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juushikaI think I'll start out the year by alternately reading rereads and new (to me) books. I'm sitting on a stack of rereads and sinking into them is very quiet and comforting—and with rereads there's no pressure to review, which is also sometimes a relief. But I'm also itching to talk books. Nevermind that I'm still neck-deep in Persona 3, I've been feeling bookish lately and a little more social than my usual hermitude—a coffee shop and novel reading mood, were I the kind to leave the house on my own. Instead, I blabber on books here, so a few new reads and relearning how to write reviews should scratch that itch.
I just finished rereading In The Woods by Tana French early this morning (original review), and it was a different experience this time. Murder mysteries rely on the mystery for plot and to engage the reader; it's been over a year since I read In The Woods but I have a good memory for books, and so there was little mystery for me in this reread. Instead, what held my attention was picking up on all the clues as they were dropped—solving it a step ahead of the investigation rather than a step behind. The atmosphere wasn't as engaging, but it was almost more skillful a book to be able to see every puzzle piece slot together.
The biggest impression left on me, though, was just how brutal French's novels are. The Likeness, this book's sequel, has a different protagonist and an entirely different atmosphere—more romantic, where In The Woods tends towards horror—but both are similar in what they do and how they do it: French builds believable protagonists, gives them sympathetic and intriguing backstories, puts them in idealized situations and friendships which are all the more perfect for those backstories, and then dedicates her novel to smashing that hard-won, beautiful life into fragments finer than dust. She builds beauty and obliterates it, and it is heartbreaking—for her characters, who are left in ruins; for the reader, who falls so in love with the character and the setting as to share that loss.
Depressing as that is, it doesn't too me feel unsatisfactory. Because the writing, plot, characterization is skillful—they're good novels (if perhaps not great) from an objective standpoint. But also because most books have to balance the reader's loss against his gain, and French's novels do: they are examples of "better to have loved and lost." Cassie and Rob in the first book have beautiful intimacy and repartee; Cassie in the second book ensconces herself in a hallowed sanctuary that has stuck firmer in my memory than the book's plot. That both are swiftly, brutally destroyed is heartbreaking—but it is worth it to at least glimpse at them first. What differentiates French's novels from any trade paperback murder mystery is that they have aspects like this—atmosphere, relationships, and loss—to weigh equally against the question of whodunnit. These aren't my favorite novels, but they are solidly constructed and thoughtful little books, they are much more than I expect from the genre and they are a joy—and a great pain—to read and to reread.
(Ironic, yes, that a not-review is nearly longer than the official thing.)
But for now, I think I'm onto a fresh novel before I pick up The Likeness for a reread.
I just finished rereading In The Woods by Tana French early this morning (original review), and it was a different experience this time. Murder mysteries rely on the mystery for plot and to engage the reader; it's been over a year since I read In The Woods but I have a good memory for books, and so there was little mystery for me in this reread. Instead, what held my attention was picking up on all the clues as they were dropped—solving it a step ahead of the investigation rather than a step behind. The atmosphere wasn't as engaging, but it was almost more skillful a book to be able to see every puzzle piece slot together.
The biggest impression left on me, though, was just how brutal French's novels are. The Likeness, this book's sequel, has a different protagonist and an entirely different atmosphere—more romantic, where In The Woods tends towards horror—but both are similar in what they do and how they do it: French builds believable protagonists, gives them sympathetic and intriguing backstories, puts them in idealized situations and friendships which are all the more perfect for those backstories, and then dedicates her novel to smashing that hard-won, beautiful life into fragments finer than dust. She builds beauty and obliterates it, and it is heartbreaking—for her characters, who are left in ruins; for the reader, who falls so in love with the character and the setting as to share that loss.
Depressing as that is, it doesn't too me feel unsatisfactory. Because the writing, plot, characterization is skillful—they're good novels (if perhaps not great) from an objective standpoint. But also because most books have to balance the reader's loss against his gain, and French's novels do: they are examples of "better to have loved and lost." Cassie and Rob in the first book have beautiful intimacy and repartee; Cassie in the second book ensconces herself in a hallowed sanctuary that has stuck firmer in my memory than the book's plot. That both are swiftly, brutally destroyed is heartbreaking—but it is worth it to at least glimpse at them first. What differentiates French's novels from any trade paperback murder mystery is that they have aspects like this—atmosphere, relationships, and loss—to weigh equally against the question of whodunnit. These aren't my favorite novels, but they are solidly constructed and thoughtful little books, they are much more than I expect from the genre and they are a joy—and a great pain—to read and to reread.
(Ironic, yes, that a not-review is nearly longer than the official thing.)
But for now, I think I'm onto a fresh novel before I pick up The Likeness for a reread.
