I received Gretchen: A Thriller by Shannon Kirk as a Goodreads Giveaway. My sincere thanks for the free book, and I’d love to be able to write a positive review, but it’s so awful I couldn’t finish it. If it were a physical book, I’d at least skim through it, but I find skimming ebooks to be difficult so I’m abandoning it because life is too short to read books this incredibly bad. There is nothing I like about this book. The plot is ridiculous, the dialogue is terrible, the prose is terrible and I don’t give two shits about anyone. Except the cat, Allen. I hope nothing bad happens to him.
A mother and her teenage daughter, Lucy, are on the run. They don’t stay in one place very long because they are worried about being recognized. They’ve been running for years but Lucy is tired of this and wants to stay in one place long enough to make at least one friend. When they rent an idyllic cottage in a rural town, Lucy is sure they’ve found the perfect place to settle down, but her mother is worried—with good cause. The family they are renting from is creepy and hiding secrets, but that doesn’t stop Lucy from becoming friends with Gretchen, the teenage daughter. Nothing good comes of this.
I don’t know what happens in the end (or even the middle) because I quit on page 60. This book has so many problems that even if I could overlook the unbelievable plot, the writing is so godawful I cannot plow through it. The pacing is constantly dragged down by the most inane and excessive descriptions of physical settings and turkey subs (they’re moist! They’re delicious!) that I just can’t. I don’t think I’ve done anything so awful in life that I need to atone by finishing this book.
The plot is immediately unbelievable. Lucy was apparently a baby or a toddler when she and her mother first went on the run. So they’ve been running and hiding for over ten years. However, their situation is presented at first as if their fugitive status is fairly recent, perhaps under a year. They are so paranoid about being discovered that Lucy doesn’t make many friends at school, they rarely appear in public together and Lucy wears contacts to disguise the true color of her eyes. It’s reasonable to think that they are being featured on 24 hour cable news shows, are trending in social media, etc. If you keep reading, you discover why they are running and hiding (and even later there are hints that that reason isn’t the truth) and that they’ve been doing so for YEARS. In that time, Lucy has grown into a teenager. Her mother has aged. Maybe the mother will be recognizable, but who the hell is going to look at Lucy and say, “oh yeah, you’re that baby I saw on tv 10 years (or so) ago”? But the author presents this almost exact situation as happening (and happening more than once). If, IF, the author had dropped in a line like, “Lucy and her mother’s paranoia increases whenever CNN runs an update on their story and shows a computer-generated image of what a 15 year old Lucy looks like,” then I could have believed it. At least enough to stop my eye-rolling. But the author does not and so I’m left with my skeptical “no way in fucking hell will the general public remember—much less recognize—this girl as the missing/kidnapped/whatever toddler from years ago” thoughts. Not a promising start to a thriller.
The other huge problem: the writing is TERRIBLE. Sentence construction is awkward, dialogue is tortured and unnatural, the very odd and excessively long food descriptions are flat out fucking weird…I mean, it’s awful. The writing is so bad that I cannot decide if that some of the word choices are deliberate by the author to make certain characters look strange (because Gretchen and her father are seriously not right), but based on all the dialogue (both spoken and Lucy’s blabbity blab blab constantly running inner dialogue describing physical settings in words no teenager or even normal fucking person would use) and really, just about every word in the book, I’m going with it’s terrible writing overall.
Because the writing is so bad, I’m just going to quote stuff and add comments. I can’t say much else about the novel except, it’s obvious that Gretchen and the father are serial murderers or something. It’s so fucking obvious that it’s absolutely ridiculous that Mom (whatever her name is), who has spent a great chunk of her life trying to keep Lucy safe from (whatever), doesn’t stuff the kid back in the car and go. I don’t care how delicious those damn turkey subs are, when some guy tells me his property is secured by a “boundary fence, house perimeter alarms, and, yes, net traps, ankle snatchers, electrical gates” (55), I’m hauling ass as fast and far away as possible from this dude and his creepy kid. I will also say that chapter four presents a new unnamed character who apparently is traveling and living out of her car (?), which she appears to call the Beast, and this woman makes no sense at all. She’s following/searching for someone (can we guess who???) and yet stops every morning to get her physical fitness on: some planks and five-minute knee-lift sprints. Oh, yes. The WTF-is-going-on-fun never ends in this novel.
