I began reading it there and then, and was immediately struck by the very different style to what I usually read. When my car was ready, Alan the owner said I could take the novel away with me, so I did and carried on reading.
Why? Well, frankly it is so unlike anything I have read for many years that I wanted to see how Reichs ‘went about writing’. I have also recently decided to expand the range of what I read: we do tend to get stuck in our own reading rut and might well miss out on work which is equally as rewarding.
First of all that style. I did take some getting used to, but I got used to it, and I have to concede it is effective. Purists ‘passionate about literature’ will certainly sniff at that style in condescension, but as quite a bit of the
I was initially also a little put off by the incessant science: Reichs is a practising forensic anthropologist and we can assume she knows here stuff. Some readers might like all the science and might even be impressed by it.
Me, not so much. She does lay it on with a trowel and a little would go a long way. But what the hell, each to his or her own. Many like to get that kind of thing.
What Reichs can do and does well is to ‘tell a story’: in Monday Mourning we have not only a believable protagonist but several other players – three cops, several of her colleagues, a close friend, victims and members of the public – and Reichs successfully ‘creates a world’ beyond what might be called ‘the plot’.
Perhaps other writers in this genre also largely do so successfully, but I don’t and wouldn’t know because this is the first such novel of its kind I have read in at least 60 years. (That would have been Agatha Christie at school.)
‘The plot’ is also intriguing and has the requisite number of twists ’n turns, and takes you along with it: there is none of the silly grandstanding which can kill a book or film stone dead for me. It evolves in an intelligent manner.
I must add, though, that I was rather underwhelmed by ‘explanations’ or ‘solutions’ to some puzzling aspects of ‘the plot’. It seems these incidents (I shan’t mention them here) were in an odd way simply garnish, elements tacked on – they were in no way relevant, frankly – to boost suspense.
Yes, they certainly did that, but when we find out what lay behind them, it was all rather deflating. And the final, I suppose ‘exciting’ denouement did begin to drag a little and stretch credulity (well, mine at least).
But back to that style. Being unfamiliar with the genre I have no way of knowing whether it is quite commonplace or Reichs is one of only a few writers who adopt it.
It is certainly singular.
Staccato.
Brief.
Effective.
One typographical trick Reichs employs, although I can’t know whether this was her idea or was pragmatically suggested by her publisher, is to start many sentences – and each of those staccato words – on a new line.
Like this.
Why?
The type is also large.
It’s 12pt.
Why?
Well, as far as I can see for a very simple reason: it makes the book – the physical book you spot on a bookstore shelf and take out to examine – seem bigger and thicker and assures you that you would be getting your money’s worth.
My 2004 edition sold for £8.99/$11. Now, just under 20 years later that price will have gone up so you want to be assured your pounds and dollars are paying off.
But frankly Monday Mourning is not really that big: my copy, at 3.5cm thick, 11cm wide and 17.8cm long, runs to 430 pages. In a smaller point size – 10pt would certainly do or even 9pt is quite common – and in a larger book format it might well have come to half that number of pages.
But for the punter in a branch of WH Smiths, Waterstones or Hudsons a thick 430 pages is more impressive than a far slimmer volume: ‘I want something to read, man!’
I honestly think Reichs had nothing to do with the typographical or marketing decisions of this book or any of her others. And I must remind myself it is her book, Monday Mourning, I am reviewing (and, er, I don’t really like the title pun which is a little too obvious more my tastes).
So there you have it: if this genre is your bag, go for it, because I’m very sure you could do a lot, lot worse. You get ‘a story’ and ‘a mystery’, loads ’n loads ’n loads of ‘detail’, one or two other puzzles – who is the mystery, dark-haired woman Tempe’s cop boyfriend is suddenly spending so much time with – and an entertaining read.
If I come across as a little less enthusiastic than I might, it has nothing to do with Reichs or her novel. It’s simply this isn’t really my bag; and for that reason I shall not go out of my way to read another of Reichs novels, mainly because I suspect it will be a re-run of Monday Mourning but with a different ‘plot’.
