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256 pages, Hardcover
First published August 12, 2014
I hope this narrative has sparked an intimate sense of Addison’s life, filled with more scorching creativity than most of us will ever get to experience, even as we cherish, mourn, and remain riveted by her legacy.Bad enough that I think this undermines the entire novel, which invites the reader to draw her own conclusions about Addison’s life, by essentially telling the reader what she is to take away from it; the implication here is that Addison’s creativity either excuses a multitude of sins or elevates creativity to a virtue the possession of which sets an artist apart from ordinary people. And what legacy, exactly, is it that we’re cherishing? Her art? Her mostly untreated schizophrenia? Her tumultuous love affairs (which, again, are portrayed as markers of what an interesting and complex person she was rather than as signs of a young woman who desperately needs help)? The title is wrong: Addison Stone’s life was finished when she died, because her legacy is not just that of a creative person, it’s of a creative person who was beautiful and exciting and flamboyantly interesting, and had she died at thirty, or fifty, all of that would have burned out and she would have been nothing but a formerly interesting person. Addison Stone is memorable because her life ended when it did. And that’s the real tragedy.