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Malcolm Orange Disappears
The novel opens one week after Mr. Orange abandons his family in a pay-by-the-week motel on the outskirts of Portland and takes off for Mexico.Mrs. Orange is devastated and depressed, possibly still suffering the side effects of giving birth to Malcolm s newborn brother Ross in the parking lot of a shopping mall. Malcolm is delighted, anticipating his first permanent home. He coerces his unresponsive mother into taking a job at a local retirement village and as part of her pay the family are allowed to move into Chalet 13, becoming the youngest residents on a cul-de-sac of elderly individuals and couples, each with their own story of loss and survival to share.Two weeks after moving into Chalet 13, Malcolm finds himself covered in tiny, rapidly enlarging holes; he concludes that he is literally disappearing. As his mother is so traumatized that she has lost her grip on English and cannot bring herself to touch her own children. Malcolm is forced to employ the assistance of his elderly neighbors as he embarks upon a quest to find an antidote before he disappears completely."
371 pages, Paperback
First published June 2, 2014
4 people are currently reading
245 people want to read
About the author
Jan Carson
28 books263 followersJan Carson is a writer and community arts development officer currently based in Belfast, Northern Ireland. She has a BA in English Literature from Queen’s University Belfast and an MLitt. In Theology and Contemporary Culture from St. Andrew’s University, Scotland. Jan has had short stories published in literary journals on both sides of the Atlantic, has had two of her plays produced for the Belfast stage and is a current recipient of the Arts Council NI’s Artist’s Career Enhancement Bursary. Her first novel, “Malcolm Orange Disappears” will be published by Liberties Press, Dublin on June 2nd 2014.
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
February 8, 2015
I found myself skimming certain sections. This book did not have to be almost 400 pages long. I couldn't help but compare this book to some of Julian Gough's books which are much much funnier but the same kind of zany outlandish permises. Gough's are set in Ireland so his jokes, crazy scenes etc. are more believable. I kept wondering why the writer, who is from Northern Ireland, chose to set this book in America. When you do that, you almost inevitably limit your descriptions, settings, context to the most superficial and stereotypical aspects of American life. I found myself continuously looking for incorrect details. Then I realized she was sticking to the iconic and stereotypical to play it safe. This made it a bit boring. Carson certainly isn't unique in using settings that are beyond her own experience. How many American writers set books in Ireland - usually to appeal to an Irish American audience? A number of them deliberately obscure their non-Irishness which further p's me off.
There are some enchanting ideas - a boy who disappears - though it seems he isn't but then he is - what's that all supposed to mean? And very late in the book we discover something about his mother that would have been better introduced much much earlier. All I can say is "oh well". Not sure what this genre is labeled and if there is actually an audience for this. I know it's not my favorite though I will read Gough, for example, because he is so d*&% funny.
There are some enchanting ideas - a boy who disappears - though it seems he isn't but then he is - what's that all supposed to mean? And very late in the book we discover something about his mother that would have been better introduced much much earlier. All I can say is "oh well". Not sure what this genre is labeled and if there is actually an audience for this. I know it's not my favorite though I will read Gough, for example, because he is so d*&% funny.
August 14, 2016
Malcolm Orange Disappears, by Jan Carson, is a gloriously quirky story about an eleven year old boy, his flighty family, and the residents of the Baptist Retirement Village where he finds the best friends he has ever had in his short but eventful life.
Prior to moving to the Portland village, Malcolm had travelled across nineteen American states, his family dealing with every ontoward predicament by absconding. Crushed into the backseat of his father’s ancient but reliable Volvo, along with a slowly diminishing collection of grandparents and assorted possessions, Malcolm develops neuroses linked to a plethora of potential hazards, from diarrohea to roundabouts to dreams. When he notices small perforations appearing all over his body he fears that he is in danger of entirely disappearing.
From his father, Malcolm has learned to lie imaginatively and proficiently. Malcolm’s view of life has been forged from beauty parlour magazines, inappropriate films and snippets of overheard adult conversation. He hates his father so when the man abandons his family, including his recently born and very forgettable second son, Malcolm is delighted. His mother is not and descends into a gloomy stupor leaving Malcolm to fend largely for himself.
The retirement village is a welcome, permanent home after so many years of living out of a car and cheap motels. Malcolm observes each of the elderly residents in turn, learning of their habits, foibles and ailments. These men and women have lived their varied lives, dealt with hardships and the expectations of others. They have become what they are due to choices made, sometimes regretted, and circumstances accepted alongside those beyond their control. They may now be feeble in body and mind but each retains a healthy dislike of the pernicious Director in charge of the facility in which they have been placed.
