Hello,
I sat down to write my review on a book I've finished and mom said no you're going to review this. She handed me "The Inverted Forest" by John Dalton. It's a book from her stupid book club she has in the dining room once a month. At first I said h*** no, hag. mom said if you want lasagna ever again you will. So I agreed. I mean the lasagna was still digesting in my stomach when we had this discussion. I didn't want it to be the last time I ever had mom's lasagna.
The only reason I started this book was to eat that lasagna again and it was the only thing keeping me reading after the first three chapters. This book is awful. John Dalton must have written this in a week. The only thing good about reading this book is now I know I can have lasagna after I finish this report.
To the report. Damn you, mom.
Think of the most boring thing you can say to someone after you meet them. Try this: "Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Doug...how bout that weather?" Doesn't leave a good first impression does it? Because talking about the weather is what you say when you have nothing else to say. John Dalton's novel "The Inverted Forest" starts off with this awkward I-don't-know-what-to-say introduction. He's asking you to buy his book and invest yourself into his writing and he starts off with a weather report. The actual line is "A night breeze lifted the dark skirts of the forest." OH MY GOD THE FIRST LINE HAS ONE OF THE WORDS FROM THE TITLE IN IT! GENIUS! GIVE THIS MAN A PULITZER! Or don't buy this book. Sure, the first line grounds the reader in a setting, but let us not forget that it's the FIRST LINE OF A NOVEL. It's supposed to win the reader, it's supposed to be the conversation starter not the bland "I have nothing better to say to you than comment on the weather at this particular point in time" introduction.
Think of your favorite story. Chances are it's your favorite because it gripped you within the first few lines and never let go. Go back to it and see if it starts with a weather report. Here are a few of mine. From "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy "When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him." From "Uglies" by Scott Westerfield "The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit." Each of these engage the reader and have a mystery or uniqueness to them that hooks the reader and keeps them moving to the next line.
Now that I have that out of the way I can give a brief summary about the story. The story takes place at a summer camp where the counselors are hired under the impression that they will be taking care of children. Instead, for the first part of the summer they have to take care of developmentally disabled adults, all from state asylums. The main characters are Wyatt Huddy, a genetically deformed twenty-year-old, Harriet, the nurse that works at the camp who has a young son living there with her, and Schuller Kindermann, the old man who owns and runs the camp. Shenanigans follow throughout the summer and one of the counselors, Christopher Waterhouse, ends up trying to molest one of the disabled adult women. Wyatt ends up finding them and killing Christopher Waterhouse. Harriet visits Wyatt throughout his time in an asylum. Shuller Kindermann dies. Wyatt does some IQ test to reveal himself as a man of normal intelligence because him looking funny always made him second guess his intelligence. Then Harriet gives Wyatt a hand job. Then it ends. I think. It's hard to remember what exactly happened because I tried to get it out of my body faster than the lasagna. I'd rather hold onto that lasagna longer than this crap.
So there's the bones of the story. Moving on. Mom yelled at me, but I scratched off the word "Inverted" in the title on the cover and wrote in "Adverb." This is an apt title for this book. Adverbs take the writer out of the writing. Adverbs take all the creative ways to say something and replace it with a stock word.
Example: "Wyatt could only nod vaguely." Ask three people to nod vaguely and you'll get three different nods. How does one nod vaguely? Tilt the head? Slow movements? Is it one or two or three nods to nod vaguely? An action in the place of this adverb would show the reader a clearer picture of the nod and how it was vague. Or better yet just take that adverb out. One more example: "His hair was vibrantly white." The adverb vibrantly could mean many things. It's not a specific image. This adverb could be replaced with a simile or metaphor that would bring an image to the readers mind rather than our stock "vibrantly white" hair image that every person on the planet has a different idea of. Try this: "His hair was white like a page of a printer paper." Not the best simile but you get the idea.
Adverbs are a plague to good writing. If you find one usually you'll find more and more until it kills any uniqueness in the story. I counted the adverbs in the story up to page fifty-eight. I got 134. That's about 2.5 per page. That's 134 chances at making the story unique and instead giving us a bland, weak, lazy, stock word that gives the reader nothing to work with.
I wanted to stop here but mom said I needed to write more or no lasagna. I asked if I could do extra chores around the house instead. She said no and that I need to be more positive toward the book. I said the book doesn't deserve it. She said lasagna. I'm writing more.