My one big takeaway is that style (though I shan’t call it unique because for all I know it isn’t at all unique).
So the challenge is this: find some way of re-working that style while staying true to its essence so that the cruddy literary ‘purists’ will not sniff in disdain, but instead roll out their collection admiring superlatives – ‘innovative’, ‘experimental’, ‘daring’, ‘brave’ and so on – to ensure I also get a literary award, too. I’d bloody love to be offered one so that I could then turn it down.
What Reichs can do and does well is to ‘tell a story’: in Monday Mourning we have not only a believable protagonist but several other players – three cops, several of her colleagues, a close friend, victims and members of the public – and Reichs successfully ‘creates a world’ beyond what might be called ‘the plot’.
Perhaps other writers in this genre also largely do so successfully, but I don’t and wouldn’t know because this is the first such novel of its kind I have read in at least 60 years. (That would have been Agatha Christie at school.)
‘The plot’ is also intriguing and has the requisite number of twists ’n turns, and takes you along with it: there is none of the silly grandstanding which can kill a book or film stone dead for me. It evolves in an intelligent manner.
I must add, though, that I was rather underwhelmed by ‘explanations’ or ‘solutions’ to some puzzling aspects of ‘the plot’. It seems these incidents (I shan’t mention them here) were in an odd way simply garnish, elements tacked on – they were in no way relevant, frankly – to boost suspense.
Yes, they certainly did that, but when we find out what lay behind them, it was all rather deflating. And the final, I suppose ‘exciting’ denouement did begin to drag a little and stretch credulity (well, mine at least).
But back to that style. Being unfamiliar with the genre I have no way of knowing whether it is quite commonplace or Reichs is one of only a few writers who adopt it.
It is certainly singular.
Staccato.
Brief.
Effective.
One typographical trick Reichs employs, although I can’t know whether this was her idea or was pragmatically suggested by her publisher, is to start many sentences – and each of those staccato words – on a new line.
Like this.
Why?
The type is also large.
It’s 12pt.
Why?
Well, as far as I can see for a very simple reason: it makes the book – the physical book you spot on a bookstore shelf and take out to examine – seem bigger and thicker and assures you that you would be getting your money’s worth.
My 2004 edition sold for £8.99/$11. Now, just under 20 years later that price will have gone up so you want to be assured your pounds and dollars are paying off.
But frankly Monday Mourning is not really that big: my copy, at 3.5cm thick, 11cm wide and 17.8cm long, runs to 430 pages. In a smaller point size – 10pt would certainly do or even 9pt is quite common – and in a larger book format it might well have come to half that number of pages.
But for the punter in a branch of WH Smiths, Waterstones or Hudsons a thick 430 pages is more impressive than a far slimmer volume: ‘I want something to read, man!’
I honestly think Reichs had nothing to do with the typographical or marketing decisions of this book or any of her others. And I must remind myself it is her book, Monday Mourning, I am reviewing (and, er, I don’t really like the title pun which is a little too obvious more my tastes).
So there you have it: if this genre is your bag, go for it, because I’m very sure you could do a lot, lot worse. You get ‘a story’ and ‘a mystery’, loads ’n loads ’n loads of ‘detail’, one or two other puzzles – who is the mystery, dark-haired woman Tempe’s cop boyfriend is suddenly spending so much time with – and an entertaining read.
If I come across as a little less enthusiastic than I might, it has nothing to do with Reichs or her novel. It’s simply this isn’t really my bag; and for that reason I shall not go out of my way to read another of Reichs novels, mainly because I suspect it will be a re-run of Monday Mourning but with a different ‘plot’.
My one big takeaway is that style (though I shan’t call it unique because for all I know it isn’t at all unique).
So the challenge is this: find some way of re-working that style while staying true to its essence so that the cruddy literary ‘purists’ will not sniff in disdain, but instead roll out their collection admiring superlatives – ‘innovative’, ‘experimental’, ‘daring’, ‘brave’ and so on – to ensure I also get a literary award, too. I’d bloody love to be offered one so that I could then turn it down.
No comments:
Post a Comment