“But I did note her hiding a relief of a smile at my answer” (6). What is a “relief of a smile”? Why, Shannon Kirk, would you write such a terrible sentence when you can easily write: “I noticed her trying to hide a relieved smile at my answer”?
“I’ve noticed how ever since I started my period a few months ago, and since my body and face have been changing more and more, she winces more and more” (13). Ugh. First, it’s however, not how ever. Second, awkward repetition of “more and more.”
I’m not one for always following grammar and punctuation rules, but if you’re going to ignore them, it should be for creative reasons—not because it looks as if you can’t write a damn decent sentence.
“Mom bounces her head…” (14). Can she now? That’s talent!
“And the way it’s decorated, I place myself inside reading a book, in its cozy-colorful-artiness” (16). I hate everything about this sentence.
“I think this means I want to be a chef someday, and Mom thinks I must think that too” (17). Eye roll.
Here are some bad dialogue selections. When the characters talk, the words they use may be okay, but the order in which they use them is weird. At one point, her mother says to her: “Lucy, love you, Bug” (8). That’s not normal. Wouldn’t she just say: “Love ya, Lucy Bug?” And: “Such a good girl, Lucy. Okay. A quick ice cream by the lake” (8). Not only does that sound weird, but how old is Lucy? It sounds as if Mom is talking to either a small child or her dog. After the scene in the park when Lucy takes off her sunglasses and looks at the man and he recognizes her (eye roll), Lucy and her mother both use the word “engage” to describe speaking to the man. Lucy says that she is “sorry for engaging that man” (13). Who uses that word choice? Wouldn’t you say, “Sorry, mom. I shouldn’t have talked to that man”? Doesn’t that sound more natural? I get that the author is trying to show that Lucy grew up sheltered and homeschooled and so isn’t a normal teenager, but the awkward dialogue doesn’t help define either Lucy or her mother (or really any of the characters). More quick examples:
“This thing (the rental house) is furnished so completely, it even comes with new linens” (16). Yes, because that sounds like a teenager—blown away by the new “linens.”
“But I also really like reading true books about octopus intelligence and jellyfish and sea things…” (17). If she’s so damn precise she says “linens” instead of “bed sheets,” she’s not going to say “true books.” It’s non-fiction. Non-fiction. Say it with me, class!
“Now I’m the one doing a happy bounce, and Gretchen is back to doing hers. I’ve never done a happy bounce before” (34). If Lucy were being even the slightest bit sarcastic I’d let this pass, but she’s not. She and Gretchen both sound like 5 year olds. Yah! Happy bounce! But contrast her happy bouncing with the long, unnecessarily detailed descriptions of the physical setting. Why the author did not present these passages as exposition is beyond me, but they are written as Lucy’s thoughts:
“Rising up the dirt road, we move past Bottle Brush Forest, and as we do, the trees on my side, the right side, start to thin, but the trees on Mom’s side start to thicken, the limbs of the pines not sheared now” (17). Do we really need to know that the trees on one side of the road are denser than other side? Who fucking cares?
“And yet the thickening forest on Mom’s side casts stagnant, unmovable shadows—not the dappling, lighter mood of light dancing through rippling leaves and mixing with moving shadows; the darkness on her side is a wall of cold dusk” (18). No one thinks like that. An author will describe a forest like that. A teenager who’s trying too hard to be lyrical can write that, but a girl sitting in a car looking at the forest outside her car window isn’t going to yammer on about the quality of the rippling leaves and dappling light.
“Out ahead of us is a patch of cattails and tall, swamplike lime grasses, as if dancing green snakes are climbing rods to eat brown Twinkies speared on the tops” (19). Ha ha ha ha ha. Could that be any more tortured? Cattails are now dancing green snakes eating brown Twinkies. Holy shit that’s awful. What’s even more amusing is the author has her character summarize the scenery: “So to sum up, in front of us, out beyond the cattails and lime snake patch, is an inviting lightness, a dancing light and rippling leaves, the promise of a burdenless summer” (19). Lucy “sums up” another physical description (this time of a room) about ten pages later. Why bother writing such excruciating descriptions merely to have Lucy (the same character describing them) “sum” them up?