Malcolm’s arrival is followed by that of the Director’s teenage daughter, a wilful child whose resentments against her divorced parents cause her to create mayhem whenever she spies an opportunity. Malcolm is in thrall to her, unused as he is to interacting with anyone close to his own age. He confides his discovery of his perforations and the fears he harbours of his imminent disappearance, but is met with derision. It is his elderly friends who recognise his distress and take up his cause.
I have long been a fan of the author’s writing and this, her debut novel, is no exception. It is fluid, original and very funny. Her eye for detail as she recounts the quirks of each character is fabulous. She offers up the foolish and absurd with a sympathetic wit; her perceptions and understated wisdom are a joy to read.
It is not a straightforward tale. There is the disappearing boy, a talking cat, and a profusion of people so preoccupied with their personal concerns that they cannot see beyond their own desires. At face value there are elements of the surreal, but the message at its heart is universal.
An entertaining, life affirming, unorthodox story that I enjoyed immensely. This book deserves to be widely read.
Prior to moving to the Portland village, Malcolm had travelled across nineteen American states, his family dealing with every ontoward predicament by absconding. Crushed into the backseat of his father’s ancient but reliable Volvo, along with a slowly diminishing collection of grandparents and assorted possessions, Malcolm develops neuroses linked to a plethora of potential hazards, from diarrohea to roundabouts to dreams. When he notices small perforations appearing all over his body he fears that he is in danger of entirely disappearing.
From his father, Malcolm has learned to lie imaginatively and proficiently. Malcolm’s view of life has been forged from beauty parlour magazines, inappropriate films and snippets of overheard adult conversation. He hates his father so when the man abandons his family, including his recently born and very forgettable second son, Malcolm is delighted. His mother is not and descends into a gloomy stupor leaving Malcolm to fend largely for himself.
The retirement village is a welcome, permanent home after so many years of living out of a car and cheap motels. Malcolm observes each of the elderly residents in turn, learning of their habits, foibles and ailments. These men and women have lived their varied lives, dealt with hardships and the expectations of others. They have become what they are due to choices made, sometimes regretted, and circumstances accepted alongside those beyond their control. They may now be feeble in body and mind but each retains a healthy dislike of the pernicious Director in charge of the facility in which they have been placed.
Malcolm’s arrival is followed by that of the Director’s teenage daughter, a wilful child whose resentments against her divorced parents cause her to create mayhem whenever she spies an opportunity. Malcolm is in thrall to her, unused as he is to interacting with anyone close to his own age. He confides his discovery of his perforations and the fears he harbours of his imminent disappearance, but is met with derision. It is his elderly friends who recognise his distress and take up his cause.
I have long been a fan of the author’s writing and this, her debut novel, is no exception. It is fluid, original and very funny. Her eye for detail as she recounts the quirks of each character is fabulous. She offers up the foolish and absurd with a sympathetic wit; her perceptions and understated wisdom are a joy to read.
It is not a straightforward tale. There is the disappearing boy, a talking cat, and a profusion of people so preoccupied with their personal concerns that they cannot see beyond their own desires. At face value there are elements of the surreal, but the message at its heart is universal.
An entertaining, life affirming, unorthodox story that I enjoyed immensely. This book deserves to be widely read.
February 15, 2016
A fabulous read, bursting with stories and brimming over with warm and colourful characters. Malcolm’s story and the background to it is a long funny clever rant, cleverly and tenderly told.
My own Mr Fluff, trying to sleep on my lap, was disgusted as I rocked with laughter at The Peoples Committee meeting. She prefers behind the sofa to the fridge though.
The final section of the novel is the best, as the residents implement their plan to help Malcolm, and it’s the only time when rooting for salvation for both Malcolm and Cunningham I felt frustrated at the delays.
The next time I’m faced with the usual ‘ Oh get on with it!’ look when I get side tracked in telling a story, I might hand over a copy of this book with a ’ you think I’m bad try this then’ response.
If there were ten stars I would award them for entertainment
My own Mr Fluff, trying to sleep on my lap, was disgusted as I rocked with laughter at The Peoples Committee meeting. She prefers behind the sofa to the fridge though.
The final section of the novel is the best, as the residents implement their plan to help Malcolm, and it’s the only time when rooting for salvation for both Malcolm and Cunningham I felt frustrated at the delays.
