Book Review: “Uncharted” is Off the Charts
There aren’t too many books that combine shipwrights, shipwrecks, sailing, Maine, the tropics, Kansas, and peculiarly strong women into a page-turning love story. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever before read anything like Uncharted, J.B. (“call me Bridget”) Chicoine’s debut novel, which will be brought out by Rhemalda Publishing on October 1. Rhemalda’s tag line is “crossing the divide between imagination and reality,” and Uncharted certainly accomplishes that—without ever requiring the truly conscious suspension of belief that would distract from the story. 
I was lucky enough to read an advance copy, and as usual I started off with a slight tinge of dread. What if I had to slog my way through it, and then try to find something positive to say? In the end I was met with a completely different challenge: how to keep my writer’s jealousy at bay while I write the glowing review the book deserves.
I’ve read quite a few debuts recently, and none amazed me in quite the same way as this one. Bridget writes about experiences she has obviously never had (like being marooned on an island off the coast of Brazil) in a completely believable way that draws the reader right into each scene. This is the best of fiction, because it offers travel to many distant places from the safety and comfort of our favorite reading chair. And the writing is clear and entertaining—while still finding room for some choice imagery. Here’s the opening paragraph, which instantly launches us into Sam the narrator’s head:
“I easily lost track of time in the boatshed, where minutes and hours hung in the air like fine sawdust, and so I couldn’t say for sure how long I had been running my sander when I noticed the intruder. At a glimpse, I thought it was my hired guy. On a double take, the skirt was definitely not his style.”
Debuts often include too much detail, a fringe benefit of authors not trusting readers to figure out the unstated but yet completely understood. Bridget’s touch is light, and the story unfolds easily while still managing to surprise.
An added bonus is that the title develops a deeper significance as the story unfolds. In spite of living in the same house in the small town in Maine where he grew up, Sam is as uncharted as the tropical island where the fantastic stories of Marlena, the “intruder” in the first paragraph, take place. As he struggles to cure his internal restlessness, he also is forced to face down some childhood demons—and two other suitors who are determined to capture the captivating Marlena. Meanwhile, he’s completely intrigued with Marlena’s ability to catch fish with a self-whittled stick, as well as her literal interpretation of everything she is told. She has an odd set of skills, few social graces, and an innate sense of self—hence her classification as “peculiar.”
Sailing is part of the story without getting in the way of the action, just the same way that an old family boat sits in Sam’s shop, patiently waiting for him to commit to rebuilding her. The Maine coast provides a backdrop every bit as fantastic and illusory as the tropical island of Marlena’s stories, and none of the characters is too simple, too perfect, or too predictable.
My only complaint is about the ending, which was a bit heavy-handed—until the final twist of the last few sentences. I would’ve liked to see more time spent on the twist, and less on the leadup. But since I was already bracing myself to say goodbye to Sam, Marlena, Buck, and all the other characters who’d grown into friends, maybe that’s what was really bothering me.
J.B. Chicoine is also a watercolor artist, and her illustration of Marlena brings the book’s cover to life. This story will appeal to both adventure-seekers and romantics, and I can’t wait to read whatever her vivid imagination comes up with next.
