Price is what used to be called a "writer's writer", which means (more or less) that his command of diction, style, voice, and such is high and his command of plot/narrative momentum is low. When I first read one of his novels nearly 40 years ago (and now recall little of it), I was dazzled by the skill set. In "A Long and Happy Life", he writes in the classic Southern hothouse ways: in love with place, with atmosphere, with eccentricity, with wanderingly offbeat characters, and, of course, very much in love with language.
This is a novel of consciousness and imagination. And it is 19 year old Rosacoke's c. and i. we spend all our time in. She is a half-appealing/half-annoying character, in that Price's evocation of her inner and outer worlds is brilliant, but also in that we spend too much time in those worlds, without relief and without enough story to carry us along. It takes half the book for something significant to happen to Rosacoke, which is too long to languish in the forests and rivers and bird-conscious regions of her ploddingly step-by-step point of view. Rosacoke's "problem" is that she is "over-the-moon" about Wesley, a few years older than her, a fella who's now out of the military and selling motorcycles. These two are okay characters but not all that inherently fascinating as people. What holds us is the vision and the language and the style, not the story and the plot and the what-might-happen next.
Wesley is fatally inert, a dead cliche of a character. We want to know more about him and should but Price never gives us that and the story's overall effect/balance is badly compromised by this lack. What might've made the novel memorable is if Price had found the imaginative wherewithal to write half of it from Rosacoke's p.o.v. and half from Wesley's. But he isn't up to that.
All Rosacoke all-the-time becomes narratively oppressive. I'm all for beauty in prose and sensibility ("Beauty, Beauty, Beauty! by God") but it's not enough to sustain a too-languid story, nor particularly to hold the modern reader in place. Price's interest in the poetic/emotional dynamics of Rosacoke's inner life is one thing...but it's not enough things.
The ending is muddled, unconvincing, unsatisfying, abrupt. Price makes a hash of it (Wesley comes through, quite against character). He doubtless had the ending in mind all along but once the page count told him he was there he didn't really know how to pull it off...so he just stopped. We're left out on a limb, a bit baffled, and there's old Rosacoke with us...sorta confused her own self.