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411 pages, Paperback
First published March 4, 2011
This novel is painful. Because the author and I hail from different countries, in my interpretation might I have lost intended inflections? necessary cadence? a particular sense of humor or purpose? something? This book seemed interminable, and, like the protagonist, I found myself suffering through the story, which is muddled and interrupted by introspection. What is worse is that the incessant internal monologue seems to come more from the author than from Maryam; Hager gets in the way of her own story.
If this is supposed to be a political commentary, it fails; at most it is an on-trend railing against the perceived evils of the planet's favorite villain, the middle-aged, traditionalist, European male (or do I need to say Caucasian? Which one isn't offensive? Or since I'm talking about aging and presumably fat white guys, does anyone even care if I hurt their feelings?). Hager appears to bear some resentment for the Christian church, and this surfaces again and again in Maryam's thoughts; conversely, she [Hager/Maryam] seems enamored of the Buddhist creed, which is fine. What's odd are these pervasive, persistent attempts to reconcile the two religions. What's the point? What is Maryam's real struggle here? Is it even Maryam's conflict, or is Hager working through some personal issues?
The book ambles when it could sprint. There are times, in writing, to mull and to muse, and there are times to move the plot along. Hager misses the movement; even times of high stress and quick action drag, and it isn't due to vivid description or an engagement of the reader's senses, but rather to.. I don't know what. I would get to the end of a passage in which something big, something exciting, something *plot-related* happened, and forget the details of what I read. Immediately. This isn't a compelling book. I'm not even rooting for Maryam; I don't care what happens to her.
Then there's the SPOILER abruptly amputated love story, due to the death of Maryam's love interest. I believe that, if I had read the first two books and journeyed with the characters, I would find this upsetting - I did find it sad just jumping into the story and never having met him - and Maryam's tender remembrances of him, and the moments when she forgets that he's gone, are touching. The tragic love story would have been a mature, well-played card here, especially given the way he died. But enter Lazarus. I cringe when he first appears (from what I gather, he's a main player in the second book; however, I don't know him since he has no screen time in the third book until about a third of the way through) because Maryam thinks, at first, that he's Joseph (her deceased SO), which is red flag numero uno. Then the pair of them have this talk during which he acquits himself admirably of something traitorous Maryam assumed he had done - red flag 2 - and then there's a moment of almost sexual tension that becomes maybe mostly platonic and that's the third red flag signalling, to me, that a love story may resurface between Maryam and this boy who is so like his poor dead cousin Joseph, and I am not. interested. The mere potential of a romance is part of what scared me away from this book.
This review has already left the realm of the professional far behind, so before I have to scrap it as a venting of spleen, I'll mention the positives.
Hager has some really fun supporting characters. There's an old witch-doctor-esque lady who farts nearly as often as she breathes; there's a kind-hearted Aussie (I assume; his lines of dialogue lend themselves to that accent) guard and his equally kind, medically-inclined wife. We have a sweet, wise, dear older woman who serves as a mentor and role model to Maryam, and then on the far end of the spectrum we have a detestable, delights-in-evil sergeant who deserves whatever unhappy demise comes to him.
There are interesting details. Secret governmental files, the description of Maryam's raft-building process, a scene on an island revolving around a giant Buddha and a mound of corpses. Hager definitely has a knack for descriptive prose when it occurs to her to write it.
At moments, this book reminds me of Paulsen's Hatchet (which I thoroughly enjoyed and highly recommend, and that type of book is definitely not my style). Maryam finds herself alone in a difficult situation and survives. She is resilient and determined. She is focused. And the loneliness of the protagonist perhaps forces some of that internal monologuing about which I was complaining - it isn't as though Maryam has anybody with whom she can converse.
I have no doubt there are readers who will love this series - its concept, its characters, and its author's writing style - but who that demographic might include is a puzzlement to me.