Would You Turn the Page?

This is the latest of Rhamey’s “Would you turn the page?” posts. Here’s the page in question:

***

While I’m washing the blood off my hands in the kitchen sink, the doorbell rings.

I freeze, my hands full of pink suds, the steaming hot water causing my fingers to burn and tingle. There’s somebody at the door. Somebody waiting patiently on the front porch for me to answer. The timing couldn’t be worse.

Could it be a package delivery? Maybe they’ll drop the package at the door and go away. Or else leave me a note. Sorry we missed you! We’ll be back tomorrow!

And then: three hard raps on the front door.

“Coming!” I call out in a strangled voice, even though it’s unlikely they’ll hear me. I scrub furiously at my fingers, and then at my fingernails, where the blood seems to have settled into the cracks. Who knew it was so hard to get blood off your hands? “Just a minute!”

I shut off the hot water and examine my palms, flipping them this way and that. Good enough? It’ll have to be. I wipe them dry on a light green dish towel, leaving a smear of red behind. Damn, I didn’t get it all—I’ll have to wash my hands again.

As soon as I get rid of whoever is at the front door.

My heels clack against the linoleum floor of the kitchen, then go soft when they hit the plush carpeting in the living room. …

***

What do you think? I said no, but I wasn’t sure why. Then I thought about it, and three things occurred to me: The author is trying too hard; the character is thinking too much, and I had a suspension of disbelief problem.

What makes me think “trying to hard”? It’s right at the front — “hot water causing fingers to burn and tingle.” I don’t think hot water causes my fingers to tingle? I think that’s rather different from burning? And why “causing to” rather than “more directly burning” — and besides, hot water doesn’t actually burn you unless you need to adjust the water heater. And the freezing part, and the strangled voice, both look to me like “trying too hard.” Specifically, it looks like the author is thinking, “I must show, not tell,” and trying to show show show.

What makes me think “protagonist is thinking too much”? Well, that’s easy, I just think she’s thinking too much.

Plausibility? Well, when I scrub blood off my hands, I don’t leave smears of blood on a towel afterward. It’s NOT that hard to get your hands BASICALLY clean. Blood isn’t petroleum jelly. It washes right off. Also, why answer the door at all? Of course there might be some reason the character has to open the door, but even in that case, there’s no need to rush. Whoever it is will wait another twenty seconds. That’s what I think.

What did Rhamey think?

***

There was the hot water “causing my fingers to burn and tingle.” A couple of things—I think “causing” is clumsy and a step back from a close narrative–how about “The hot water was burning my fingers…” Also, I’ve had my hands in hot water and, while it felt like burning, it never “caused” tingling. ”I freeze” is a bit of a cliché. This bit seems absolutely unnecessary when she has just heard three hard raps on her front door: There’s somebody at the door. Somebody waiting patiently on the front porch for me to answer.

Then there was the “strangled” voice. Felt odd to me. Seems like “who knew it was so hard to get blood off your hands?” is a bit flip for what the narrative is suggesting has happened. Does it matter that the dish towel is light green? I think not. And then the dramatic scene veers off track to the history of the floor, info dump stuff that has no bearing on what’s happening.

So, while the initial action raises a strong story question, the narrative suggests that there are speed bumps and other discomforts along the way, and I’m not up for that. A new story question: Did an editor ever see this book?

***

So, I see my reactions overlapped with Rhamey’s to some extent. I don’t mind if the towel has a color. I think it’s fine if the floor exists. I think Rhamey is largely wrong to want the world to be less present, but possibly right that the world is being drawn in a somewhat less smooth way than might be ideal. I didn’t think of the “flip tone” of “who knew it was so hard” line, but I think I agree with that. But it’s also a reasonable way to set the tone of the novel — maybe it’s supposed to be flip. Is it?

This is Do Not Disturb by Frieda McFadden. Here’s the description from Amazon:

***

Quinn Alexander has committed an unthinkable crime.

To avoid spending her life in prison, Quinn makes a run for it. She leaves behind her home, her job, and her family. She grabs her passport and heads for the northern border before the police can discover what she’s done. But when an unexpected snowstorm forces her off the road, Quinn must take refuge at the broken-down, isolated Baxter Motel. The handsome and kindly owner, Nick Baxter, is only too happy to offer her a cheap room for the night.

Unfortunately, the Baxter Motel isn’t the quiet, safe haven it seemed to be. The motel has a dark and disturbing past. And in the dilapidated house across the way, the silhouette of Nick’s ailing wife is always at the window. Always watching. In the morning, Quinn must leave the motel. She’ll pack up her belongings and get back on the road to freedom.

But first, she must survive the night.

***

92,000 ratings on Amazon, average star rating 4.3. It sounds okay to me, if I’m in a certain mood. It’s kind of cliched? Only too happy, is he? A dark and disturbing past, is it? It doesn’t sound like it’s supposed to be flip and funny, so I guess I agree that the line “Who knew it was so hard” line seems a bit light for a thriller.

Overall — and by now this isn’t a surprise; mostly these bestsellers don’t seem to appeal to me — but I’m not very keen on this opening.

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