Today, after fifty-one pages, I gave up on Arthur Phillips’ novel The Song Is You. I bought the book because it got great reviews and because it’s about a couple that uses a mutual love of pop music to start a quirky love affair. Sounds like a book that’s written just for me.
Except… sheesh. As with the movie Gomorra, which bored me out of my skull but got lavished with praise, I am in total disagreement with the critical community on this one.
And I fought closing this thing for good, you guys. I fought it!
I fought because I feel this weird guilt about not finishing books. As Michael Lundin writes, it makes me feel like a quitter. It makes me feel like I might be giving up right before the book gets really good.
Even worse, closing a book can make me worry that I’m a bad critic. I tell myself I should be able to appreciate things, dammit, and that even if I’m not enjoying something personally, I need to acknowledge the craft or the thinking.
That’s the attitude that got me through David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, a novel whose political and social positions often infuriated me, but whose brilliant structure I couldn’t deny.
Sometimes, though, guilt and a firm commitment to critical ideals just aren’t enough. Sometimes, I just toss a book aside.
I’ve been thinking about this all day—from the moment I gave The Song Is You the boot—and now I’d like to present my top two reasons for rejecting a work of fiction. (Nonfiction has its own criteria.)
All this… after the jump!
- The author sounds smug — I’m not talking about a smug character, mind you. I’m talking about an author who’s descriptive voice reeks of self-satisfiaction. The protagonist of The Song is You is a commercial director who keeps firing models because he sees their “future elderliness” in their faces, and he’s intent on finding women who embody youth. And fair enough: Thats’ a compelling way for a character to approach the world. But then Phillips describes a rejected model by saying, “She smelled of breath mints not quite eradicating the evidence of a recent noisy purge.” That’s Phillips’ description, not the character’s, and it has the air of sniffy, “I know how these models are” superiority. Phillips is parading his wisdom about sexy models, then immediately insisting he doesn’t need their vomity emptiness. That way, we can know he’s hipper than us, but totally doesn’t need to be hip.That perspective is so desperate and so gross… and it’s all over the first part of this novel.
- The author insists on overwriting to prove his or her cleverness — This is an extension of number one, really, but an author’s need to prove her intelligence is even more aggravating when it’s masked in the supposed words of the characters. Though he’s praised for being a supple writer, I find Phillips incapable of making characters sound like anyone but himself. They all talk with the same tortured syntax, the same arcane language, the same bloated metaphors. And while the characters in The Song Is You are intended to be heightened and comical, I only hear Phillips’ self-indulgence when he lets someone talk about remote controls by saying this: “You could have invited me in, told me to make myself at home, summoned the vicious squawking music all by yourself, and I would have been powerless to squelch it, even with all these glittering black simulacra of deistic control laid out before me like so many thunderbolts. But you will tolerate no Zeus but yourself.” Um… dude. Can you just get to the point?
So those are my two biggest triggers. I just cannot stand writers who are convinced they will impress me or have something to teach me.
And why does that drive me crazy? Because I believe I’ve got something to offer to a conversation, and that everyone else does, too. Writers who address me like I should just sit back and absorb their wisdom gratefully are telling me that I’m not their peer. And I’m not in school anymore, y’all, so I don’t need a lecture.
Do I get oversensitive about this? Probably. But hey, a trigger’s a trigger.
What are yours? What makes you close a book? And what do you think of my reasons for closing one?
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Bonus! You can use this post as launching pad for The Critical Condition’s ongoing discussion of taste and where it comes from. That’s the theme of the Oh Brawling Love! series as well as a three-part gabfest on movies we hate and love. Part One is right here.
22 responses so far ↓
1 Brooke // May 12, 2009 at 6:47 am
I occasionally have just stopped reading a book because it’s just too god-damned depressing for me to keep on going with it.
I read for enjoyment, but I’m not going to read a book that drags me down into the dumps emotionally.
2 Karen // May 12, 2009 at 8:18 am
Your two reasons for quitting a book are my primary reasons as well. I don’t think you’re being overly sensitive–no one likes to be patronized, especailly while they’re reading.
I’ve almost given up on books that feel like they’re taking too long to get going and meander (“Life of Pi” is the example that springs to mind: painfully slow in the beginning, amazing payoff in the back half), but unless there is an absolutely unlikeable character involved I try to stick it out.
3 Just Smooty // May 12, 2009 at 8:52 am
Trust it to be a book recommendation that drags me from my reader/lurker status!
If you’ve never read “Love Is a Mix Tape” by Rob Sheffield, you might check it out. It’s an autobiography, rather than novel, but same sort of concept as what you describe above; a very honest, heart-felt retelling of a relationship through pop music. Beautifully bittersweet at the end, too, I admit I cried a little.
4 C. // May 12, 2009 at 9:42 am
Character is a douchebag, author does not seem to realize this and expects you to feel sympathy for them. See: Updike, John.