The next time I’m faced with the usual ‘ Oh get on with it!’ look when I get side tracked in telling a story, I might hand over a copy of this book with a ’ you think I’m bad try this then’ response.
If there were ten stars I would award them for entertainment
June 4, 2016
The perfect description of the book can be found in the book itself:
"Junior Button was a meticulous storyteller. Five sittings in, the mystery was only beginning to take shape. The old man's capacity for distraction was awe-inspiring. Whilst Martha Orange did her best to hold him to the highway, he favored the by-ways and cul-de-sacs, molding myths around minor characters, formulating legends from the footnotes, dwelling for hours on loosely related anecdotes. Averse to out-and-out lies, he took great pains to embellish. It was difficult at times to tell truth from over-leaping imagination."
I really wanted it to be a great story, but every time I had to force myself to pick the book up again and continue reading. I liked most of the characters as individuals, but the story as a whole just didn't stick.
"Junior Button was a meticulous storyteller. Five sittings in, the mystery was only beginning to take shape. The old man's capacity for distraction was awe-inspiring. Whilst Martha Orange did her best to hold him to the highway, he favored the by-ways and cul-de-sacs, molding myths around minor characters, formulating legends from the footnotes, dwelling for hours on loosely related anecdotes. Averse to out-and-out lies, he took great pains to embellish. It was difficult at times to tell truth from over-leaping imagination."
I really wanted it to be a great story, but every time I had to force myself to pick the book up again and continue reading. I liked most of the characters as individuals, but the story as a whole just didn't stick.
February 1, 2015
This was a peculiar book that in the end didn't quite gel for me. I think the problem may have it been that the book was marketed as a novel rather than a series of interconnected short stories. I really wanted to care about eleven year old Malcolm Orange, his tough life, and his story arc, but in the end I didn't. I found all the surrounding side story chapters much more interesting. Jan Carson is particularly skilled at creating quirky old people.
September 7, 2014
Malcolm Orange disappears. Magic realism in Irish hands.
Irish writing abounds in mysticism and fairy tale. Yeats, Singh, Sile de Valera, Lady Gregory conjured up magical worlds of heroes, of legend, magical wells, strange doings at the fairy fort. We do myth and legend really well, building huge complicated Celtic middle earths for our creations to inhabit. As for gritty nail-on-the-head realism, we’ve got Dubliners, O’Casey, Banville, right up to Donal Ryan. Yet try to put the words “Irish writer” and “magic realism” into the same sentence. Try adding the words, Northern Irish, Protestant, theology graduate and the sentence seems absurd in the extreme.
Magic realism is the purview of the South Americans right? Up in the Northern hemisphere we can claim Salman Rushdie and Yann Martel. Irish magic realism?...Erm.......and yet no other genre could possibly be employed to describe Jan Carson’s debut novel, Malcolm Orange Disappears. From the opening sentence, to the admission on page three that twin, winged, baby girls push Malcolm’s chicken pox off the front page of the local newspaper, the magical gauntlet is first displayed for inspection and then flung, unapologetically.
Malcolm’s story plays out against a backdrop of small-town, rural North American cities and suburbs, coming to rest in Portland, Oregon. The realism is so complete, the superb description of small town life, its flea-pit motels, its transient populations, its twitching windows and bursting mega-churches so gently, so unobtrusively executed that it comes as no surprise to learn that the author spent several years immersed in this culture, working as arts development officer in a faith-based Christian community, and in fact scribbled out her first attempts at fiction under Oregon’s big skies.
Into the mix of Malcolm’s mayhem we add a missing, derelict father, a collection of dead and decaying grandparents abandoned to the John/Jane Doe drawers of county morgues all over the country, and finally, the inhabitants of the Baptist retirement village in Portland where Malcolm, his mother and infant brother finally find a permanent berth through an act of God (who turns out to be a short, grizzled black man, and a Baptist—so now we know.)
The language throughout, is calm and prosaic, the magical happenings slip in so quietly in such a matter-of-fact prose that the reader sometimes needs a double take, to re-read a line with a sensation of “did that really say what I thought it said”. Reading Malcolm Orange does not require a suspension of disbelief, and such a suspension is not possible. At no point does the reader lose touch with the sensation of being a reader, in the same way that at a screening of The Matrix one does not think, “Gosh, I must try that at home”. The book revels in its glorious improbability and layers miracle after miracle, fraud after friendship, sorrow upon joy continually.