And lastly, the weird-as-fuck precisely detailed descriptions of food. Again, I will allow some latitude in the idea that the author (at least with the first selection) is trying to show how much Lucy yearns for a normal life, so much so that her imaginary “dinner at a friend’s house” scenario is weirdly detailed. But this charitable reasoning in no way explains why the author would devote three paragraphs and at least 100 words describing the delicious turkey subs.
Lucy’s imagined idea of what her friend Jenny’s mom would serve them for dinner if Lucy could stay the weekend at her house: “homemade cheesesteak sandwiches out of prime-cut, thin-sliced, perfectly marinated beef, with aged cheddar from Vermont, and on fresh-baked rolls” (7). Wouldn’t Jenny’s mom assume they want pizza and Cokes? Or burgers and fries? Typical teenage fare? Why would she serve this? Did Lucy really want this (not specified in the book)? Or is Jenny’s mom a really great cheesesteak sandwich maker?
The it’s so weird it’s great turkey sub description:
“ ‘Turkey’s shaved from Dyson’s downtown. They roast five whole turkeys every single day and then sell the sandwiches and meat the next day. Every day they sell out. People drive here from all over.’ (Jerry the creep says this.)
This is the best turkey club I’ve ever had. The turkey is moist and just-right salty and seems somewhat marinated in a delicious gravy. The bacon is obviously organic [obviously—I mean, she can tell just by tasting it, right?] and smoked, and the cheese, Jerry told us, is aged cheddar from an actual Vermont cheesemaker [wtf with the preoccupation with aged cheddar cheese from Vermont], some guy with a long white beard [because beardless guys make shit aged cheddar cheese, even if it’s from Vermont]. The lettuce is crisp, local butter lettuce, not disgusting field weeds they try to pass off as ‘mixed greens.’ All these great ingredients are available at Dyson’s [is this a real joint? Did they pay the author to publicize their store?]” (51). This is even nuttier the second time reading (and typing it). I just…I mean…WTF.
And (for anyone who still wants to read this 353-paged pile of dung), I give you these:
Lucy owns a “first-edition of Dolores Claiborne” (43). Ha ha ha ha…you can probably pick up a copy of this book anywhere, so citing that it is a first edition is funny. It’s not a Jane Austen or a folio of one of Shakespeare’s plays.
“…as she grabs my left biceps and squeezes…”(18). Um, you really only have the one left bicep.
There’s a running theme of Lucy’s obsession with finding a “true Jenny” which I take to mean a good friend, like her friend Jenny from the school she recently had to leave. It’s annoying and I hate it, but I hate everything about this novel.
“I love cats!” Gretchen says, her smile even wider now (26). Run, Allen the cat, run!
“Right away we step into a galley kitchen with retro-style but modern turquoise and red appliances: a turquoise refrigerator, a red gas stove, a turquoise toaster, a red dishwasher” (27). Really? How much money do these people have? Maybe you can get a funky colored toaster, but I just had to get a new stove and dishwasher and I’ll tell you, even the fanciest (and most expensive) appliances did NOT come in red and turquoise. That’s a special order from a high-end appliance dealer. But, hell, maybe these people are wealthy creepy serial killers.
“At the end of the hall is a small bathroom. I poke my head in to find the three essentials: sink, toilet, shower stall” (28). Thank you for that elucidation, Lucy. I never knew what essentials a bathroom contained.
“As in every place we’ve rented, we’ve entered into a conspiracy to allow the landlord to hide rental income from the IRS” (34). This irritates me because has the author ever been a renter? Previously there’s a conversation between Jerry and Mom about how she likes to pay the rent in cash because she doesn’t trust the US banking system and Jerry says, “oh yeah, cash is better for us if you know what I mean,” wink, wink. This is so stupid. Paying rent in cash is a legitimate and LEGAL way of paying your rent. Plus, you can get money orders if you don’t trust banks. It’s like the author has no clue that other systems of currency exist outside of checks and credit cards. I’ve paid cash for my rent before—that doesn’t make me a criminal. If the landlord doesn’t report this income to the IRS, it won’t matter how you pay the fucking rent. Cash is easier because there’s no record, but seriously. If he’s that crooked he won’t report any rent payments, no matter how they are made. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It seems the more I hate a book, the longer my reviews are. I read only 60 pages of this shitfest, yet my review is over 2000 words long. My apologies. It’s just so fucking bad. I don’t recommend this book, unless you want to experience the awfulness for yourself.