5 Laurie // May 12, 2009 at 10:52 am
I boot a book when there’s a stylistic tic I can’t get beyond, i.e. repetitive adverbs, too many metaphors.
I also dislike “dunh-dunh-dunh” writing. You know, when the author uses a sledgehammer to foreshadow some later dire consequence that will arise due to a character’s boneheadedness.
I also need to feel some resonance with the main character. If a person is just an unremitting jerk, I really don’t want to spend that much time with him/her, so I don’t.
But what really fries my bacon is an author who makes glaring, horrible, obvious errors. For instance, I once started a book set in Seattle. A big part of the action was dependent on a character getting to the airport for a *flight* to Tacoma, which is about a twenty minute drive–an hour in really bad traffic–from downtown Seattle. I actually wrote a bitchy letter to that writer. Seriously. Never been to Seattle? Have no idea–at all–about the geography of the Pacific Northwest? Um, dude, don’t set a book there.
6 Bunting // May 12, 2009 at 10:59 am
What C. said, especially the “See: Updike” part, which I was about to type before even reading that comment.
Other reasons for giving up, which is still hard for me to do because I don’t like to let books beat me: 1) poor proofing/editing/fact-checking that pulls me out of the narrative; 2) prose that is in love with itself/passages that exist solely to show off; 3) “I researched this for three days, so now you have to read it” sidebars that bog down the pace; 4) flat-footed attempts at humor; 5) “…by Ayn Rand.”
7 Sarah // May 12, 2009 at 11:24 am
I rarely quit a book (in fact I can count the ones I have quit on one hand probably) because I hate having an opinion on something when I haven’t finished it (and I love having an opinion!). I like to give the author time to bring me back around, or to have a fully grounded reason for my hatred.
However, because of this, I’ve finished quite a few books that I later wished I had given up on. Most of the books in the category are ones that try to convince me how relatable the main character is…I should know by now that if I don’t relate in the first couple of chapters it is unlikely that I’m going to grow to love the character by the end. (Confessions of a Shopaholic is a leader in this category for me. I spent the whole book being annoyed when it was supposed to be a light, funny read.)
When it comes to heavier fare, the only thing that really makes me want to stop is heavy description or musings. While description can draw you in, it can also make you want to start skimming to get to the action, which I doubt is what the author is thinking when they are droning on about the drapes in a drawing room or whatever. Also, if you want to talk about philosophy for 12 pages, stop writing fiction. I didn’t pick up a novel to hear about someone’s views on the universe – figure out a way to make it part of the plot or else shut up about it.
Ok, rant over!
8 Mary // May 12, 2009 at 12:32 pm
Major characters I dislike or can’t relate to. Word on Updike (and shut it, Ayn Rand).
Using 35 words where 2 will suffice. I understand that the sky is blue–I did not need to read about it for 3 paragraphs.
Overwriting/look how smart I am! I’m glad you have a thesaurus. You don’t actually need to use every word in it.
I very rarely give up on a book, even if I actively hate it while reading–which I am aware is ridiculous. I’m always afraid I’ll quit before it magically gets better.
I once trudged through 450 pages of a 600+ pg book before quitting. I wanted to punch the author in the face.
Oh, and “…glittering black simulacra of deistic control…”? HAHAHAHA!!!!
9 Megan // May 12, 2009 at 1:26 pm
My trigger is any sort of bad thing happening to an animal. I don’t know what it is, I just can’t take it! I recently had to give up on a book by Kate Atkinson because the family dog died in the first chapter. I also find it really hard to watch horror movies where the family pet is killed; it’s much harder for me to read or watch than when actual characters get axed.
10 Seth Christenfeld // May 12, 2009 at 1:32 pm
I don’t quit reading books. If I did, I wouldn’t have anything to include on my year-end “Notably Lousy” list.
(Also, I will gladly take your copy of The Song Is You off your hands.)
11 ferretrick // May 12, 2009 at 1:52 pm
I used to feel the guilt about quitting a book that wasn’t working for me. Then I realized that I already own or want to own more books than I could possibly read in my lifetime, therefore there is no reason to waste time finishing one that sucks when I probably have something better in the queue.
But the last book I gave up on was One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I have heard called one of the greatest novels of the 20th century by sources I respect, so what do I know. It was just so…weird, and I do like magical realism, but this was weird apparently solely for the sake of being weird…and it was boring, and confusing, and annoying, and, oh kill me now, I have no literary taste.
12 Laura // May 12, 2009 at 2:40 pm
There is nothing worse than getting a book and during the course of reading it, you realize that it either sucks or you can’t get past yourself reading it. Sometimes I can’t get out of my own way when I read, especially when it comes to very wordy, old fashioned prose. Tolkien I cannot read. One Hundred Years of Solitude I also could not finish at all, I must have forced myself to read 100 pages and then really still had no idea what it was about. Other books I will set aside and sometimes I come back to it after months/years and its all good. Interesting topic!!