No novel about small-town rural life in the United States of America could neglect to mention Christianity, God and his (or her) all-pervasive influence on the peoples. The book abounds with pastors, faith healers, preachers’ widows, and is full of references to faith; its continuance and, frequently, its loss. Carson has a theology and culture Masters degree from St Andrew’s university, in effect a Masters in Literature focused on the Bible, no less, and the presence of God, as a bargaining tool, as a port in a storm, as a first refuge and a last resort pervades the novel. Malcolm’s theological education is understandably stunted relative to Carson’s, as he has spent almost all his life criss-crossing America in a Volvo, and he is frequently heard to double check “Ours is the Jesus God, right?” before sending his desperate prayer skyward.
At the heart of the book is the eternal and recognisable conflict between parental desire for freedom and the realities of responsibility, and the child’s search for a responsible human adult upon whom to rely. The eccentric elderly residents of the Baptist retirement village are portrayed with tenderness and love, their foibles and their slipping away into the recesses of frailty, and dementia, is delicately drawn, their gradual disappearance being mirrored in Malcolm’s own physical disintegration. The sinister Dr. Blue is a thinly veiled metaphor for dementia and his plans for the eradication of music from the village give the residents a focal point for resistance and togetherness.
A novel dealing with the hackneyed themes of paternal dereliction and maternal emotional absence and dysfunction could be expected to inspire sympathy and fear such as in Mark Cousins’s 15 days without a head; a novel about growing up, reaching the bewildering unchartered territory of puberty and finding selfhood in adverse circumstances could produce Angela’s Ashes, but to start with those premises and to end up with Malcolm Orange disappears is a truly startling direction for an Irish writer. The only Irish novel with which I can draw any kind of comparison is JG Farrell’s wonderful, anarchic, crazy Troubles, winner of the Lost Booker Prize for 1970.
This is Carson’s first novel, but she is no stranger to the world of literature. She is outreach and Arts Development Officer at the Ulster Hall, runs a monthly literary salon, has read (and written) widely in Ireland, Britain and the US. Malcolm Orange was five years in the gestating, squeezed (as so many first novels are) into the spaces around the author’s “real life”. It certainly wasn’t a waste of five years, the book definitely rewards reading and is redemptive and joyful. Carson is a busy woman, writing in what she calls “the margins” of her hectic schedule and she freely admits that she feels Malcolm Orange is not the best book she is capable of writing, in which case, I eagerly await her next offering. This is a wonderful, warm and brave first novel, proving that magic realism is no longer the sole property of exotic authors, but in the right hands can be universal in appeal.
http://orlamcalindenwrites.wordpress.com
Irish writing abounds in mysticism and fairy tale. Yeats, Singh, Sile de Valera, Lady Gregory conjured up magical worlds of heroes, of legend, magical wells, strange doings at the fairy fort. We do myth and legend really well, building huge complicated Celtic middle earths for our creations to inhabit. As for gritty nail-on-the-head realism, we’ve got Dubliners, O’Casey, Banville, right up to Donal Ryan. Yet try to put the words “Irish writer” and “magic realism” into the same sentence. Try adding the words, Northern Irish, Protestant, theology graduate and the sentence seems absurd in the extreme.
Magic realism is the purview of the South Americans right? Up in the Northern hemisphere we can claim Salman Rushdie and Yann Martel. Irish magic realism?...Erm.......and yet no other genre could possibly be employed to describe Jan Carson’s debut novel, Malcolm Orange Disappears. From the opening sentence, to the admission on page three that twin, winged, baby girls push Malcolm’s chicken pox off the front page of the local newspaper, the magical gauntlet is first displayed for inspection and then flung, unapologetically.
Malcolm’s story plays out against a backdrop of small-town, rural North American cities and suburbs, coming to rest in Portland, Oregon. The realism is so complete, the superb description of small town life, its flea-pit motels, its transient populations, its twitching windows and bursting mega-churches so gently, so unobtrusively executed that it comes as no surprise to learn that the author spent several years immersed in this culture, working as arts development officer in a faith-based Christian community, and in fact scribbled out her first attempts at fiction under Oregon’s big skies.
Into the mix of Malcolm’s mayhem we add a missing, derelict father, a collection of dead and decaying grandparents abandoned to the John/Jane Doe drawers of county morgues all over the country, and finally, the inhabitants of the Baptist retirement village in Portland where Malcolm, his mother and infant brother finally find a permanent berth through an act of God (who turns out to be a short, grizzled black man, and a Baptist—so now we know.)
