i love genre fiction that is so sophisticatedly literary. the language here is super. some passages are extremely cool.
"The tension in the kitchen is like waiting for a hurricane. We are losing the sun and the palm trees are blowing inside out; traffic lights swing wildly on their cables. The storm shutters are up and the house is sealed, but within the hour we will be beset by knocking winds like a thousand screaming inmates."
the plot, though, leaves a lot to be desired. one small thing that bothered me quite a bit is that smith throws a little omniscient narration here and there without separating it from the rest of the narrative, which is in the first person. what is an omniscient narrator doing in a first person narrative?!? there's more. in spite of the gorgeous writing, the characters don't convince. what is ana grey's story? what is she after? what are her longings, her frustrations? what does she want? what is she afraid of? Dick Stone is supposed to be charismatic in a troubled sort of way, but i didn't get any of his charisma. was ana seduced by it? not clear. the plot is supposed to delve into the complexities of power and corruption, but that, too, remains vague. the best parts of this book, which i am still happy to have read, are the small moments. ana in undercover school. ana on the scrambled phone in the stable at dawn, before anyone gets up. ana chatting up the wrangler, not knowing who he is, vaguely repelled by a brown hole in his gum. ana in meetings, trying to hold her own while the guys piss on each other.
why did this book remind me of michael ondaatje's Divisadero? the disjointedness, the never-quite-coming-togetherness, coupled with the fabulous language and an ill-defined psycho-existential longing. do you really want to stick with mysteries, april smith?