Scan barcode
A review by raelovestoread
Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellmann
2.0
Some books I read for enjoyment, some I read to learn something or to help me become a more empathic person, and some I read for the "experience".
Ducks falls into the latter category.
I cannot tell you how happy I am to finally put this book down and never have to read it again. Almost everyone doing the buddy read with me dropped out. Sheer stubborness got me through. There were clever ideas here - moments of insight, humour, emotional resonance - but unfortunately they are buried in layer upon layer of superfluous guff.
This is a 1000-page stream-of-consciousness "novel" set in the mind of an American homemaker and piemaker. She spends all her free time thinking about all the terrible things that are happening in America, past and present. There's no deeper commentary. She just mentions bad things to herself and then goes "oh dear, isn't it terrible." Yes, yes it is.
I would forgive the waffle if it lent authenticity to the voice, but the interminable lists and bouncing back and forth didn't feel organic to me. The book did improve as it went on, I would say, and I liked where things ended up. The trouble is, most readers won't make it through to the end.
Ducks could have been a solid 400-page exploration of the absurdities of living in Trump-era America if it had been trimmed by a decent editor. Take out all the mind numbingly boring descriptions of the MCs dreams, the word association tennis, the lists of cakes and creeks... rationalise the family background details to just the relevant bits...
In the words of Mark Twain: "writing is easy, all you have to do is cross out the wrong words."
Ducks falls into the latter category.
I cannot tell you how happy I am to finally put this book down and never have to read it again. Almost everyone doing the buddy read with me dropped out. Sheer stubborness got me through. There were clever ideas here - moments of insight, humour, emotional resonance - but unfortunately they are buried in layer upon layer of superfluous guff.
This is a 1000-page stream-of-consciousness "novel" set in the mind of an American homemaker and piemaker. She spends all her free time thinking about all the terrible things that are happening in America, past and present. There's no deeper commentary. She just mentions bad things to herself and then goes "oh dear, isn't it terrible." Yes, yes it is.
I would forgive the waffle if it lent authenticity to the voice, but the interminable lists and bouncing back and forth didn't feel organic to me. The book did improve as it went on, I would say, and I liked where things ended up. The trouble is, most readers won't make it through to the end.
Ducks could have been a solid 400-page exploration of the absurdities of living in Trump-era America if it had been trimmed by a decent editor. Take out all the mind numbingly boring descriptions of the MCs dreams, the word association tennis, the lists of cakes and creeks... rationalise the family background details to just the relevant bits...
In the words of Mark Twain: "writing is easy, all you have to do is cross out the wrong words."