The language throughout, is calm and prosaic, the magical happenings slip in so quietly in such a matter-of-fact prose that the reader sometimes needs a double take, to re-read a line with a sensation of “did that really say what I thought it said”. Reading Malcolm Orange does not require a suspension of disbelief, and such a suspension is not possible. At no point does the reader lose touch with the sensation of being a reader, in the same way that at a screening of The Matrix one does not think, “Gosh, I must try that at home”. The book revels in its glorious improbability and layers miracle after miracle, fraud after friendship, sorrow upon joy continually.
No novel about small-town rural life in the United States of America could neglect to mention Christianity, God and his (or her) all-pervasive influence on the peoples. The book abounds with pastors, faith healers, preachers’ widows, and is full of references to faith; its continuance and, frequently, its loss. Carson has a theology and culture Masters degree from St Andrew’s university, in effect a Masters in Literature focused on the Bible, no less, and the presence of God, as a bargaining tool, as a port in a storm, as a first refuge and a last resort pervades the novel. Malcolm’s theological education is understandably stunted relative to Carson’s, as he has spent almost all his life criss-crossing America in a Volvo, and he is frequently heard to double check “Ours is the Jesus God, right?” before sending his desperate prayer skyward.
At the heart of the book is the eternal and recognisable conflict between parental desire for freedom and the realities of responsibility, and the child’s search for a responsible human adult upon whom to rely. The eccentric elderly residents of the Baptist retirement village are portrayed with tenderness and love, their foibles and their slipping away into the recesses of frailty, and dementia, is delicately drawn, their gradual disappearance being mirrored in Malcolm’s own physical disintegration. The sinister Dr. Blue is a thinly veiled metaphor for dementia and his plans for the eradication of music from the village give the residents a focal point for resistance and togetherness.
A novel dealing with the hackneyed themes of paternal dereliction and maternal emotional absence and dysfunction could be expected to inspire sympathy and fear such as in Mark Cousins’s 15 days without a head; a novel about growing up, reaching the bewildering unchartered territory of puberty and finding selfhood in adverse circumstances could produce Angela’s Ashes, but to start with those premises and to end up with Malcolm Orange disappears is a truly startling direction for an Irish writer. The only Irish novel with which I can draw any kind of comparison is JG Farrell’s wonderful, anarchic, crazy Troubles, winner of the Lost Booker Prize for 1970.
This is Carson’s first novel, but she is no stranger to the world of literature. She is outreach and Arts Development Officer at the Ulster Hall, runs a monthly literary salon, has read (and written) widely in Ireland, Britain and the US. Malcolm Orange was five years in the gestating, squeezed (as so many first novels are) into the spaces around the author’s “real life”. It certainly wasn’t a waste of five years, the book definitely rewards reading and is redemptive and joyful. Carson is a busy woman, writing in what she calls “the margins” of her hectic schedule and she freely admits that she feels Malcolm Orange is not the best book she is capable of writing, in which case, I eagerly await her next offering. This is a wonderful, warm and brave first novel, proving that magic realism is no longer the sole property of exotic authors, but in the right hands can be universal in appeal.
http://orlamcalindenwrites.wordpress.com
July 28, 2014
Carson's debut novel MALCOLM ORANGE DISAPPEARS marries the tradition of Irish storytelling, myth, lore and general blarney with the disposable new world of the Americas where such wonders have been forgotten. The picaresque style of the narrative allows the author to populate Malcolm's close knit retirement community universe with a wealth of interesting, quirky and fantastic characters in a way that always keeps you guessing where the story is actually headed. It's only in the final third that the reader sees just how incredibly well crafted, restraint and magical the penmanship is.
MALCOLM ORANGE DISAPPEARS is like Neil Gaiman's AMERICAN GODS with the heart and soul of the traditional Irish yarn; crafted by a voice that's worldly yet childishly enthusiastic about the possibilities that are out there awaiting discovery, it is simply majestic.
MALCOLM ORANGE DISAPPEARS is like Neil Gaiman's AMERICAN GODS with the heart and soul of the traditional Irish yarn; crafted by a voice that's worldly yet childishly enthusiastic about the possibilities that are out there awaiting discovery, it is simply majestic.
August 17, 2021
Writers should be really, really grateful that they still can write about how funny old people are. In this crazy ultra-woke climate you can't write about silly black people or ridiculous gay people or even make fun of people who can't see or can't hear.
But there's always old people. Aren't they so funny! The bumble around, fall over things (almost as funny as blind people!) they forget things and they have crazy stupid ideas all the time. It seems like they don't know that they aren't young any more, that there is a young person trapped in that failing brain and disintegrating body.
I should know. I'm an old person.
