Writing about unexciting people in unexciting places—assuming there are such things--is risky for obvious reasons. Kudos to Cameron Trost for accepting the challenge with Letterbox. The story itself is potentially dramatic: an old woman in a Cornish village finds a skull in her letterbox and believes it to be that of her long-dead husband. Unfortunately, the narrative potential of this discovery is outweighed by stylistic and technical problems. Instead of taking wing, Letterbox plods.
The voice of the writer is key to readability, or lack of it. In this case it verges on the pedantic. People don’t see things: they observe them. Instead of kicking a football, “one of the boys quickly put it back into motion.” It’s like listening to a slow-witted policeman read from his notebook. Get on with it, man. Every noun is weighed down with an adjective, every verb handicapped with an adverb. One result of this unrelenting fussiness is that all the characters sound the same and trudge through the story in lead boots. Even the place fails to come alive. What’s Cornish about it?
Omit needless words. Show, don’t tell . If Letterbox followed these guidelines it would be considerably better.