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A review by scarpuccia
Rivers by Michael Farris Smith
2.0
Gets my vote for the worst ever depiction of Venice I’ve come across in literature. I wasn’t sure what Venice was even doing in this book. But I had the feeling the author had never been there.
Rivers has been compared to The Road but I’m afraid I found none of the artistry of Cormac McCarthy’s book here. Bit like comparing Jaws 3 with the original. Lots of generic characters (the lead character is sensitive, he’s generously attentive to women and animals but he can also be relied upon to win any fight), lots of superfluous chit-chat, lots of driving through rain and gun battles, lots of plot twists that had no plausible foundation. For me this was written by an author who’s much more influenced by popular cinema than he is by literature. Nearly every plot development feels forced. Often the author resorts to making characters act out of character to achieve the necessary twists. For example, the two kids who try to kill our hero are both, it turns out, nice kids. There’s no reason on earth why they have to kill our hero. We’re told the cult leader makes them do it. But the cult leader isn’t on hand to witness what they do. They have other choices. Another plot twist relies on a character taking years to realise something only when the plot needs him to. The house where our hero lives is miraculously immune to marauding outlaws until on the same day he’s carjacked the cult also finds his home. At the end of the novel a whole town breaks off looting to attack our hero for no apparent reason. Also, there are so many coincidences that I felt the map of this novel stretched to barely a square mile.
I thought it started off well. We’re in a post-apocalyptic America. The only weather is storms of varying intensity. The lead character, a maudlin chap who can’t let go of the past, is robbed by members of a cult. He wants his stuff back. The cult and its leader had my interest but the cult is just a temporary lay-by and the author drops it almost immediately. From then on, I’m afraid I felt like I was straddling an inflatable dinghy that had sprung a slow leak. I also took exception to its depiction of women who are reduced to providing love interest and having babies. Rather than set in the future it seemed set in a distant past in this regard, as if we were back in the Wild West.
I thought Gold Fame Citrus which has a similar premise and also, like this, includes a cult, was miles better.
Apologies to my friends here who liked this! Too much testosterone and not enough artistry for me.
Rivers has been compared to The Road but I’m afraid I found none of the artistry of Cormac McCarthy’s book here. Bit like comparing Jaws 3 with the original. Lots of generic characters (the lead character is sensitive, he’s generously attentive to women and animals but he can also be relied upon to win any fight), lots of superfluous chit-chat, lots of driving through rain and gun battles, lots of plot twists that had no plausible foundation. For me this was written by an author who’s much more influenced by popular cinema than he is by literature. Nearly every plot development feels forced. Often the author resorts to making characters act out of character to achieve the necessary twists. For example, the two kids who try to kill our hero are both, it turns out, nice kids. There’s no reason on earth why they have to kill our hero. We’re told the cult leader makes them do it. But the cult leader isn’t on hand to witness what they do. They have other choices. Another plot twist relies on a character taking years to realise something only when the plot needs him to. The house where our hero lives is miraculously immune to marauding outlaws until on the same day he’s carjacked the cult also finds his home. At the end of the novel a whole town breaks off looting to attack our hero for no apparent reason. Also, there are so many coincidences that I felt the map of this novel stretched to barely a square mile.
I thought it started off well. We’re in a post-apocalyptic America. The only weather is storms of varying intensity. The lead character, a maudlin chap who can’t let go of the past, is robbed by members of a cult. He wants his stuff back. The cult and its leader had my interest but the cult is just a temporary lay-by and the author drops it almost immediately. From then on, I’m afraid I felt like I was straddling an inflatable dinghy that had sprung a slow leak. I also took exception to its depiction of women who are reduced to providing love interest and having babies. Rather than set in the future it seemed set in a distant past in this regard, as if we were back in the Wild West.
I thought Gold Fame Citrus which has a similar premise and also, like this, includes a cult, was miles better.
Apologies to my friends here who liked this! Too much testosterone and not enough artistry for me.