And am I glad that young writers who can no longer churn out stereotypes about people's sexuality or people's disabilities can still write a whole big book featuring a dud-studded cast of stupid, crazy, feeble old people?
No, I am not. You can't write this sort of stuff about other groups of people in society for a reason. That it promotes the perception that they are less than people, that they have less right to exist than you have.
We are people, Jay Carson, and I despise all your glib fun at the expense of those who can no longer fight back. Stop writing about a country you don't know and a people you don't know. Dig your own garden.
But there's always old people. Aren't they so funny! The bumble around, fall over things (almost as funny as blind people!) they forget things and they have crazy stupid ideas all the time. It seems like they don't know that they aren't young any more, that there is a young person trapped in that failing brain and disintegrating body.
I should know. I'm an old person.
And am I glad that young writers who can no longer churn out stereotypes about people's sexuality or people's disabilities can still write a whole big book featuring a dud-studded cast of stupid, crazy, feeble old people?
No, I am not. You can't write this sort of stuff about other groups of people in society for a reason. That it promotes the perception that they are less than people, that they have less right to exist than you have.
We are people, Jay Carson, and I despise all your glib fun at the expense of those who can no longer fight back. Stop writing about a country you don't know and a people you don't know. Dig your own garden.
February 1, 2022
This is a debut novel and is extremely imaginative and at times laugh out loud. However, there are too many different scenarios and the book is too long because of the detail the author gives to each new scenario. The final part of the book was very confusing and I skip read a lot. However, I will definitely be reading more of Jan Carson.
January 23, 2015
This is a well written story (or stories) that has a charm that is hard to resist. It is a work of magic realism. I have read a few Karen Russell stories and One Hundred Years of Solitude but don't have a long history in reading this genre.
The book spends almost as much time on minor and other major characters as it does Malcolm. It seems as though every other chapter is devoted to the history of another character we just came to know or are about to know further. Even on the chapters about Malcolm, the story will go back and tell a short side story about other characters. While this might be tough at first, I found there to be a rather interesting rhythm behind it.
All-in-all, I found this story to be funny, sad and truthful, especially in its most fantastical moments, such as flying children and a disappearing main character. It also had redemption. It was sharp and full of wit. And one thing I really appreciated about it was that it never seemed to drift into over explanations or sentimentality. We are left to draw our own conclusions much of the time.
Our lives are broken and we all hurt. Sometimes we have to lose ourselves in order to be found. And sometimes the blind are more keen on seeing than the people with 20/20 vision. It is a book that will stay with me for awhile.
The book spends almost as much time on minor and other major characters as it does Malcolm. It seems as though every other chapter is devoted to the history of another character we just came to know or are about to know further. Even on the chapters about Malcolm, the story will go back and tell a short side story about other characters. While this might be tough at first, I found there to be a rather interesting rhythm behind it.
All-in-all, I found this story to be funny, sad and truthful, especially in its most fantastical moments, such as flying children and a disappearing main character. It also had redemption. It was sharp and full of wit. And one thing I really appreciated about it was that it never seemed to drift into over explanations or sentimentality. We are left to draw our own conclusions much of the time.
Our lives are broken and we all hurt. Sometimes we have to lose ourselves in order to be found. And sometimes the blind are more keen on seeing than the people with 20/20 vision. It is a book that will stay with me for awhile.
September 1, 2016
I thought that this was a more entertaining and enjoyable book than 100 Years of Solitude. I felt like it could have been edited better. I didn't like the tone, as it was trying to prove that yes, we are in America, with many UK-isms in there as well. It was a small detail, but annoyed me. The bits about Cunningham Holt were the absolute best. His story has the most heart in the whole book. I felt like some bits could have been longer and other shorter. The parts I enjoyed I really enjoyed and will totally keep reading her!
March 12, 2016
I would like to give 4 and a half. This is a really good read. Malcolm and his dysfunctional family wander across Norh America in a car until Malcolm's dad finally does a runner. Brilliant up this point then for me it dipped, although there were still some very funny parts in the retirement home it did lose my attention for a while. Mr Fluffy was excellent as was Holt Cunningham. Maybe there was just too much pushed into the final characters and the life story of the Director.
July 28, 2014
Zany characters surround a neuotic, endearing little boy. I loved spending time in Malcolm's world. Shifting perspectives and well-rounded characters make this a worthy, enjoyable read.
April 7, 2016
A bit a slow burner initially but in the end I really enjoyed this book. Full of great, quirky stories and interesting characters and a phenomenal final chapter.
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews