Kelly added a quote:
"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved." — Kurt Vonnegut

Kelly added a quote:
"If I could put it into a very few words, dear sir, I should say that our prevalent belief is in moderation. We inculcate the virtue of avoiding excesses of all kinds—even including, if you will pardon the paradox, excess of virtue itself." — James Hilton

Kelly read and liked Philip's review of The Mermaid Chair:

"Okay, we've got a couple problems here. Let's go in order:
1. The problem of the protagonist
2. The problem of the know-it-all know-nothing
3. The problem of the genre.

Number one, the protagonist of this book is a woman...more Okay, we've got a couple problems here. Let's go in order:
1. The problem of the protagonist
2. The problem of the know-it-all know-nothing
3. The problem of the genre.

Number one, the protagonist of this book is a woman with ZERO PROBLEMS. There's no identifiable obstacle in her life, and this is supposed to make us feel--what?-- sorry for her? Poor lead character, she has a lovely, loving husband, the dream house she's always wanted, a wonderful spunky daughter, a colorful family history, and daddy issues. Sounds like the perfect centrifigul character for a book-club-ready paper back. But, here's the thing: I WANTED HER TO FAIL.

There are books about serial killers, monster, pedophiles, rapists, mass murderers and even unapologetic Republicans. . . and in many cases, these are the protagonists. And, even if I can't sympathize with the objectives of characters like these, I can usually find something to latch onto that allows me to follow them on their journey. So. . . why coud I not attach to the protagonist of the Mermaid Chair? Easy. She doesn't resemble any true human being. At least a serial killer is a human; albeit a supremely effed up human, but there's a common ground there. At some level, I can look at Jeffrey Dahmer and wonder, "What happened to that human? How totally tragic!" But this wierd subspecies of nonhuman running rampant through all lowgrade cliterature resembles nothing found in nature, not even animals. It's like the author sent a few sentences through the book machine, and this touchy feely glob of nothingness is what fell out.

Are we finished here? Moving on.

Number two. This book includes a character with ---look out!-- a wacky name who sufferes from what I can only term Magical Retardism. Listen, you guys, being mentally challenged does NOT make a character: a) interesting, b) psychic or c) cute. I tried to push through passages about this character's inner knowingness, her ability to look at people and say things like, "You're in love" and have everybody know that this magical retard just pronounced something otherworldly and profound.

Excuse me, but YAK!

A character with a disability is just like a person with a disability: disabled. Not superabled. To glorify the mentally handicapped as some Steven Speilbergian breed of space creatures who point at your heart, say ouch, and heal your inner most wounds is--at its best-- ignorant, and at worst-- insulting. I had a really hard time swalling this character who was so obviously suffereing from a case of Hailey Joel Osmentitis.

Third. This book could have alternately been titled The Bridges of The Divine Secret Life of the Traveling Ya Ya's. We've heard this story before. We read it in the waiting room of the hospital when grandma had her kidney/gall bladder/husband removed. We know what's going to happend. The formula is so easily solvable it make X + 1 = 2 look a mite challenging. The devastating lack of any surprises in this chicklit genre has let current authors so far off the hook that the need for character development seems to have fallen entirely away. No need to develope WHY the characters feel the way they do. They just DO. Because that's the kind of book it is. No need to explore WHY these characters might fall in love (or for that matter, IF they'd fall in love in the first place) they just DO. Island Monk + frustrated middle aged woman + female bonding = boring affair.

At the risk of sounding redundant, YAK!

So. . . maybe I'm judging this book just a wee bit overharshly, as it seems to be adhering to the low low standards set by its genre, but technically Jane Austen wrote female bonding tales of love and wanting, and her shit's brilliant!! So... I think I'm allowed to jump on the hate wagon here and call "naked emperor" on Sue Monk Kidd. In the meantime, I'll go hang with actual women dealing with actual mid life crises and work with actual chidren with actual dissablities.

And you know what? I'll much prefer it to this compost filler.(less) "