Actual Rating: 1.5 Stars
Recommendation: Not worth the time.
Okay, so a few warnings before I begin the actual review. First of all, I finished the book a few hours ago, and have since been coloring whilst chewing on what I had just read and ruminating on how best to describe the experience. An experience it was, too. Not a great one, or even a good one, but an experience, nonetheless. I know that I won’t be able to sleep until I get this review out though so… Second, I enjoy reading trash from time to time—just look at my book list—but rarely do I stumble upon garbage that causes such a visceral and violent emotional reaction. This book caused me to have some strong feelings and some even stronger, and possibly harsh opinions. I picked this book up because it managed to meet the criteria for a category in both reading challenges I’m doing this year (a hardback, and a book I got for under $3). Now that we have that cleared up, on to the review!
The only reason this book gets an extra (half) a star is because it was edited well. Mechanically, it’s sound. Unfortunately, grammar is taught and there is so much more to being an author than proper grammar.
This book is everything I hated about the south, and when I first started reading it, I wasn’t even sure when the book was supposed to be set. The repeated references to how unwelcome “Yankees” were in the Carolinas just felt like I had stepped into some kind of weird time-loop. Turns out, sometime in the early 2000’s, which honestly doesn’t make any freaking sense at all. The focus on the antiques present in the book was distracting more than anything. And the characters were infuriating. I told grandmother—who gave me the book—that I wasn’t entirely sure that the author had ever actually met another human being. The only time I found any sort of sympathy for the main character at all is when her party guests lit her new house on fire (brought a lit torch into the house to start the fire even), dumped a bowl of punch on her rug, and then insulted her when she finally managed to get them to leave. The people insulting her included her hired assistant, her mother, and her fiancé. Because disbanding a party in the south over something silly like a house fire is just the rudest thing a good southern lady could do, you know. Those southern manners, y’all, they really are just for show (as was pointed out in the ONLY real-feeling scene in the entire book).
The protagonist was an idiot, a brat, and a judgmental bitch and I can’t help but feel like it was a sort of self-insert. The heroine repeatedly referred to her diminutive size and her “petite size four pumps.” She was wearing those pumps while also walking on stilts, just so you know. She would repeatedly objectify not only the men in the book—often referred to as “boy toys”—but the women as well. Her best-friend’s most notable feature? Her bushy eyebrows, of course. Can’t really tell you much else about her, aside from the eyebrows and a penchant for withholding information from the woman she was apparently supposed to tell everything to.
The characters, more than anything else in this ridiculous story, made me rage. Everything would be fine, and then all of a sudden, everything wasn’t fine. Of course, there was some blonde “bimbo” who had to be assigned the case of Abby’s (the main character) ex-husband’s new wife’s murder, because, you know, bimbos often get promoted to homicide detectives.
And while the writing wasn’t terrible, if I’d read the words “petite progenitriss” any more I might have actually stabbed myself with a rusty spoon. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the artful aesthetic of properly placed alliteration. In fact, my own work is littered with language that routinely plays on it, but it is just play. Something quick, subtle, and not usually repeated 50 times in the same novel.
I could go on. I could talk more about how incredibly tacky the first-person point of view made everything feel. It was uncomfortable to read how often her “pheromones danced” with those “boy toys” she judged so harshly—they were all also terrible people, but she judged them on the fact that they were boy toys rather than the fact that they were assholes.
And the ending? Pfft. Don’t even get me started. It didn’t make any sense at all. Motive was never actually explained, and we never find out how Abby made it back to shore without dying. After calling her boyfriend, the used-to-be-but-quit-and-told-her-already cop and leaving him a message on the answering machine that she was heading to confront the murderer by herself, injured, and with no real knowledge of how to use the gun that she stole from her ex-husband’s house.
I highly recommend finding a different book. By a different author. Who hasn’t decided to glorify everything that is wrong with the Southeastern United States.