13 Mark Blankenship // May 12, 2009 at 3:59 pm
@ Just Smooty — I’ve heard about “Love is a Mix Tape.” Thanks for reminding me of it! I really want to read it.
@ Seth — Send me an e-mail. You’re welcome to my copy.
@ Sarah — It really resonated that you said you hate having opinion on something you haven’t finished. I’m totally with you, which is why I agonized about putting “The Song Is You” away. And it’s funny, because just before I picked up Phillips’ book, I read Sherman Alexie’s “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian.” At first, I was dubious, but I pushed through, fell madly in love with the thing, and ended up finishing it in less than two days. I was hoping for something similar with Phillips… but it wasn’t to be.
14 Roisin // May 12, 2009 at 4:36 pm
I keep trying to read books that are narrated in the present tense, and then having to give up. I just find it too annoying and try-hard, like they’ve been written by someone in a creative writing class. For that reason I have never been able to finish anything by Anita Shreve.
15 Michelle Kinsey Bruns // May 12, 2009 at 6:12 pm
Nobody captured 20th-century suburban-bourgeois America more vividly than Updike did. Given that M.O., I see his unlikeable characters as really just sort of an unavoidable occupational hazard.
Coincidentally, I had to physically restrain myself last night from explaining in great detail, over at TN, why Tim O’Brien’s “Tomcat in Love” was one of the most unenjoyable (two-thirds-of-a) books I’ve ever read. Short version is, an author with neither liking nor respect for his characters is going to have a hell of a tough time in making them interesting to me. If O’Brien cared about Tom and Lorna Sue the way Updike cared about Rabbit, I might just have finished that book. But he didn’t, and in fact, seemed to be making fun of them pretty much nonstop the whole way through. Total turnoff.
Do read “Love Is a Mix Tape.” It’s amazing. But learn from my mistakes: do *not* start Chapter 1 in the bathtub while getting ready to go to a party. “Buzzkill” doesn’t come close.
16 Jennifer // May 12, 2009 at 6:56 pm
1. Is the book too depressing? (Though I probably wouldn’t have picked it up at all if I thought this.)
2. Am I really bored? Do I give a shit what happens to any of these characters?
3. Do I hate the main character? Are they Too Stupid To Live? (That is usually my #1 pet peeve).
4. Does the book go around shaming a particular group (say, those “yummy mummy” books)?
17 Jthan // May 12, 2009 at 7:18 pm
Late to the party (but fashionably attired) I have to add that I can’t read a book that has a character being offensive JUST to be offensive. It may be satirical, but no. I’ma lookin’ at you, Brett Easton Ellis.
18 Bunting // May 12, 2009 at 8:04 pm
ferretrick: I didn’t finish that book either. It’s like David Lynch; if it’s too weird with no normal to pin things down, I feel mentally queasy and don’t know what the point is.
19 Laura Mc. // May 12, 2009 at 8:36 pm
I have always had this would-be 8th grader in me that wants to *learn* from the book. Because of this, I read Victorian novels almost exclusively.. I like semi-predictable musings about women by women that go on forever and ever into the English moor.
So, for me, I couldn’t deal with Joyce. I just didn’t know how to develop any kind of connection with the material. I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise with so much mind-blowing, structural revolution (or garbled nonsense depending on how you look at it), and I STILL don’t understand why he is part of the canon.
Druggie ex-pat who was in the right place at the right time and pitched his dribble to the right wealthy widower.. but I say this with a tinge of adolescent angst.
20 Laura Mc. // May 12, 2009 at 8:36 pm
correction: widow
21 C. // May 12, 2009 at 10:17 pm
Ah, to each his own. I’ve read and enjoyed several of these other people’s unreadable books. In re: Joyce — I never finished Ulyssess, but that’s on me. Have you tried, however, Dubliners? They’re not stream-of-consciousness, and to my mind they show his strengths in a different way, one that isn’t so caught up in the confusing structure and allusive punnery that Pirate Jim goes completely off the deep end with in Finnegan’s Wake. Or in other words: Ulysses is a brick, but The Dead is quite possibly my favorite short story of all time, and maybe that’d hit you in a way that’d let you see what was good about him, Laura. I’d hope so. Everyone wants everyone else to like their favorite stuff.
But in re this subject as a whole…I often find Updike insufferable, but he’s not a bad writer. He’s quite a good one, in fact, and I can recognize that, I just don’t enjoy him. Putting a book down midway doesn’t necessarily mean the book sucks. It just means that you don’t like it.
22 Vinnie // May 13, 2009 at 8:09 pm
Nice job by Laura,Thanks for the discussion. Also liked the abandon book piece.V
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