultural references were spot on and also brought with them a profound sense of authenticity that made the tragic events of that summer somehow personal.

Lourey makes a few decisions in her telling of the story that may not sit well with some readers. She never offers in-the-moment retellings of the more difficult events in the book but rather chooses, in most chapters, to reside authentically within the mind of teenage Heather, the narrator. Lourey allows the reader to see the entire story unfold as if seen through Heather’s eyes and stays true to the teenage angst. Scattered chapters are told in a third person limited point of view from the perspective of a young waitress held captive, and those pages, too, reveal a depth of emotion and insight that allowed me to fully suspend any disbelief.

Quarry Girls is a title I expect to see on any number of “Best of 2022” lists—and deservedly so.

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