The story not only starts with a terrible opening line, but in the mind of a pretty terrible person. The reader is put into the mind on the first page of Schuller Kindermann, the old guy who owns the summer camp in the woods. He is bitter, racist, and asexual. (like my mom) After reading this first chapter I groaned at the idea of reading 200 plus pages in this guy's head. Thankfully each chapter is a different point of view character. I didn't groan because he's bitter, racist, and asexual. (did I mention my mom is like that?) Literature is full of characters even more racist, bitter, and asexual than Schuller. It's because I felt no sympathy for him. You can dislike a character and still have sympathy for them. Take Patrick Bateman from "American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis. "American Psycho" is 200 plus pages in the mind of a psycho, rapist, murderer, and Genesis fan. Bateman is despicable, but Ellis writes him in such a way that I sympathize with him. Schuller has no insights, no personality. He has no history really. He's a robot. Schuller does have a twin brother that lives in a nursing home because he had a stroke. You could give me all the lasagna in the world and I couldn't remember the twin's name because it's only mentioned like three times and never really serves any purpose. Except for the fact that it's an obvious ploy by the author to get you to sympathize with Schuller.
Let's talk about Nurse Harriet. She is always written with a bright neon sign above her saying "I AM A BLACK WOMAN." Example: Now this is written in Harriet's POV so this is what John Dalton wants his character to think: "She wasn't a dependable black person." Wyatt doesn't think "I'm not a smart white person." Old man Schuller doesn't think "I'm the white owner of this camp." Only Harriet thinks this because John Dalton has no idea what he's doing. He writes a black person how he thinks a black person thinks. Instead of writing, you know, a person that happens to be black. The focus is on the black and not Harriet. For some reason, in Harriet's back story, the father of her child leaves her for AND I QUOTE, "She was black- a black woman, a black wife." Because Harriet is black John seems to think it's a big deal that people are black when he's writing as Harriet.
Chapter 2 of this story sums up the entire novel. Chapter 2 is in third person omniscient point of view. We jump around from the different counselors and get a glimpse into the reasons why they all decided to work at the summer camp. All of these people are montaged (I know it's not a word, mom) together into a collage of empty faces because
1. We don't get enough information to picture anyone.
2. There are so many people introduced in such a short span of time (the chapter is four pages long and introduces 13 characters) we can't remember who is who.
3. John Dalton tells he doesn't show. Example: "...he felt a long, steady surge of panic. It was agonizing, really." Telling us what this person feels doesn't get it across to the reader as well as showing him fidgeting or forgetting things or DOING SOMETHING that can show us he panics. This chapter is full of lines like "...his thoughts urgent and full of raw feeling." What the heck does that even mean? Felling what? Excitement? Dread? Horny? What is the difference between feeling and "raw" feeling? NO, MOM, I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR BOOK CLUB THINKS RAW FEELING IS BECAUSE IT'S A QUESTION I SHOULDN'T EVEN BE ASKING. The main reason why I think Chapter 2 sums up this story is because you could skip it and not miss anything. In other words, skip this whole novel and you wouldn't miss anything.
I can't do this anymore. I'm not even going to write about the awkward hand job scene between Nurse Harriet and Wyatt. I'm not going to write about how egregious it is to always refer to characters by both their first and last name. Nobody does that. We use first names or last names. Never both, and if you do you better have a good reason. I'm not going to write about the how much of a bummer the ending is that Wyatt needs an IQ TEST to tell him that he's normal. I'm not going to write about the weird chapter in a secondary character's POV twelve years after the camp is over. Or the countless and absurd amount of cliches used in the story. What I will do is fill the rest of this review with fluff until mom thinks I wrote enough. I need that lasagna. So, for filler I will talk about lasagna.
The lasagna will fill my stomach. I will love the lasagna. It is good. I like the lasagna. Lasagna is what I live for now that my Guinea Pig passed away. Lasagna is best with green beans. Mix the two together and it is amazing. You can even reheat lasagna and it's still great. Garfield knows what I'm talking about. Maybe I should get a cat? No. That's too much work. What I could get is a plate of lasagna. That sounds pretty great right about now. I'll start another paragraph.
Here we go. Lasagna. Lasagna. Lasa-gna. If I had a child I would name it Doug Jr. If I had a second child I'd name that one Lasagna. If you spell lasagna backwards you get delicious. Try it. It's crazy. If you spell delicious backwards you get souiciled which, translated into Italian (the native country of lasagna) means lasagna. Weird logic I know, but if you do it on Google Translate it works.
I'm never letting mom talk me into this again. She's been a hag and a half today over this crappy book club novel.