I had big expectations for Someone Else’s Love Story—the kind that can be scary for a writer if they know how much we anticipate from their shiny strings of words and disappointing to a reader if those words don’t flash like diamonds.
Someone Else’s Love Story did not disappoint.
The opening scene is like a bad joke: a meth head, an autistic genius, a too-young mom, and a brilliant toddler born from a virgin walk into a convince store . . . What happens next is far from convenient. (Oops. I almost wrote covenant. Nuns play a role in this story, too.)
If you’re held up at gunpoint, your life MUST change in some earth-shattering ways, right? Since almost all the characters involved were already living beside the river DENIAL, things start flowing.
This book deals with a smorgasbord of heavy stuff: crime, trauma, grief, child-loss, rape, religion, autism, drugs, and more. But before your forehead gets all scrunched up—this book is also damn funny. In between, Jackson manages to wriggle in destiny vs. choice, science vs. religion, chemistry vs. friendship, miracles vs.explanations—and fireworks, birdhouses, and sweet poets named Walcott.
I couldn’t help being engaged by William and Shandi, flaws and all. The characters are just so colorfully drawn. Even little Natty is divine (I pictured him as that precociously adorable blond kid from Jerry Maguire). And although some of the secondary characters come off as a might-bit brash, a little off, or lacking morals, I came to see the motivations for their ways.
These characters, even the ones I held dear, fight against things they know to be true. They banish their golems to the closet even though they know the door locks are broken, and eventually the bad is going to bust out. They make choices the reader may not agree with, but hey, it’s the character’s choice.
So much of this tale is backstory. Technically, all the answers must be found there, and the reader is lured along as hunks of the characters pasts are unveiled, sometimes even to the characters themselves. This can be clunky in novels, but here it’s integrated so well, I hardly noticed the jaunts from past to present. Jackson also knows her way around imagery and metaphor ["walking into air so thick with cat-fight tension that to me it tasted just like estrogen"] saturating the prose with a style I can only think of as deliciously Southern.
The novel is short—a scant 300 or so pages—and while I was dying to know how certain storylines would play in the future (which I can’t mention due to spoilers), I admire her restraint in just letting the ending be. Good things must come to an end.
This review first appeared on kerryannmorgan.com