Interesting story, poor writing
Sometimes, inferior means can still lead to decent results. Before We Disappear could have been a very good book. The story is engaging, there’s drama, and interesting plot twists. But the way it’s written is childishly melodramatic, pretentious, and pompous. It’s not so horrible that I didn’t finish it, but bad enough that I was consistently angry at the poor (and sometimes abysmal) writing.
As far as the book’s strengths, the story is engaging and fresh, set during the 1909 Seattle World’s Fair. It follows 16 year olds Jack Nevin and Wilhelm Gesler, each a magician’s assistant but to different magicians. Jack assists Evangeline, a narcissistic con artist who is psychologically abusive. Wilhelm assists Teddy, a psychopath who kidnapped Wilhelm and has been physically and emotionally abusing him for 12 years in order to force Wil to commit crimes. Jack and Wil meet at the World’s Fair, fall for each other, and Jack and a group of new friends set out to free Wil from Teddy’s power. The author has done his research, successfully evoking the feel of turn of the century Seattle. Despite the book’s significant weaknesses, the author manages to produce a dramatic storyline that kept me reading until the end.
But the writing, even considering that this book is aimed at teens, is awful, and not just because it’s heavily weighted with that peculiar American aesthetic of talking down to its audience through repetitive, bullet point storytelling. (I’m American, but this writing style drives me nuts). We get plot summaries nearly every other chapter (or more), as if the author expects his readers to have a deficient working memory. This repetition extends to the characters and their thoughts. At one point, when a new character is introduced, the author gives us this passage:
“Mr. Carr, what are you doing here?”
The hook-nosed man, who was apparently known to Jessamy and whose name was Mr. Carr, cleared his throat….
“As Ms. Valentine mentioned, my name is Edwin Carr…”
The next paragraphs repeat his name at least 4 more times. The author either doesn’t respect our intelligence as an audience or lacks faith in his ability to keep our attention.
It’s not just that the writing is repetitive; it’s simply bad. Bad as in atrocious. Here are just a few groaners:
“Jack was the Sun, but my fear eclipsed him”
“My misery was as boundless as the sky, my soul as dark as midwinter night.”
“I’m a burning building, Jack,” Wil said. “Only a fool would run into one.”
“Then I’m a fool on fire.”
“If you’re right, and our ship is doomed to go down, then we’ll sink together and I’ll play us a lullaby on the ocean floor.”
It goes on and on. There are a number of chapters where Jack and Will repeatedly say “You’re my home” to each other, which gets fairly irritating, but, to drive the point home, there’s even a dream sequence where Jack dreams Will turns into a house that surrounds him - just in case we didn’t get it the first time around.
Who writes this schlock?
Similarly, the characters are all stock, formulaic tropes that feel too familiar by half. Both the villains, Evangeline and Teddy, come off as Disney-esque, Cruella de Vil caricatures, and while the protagonists have a touch more individuality, they’re still written as superficial tropes floating on the surface of pop sensibility. The word-smithing is at the same level, with bland, all cliched descriptions that are dead on arrival, such as “I felt like I could see my future spread out before me, boundless and free.” Inspiring stuff, that; teenagers deserve better.
The characters are empty shells, pantomimes of emotion and inner life offered as substitutes for the real thing. The author, for instance, tells us Jack and Wilhem fall over laughing, but isn’t able to write humorous dialogue or create a funny situation for his readers to share. We’re told a character’s heart breaks, but we’re left out in the cold wondering what it really feels like because the author doesn’t show us. We get a list of bullet point feelings rather than immersive experiences. We get cloying, clichéd drivel rather than dialogue making us believe these people have genuine emotions and vibrant inner lives.
Likewise, the author’s analogies and metaphors lack strong conceptual grounding. It’s interesting that, while we all spontaneously create metaphors in everyday language, the young people I’ve taught in college often find it difficult to construct new metaphors or understand their structure. Perhaps they’re not getting good examples. For instance, the author, referring to the variety of period clothes at the Fair, writes that “each outfit [was] the palette upon which they [the fair visitors] painted their personalities” (page 251). You use palettes to mix paint, which is then applied to something else (e.g. a canvas); you don’t paint “upon” the palette itself.
Hutchinson also delivers this clunker: “He might not have been the most conventionally attractive boy I had ever seen, but like Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne, he was intriguing, each new angle with a story to tell.” Mapping a boy’s attractiveness onto the 360 degree swirl of movement Bernini achieved in Apollo and Daphne might be audacious, but there’s precious little substance to it. It doesn’t work intellectually, aesthetically or practically in the narrative. This is primarily because sculptural beauty (a function of the internal relationships between visual elements with each other but, necessarily, also a function of these relationships to the surrounding negative spaces and the environment in which the sculpture is placed) doesn’t really help us understand facial beauty (which is a function of just the internal shape relationships within an individual face considered on its own, without reference to the surrounding space). Of course, we don’t need to think all this to know the metaphor doesn’t work.
Just one more head-scratcher: “The folding seats in the audience….” The word ‘audience’ refers to people (or, of course, a meeting, as in an audience with a king, but that’s not the sense here). After I read this, I pictured something like a Rene Magritte painting of people with folding chairs embedded in their torsos. Since folding seats can not be “in” people, its clear the author means “auditorium.” This sloppy, half-cooked, and near ignorant kind of writing is sprinkled throughout the book, and, again, young people deserve better.
Professional writers should be able to construct sentences that are more meaningful, more intellectually coherent, than those found in a 6th grade remedial language arts class. Apparently not this writer. I’ve even tried to frame this book as camp to excuse the lack of quality - but the writing is too inconsistent, one moment oozing unconvincingly earnest pap and the next exploding with astonishing violence.
It’s the literary equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Why did Harper let this kind of writing loose in the world?
When I was in 9th grade, I was reading everything from Tolkien to Asimov, from Patricia McKillip to Ann McCaffrey, from LeGuin to Stephen Donaldson to Elizabeth A. Lynn’s astonishingly well done, and inclusive, Chronicles of Tornor. Teens don’t need to be patronized or talked down to, and in no way does this book measure up. My suggestion is for this author to team up with someone who can write convincing characters and immersive scenes, while he supplies the plot, setting and pacing.