While I'm a fan of period pieces (and have a special obsession with the Tudors and Henry VIII and everything even remotely related to them) and a big fan of that whole 'literature' thing in general (thank you, BA in English), I'm often wary of reading those massively popular best sellers that everyone's always crowing about 'round the proverbial water cooler, even if the book in question is dangling delicious Tudors, sex, and drama in front of my face.
I tend to always hate those books that everyone and their grandmother raves about; take for instance, The DaVinci Code. I thought The DaVinci Code was the biggest piece of crap I have ever read in my entire life. Since most of you have heard me rant (on multiple occasions) about my loathing of the book, I'll sum it up for you:
The book professes women are supposed to be the strong leaders that have been squashed by historians and The Man, yet the ONE female character in the book is so spineless and stupid (seriously, they keep mentioning how much smarter the male lead is, it's rather off-putting) and can't do anything. Oh, but she's the kid of Jesus, cause you never saw that one coming, even though SHE IS CONSTANTLY THINKING ABOUT THAT TERRIBLE SECRET THAT MAYBE SHE'LL EXPLAIN ON THE NEXT PAGE BUT SHE WON'T BECAUSE SHE JUST WANTS TO KEEP MENTIONING THAT TERRIBLE SECRET THAT SHE WON'T EXPLAIN. There are other things I hate about the book, but if I don't stop myself now, I won't be able to control myself.
I tend to always hate those books that everyone and their grandmother raves about; take for instance, The DaVinci Code. I thought The DaVinci Code was the biggest piece of crap I have ever read in my entire life. Since most of you have heard me rant (on multiple occasions) about my loathing of the book, I'll sum it up for you:
The book professes women are supposed to be the strong leaders that have been squashed by historians and The Man, yet the ONE female character in the book is so spineless and stupid (seriously, they keep mentioning how much smarter the male lead is, it's rather off-putting) and can't do anything. Oh, but she's the kid of Jesus, cause you never saw that one coming, even though SHE IS CONSTANTLY THINKING ABOUT THAT TERRIBLE SECRET THAT MAYBE SHE'LL EXPLAIN ON THE NEXT PAGE BUT SHE WON'T BECAUSE SHE JUST WANTS TO KEEP MENTIONING THAT TERRIBLE SECRET THAT SHE WON'T EXPLAIN. There are other things I hate about the book, but if I don't stop myself now, I won't be able to control myself.
Hold me, I'm the weaker sexThis explains why I had - until today - put off reading The Other Boleyn Girl. I really wanted to read it, and more importantly, I really wanted to like it. I've heard nothing but good things - oh it's so dramatic, and full of sex and betrayals and plotting and all those other layers of awesomeness that come inevitably with a book on the subject. Yet I was afraid. Everyone liked it so much, and that meant I'd hate it. Could I do that to myself? Could I set myself up, feeling hopeful and fragile, only to sink into a pit of despair when I ended up throwing the book across the room and cursing out my friends for encouraging me to read it?
Turns out yep, I could. And in true Chelsea fashion, I found it to be a heinously written monstrosity, one that turned out to be all hype and absolutely nothing substantial within. Why does this always happen? Am I too critical? Too judgmental? Or just smarter than everyone else? I mean, I know I'm all three, but seriously people. This is getting ridiculous.
The problem with The Other Boleyn Girl is that the author's not actually a college educated adult - University of Sussex, I challenge you to procure Ms. Gregory's transcripts and "prove" she was ever there. See, Philippa Gregory is actually a twelve year old girl, clutching a bright pink feather pen in her hand and wearing a princess-style dress her mother sewed for her, yearning for freedom and understanding and for Billy Smith, the hottest, most smartest, most excellentest boy in the entire sixth grade, to stop noticing her more attractive sister and start dating her instead.
Most authors understand the basic concept of plot flow, of continuity, and of reasonable and sensible transitions. Philippa, on the other hand, seemed to have missed that particular lesson (perhaps she was writing dark poetry and painting her nails black under the bleachers on the football field) and seems to think there's no such thing as "physics" or "time and space" or "logicality." A scene will proceed like this:
Mary was gazing out the window of her living room, while her father was leaving for France to collect Anne. They were delayed. "Hey, Anne, how are you?" asked Mary. Their father stepped up beside them in the Queen's chambers. "Hi, your majesty." Catherine of Aragon didn't like her. George walked with them under the bright sun. Henry laughed with Mary.
And there you have chapter two. I kept pausing, wrinkling my brow, and re-reading the paragraph because I couldn't understand how Mary had been in her house then suddenly Anne was there but they were at the castle and then there was Catherine and wait, what? Where am I again, and what the hell am I reading?
I'm hiding my face because I'm ashamed of this book
It also doesn't help that the characters are completely lifeless. Last time I checked, Henry, Catherine, Anne & Co. were vivid, fascinating characters, caught up in history's most decadent soap opera. Here, however, they are flat and dull; rather than coming to life, they are just words on a page (and uninteresting ones, at that.) Anne is annoying and bland, Mary is snore-inducing, and George is, I believe, a piece of paper that they carry around with them because they don't actually have a brother, but really wish they do (and by "really" I mean they're "mildly interested" because they're incapable of more emotion, even with a few saucier words tossed here and there.)
Henry himself is beyond bland, appearing every so often in awkward ways (like when Mary was talking to Anne, but then in the next sentence was dancing with Henry, even though Henry was still sitting on his throne and Mary was still in the corner because there had been no indication of movement on either's part) and you really have to ask this is supposed to be Henry VIII? Boring! How one makes a tyrannical king that gleefully chopped the heads off his wives, plotted against everyone and everything, and generally had a grand old time oppressing everyone that questioned him, into a boring bland character that one could skip right over reading, baffles me.
So, basically, the book sucks. Terrible writing, uneventful plot (even during the "good" moments), heinously boring characters, and no continuity or transitions whatsoever. The only good thing about this book is that when you start reading, you fall asleep about five minutes later, give or take. Next time I'm suffering from insomnia, I'll break this book out, and start reading. That should give me ten solid hours of unconsciousness.
Turns out yep, I could. And in true Chelsea fashion, I found it to be a heinously written monstrosity, one that turned out to be all hype and absolutely nothing substantial within. Why does this always happen? Am I too critical? Too judgmental? Or just smarter than everyone else? I mean, I know I'm all three, but seriously people. This is getting ridiculous.
The problem with The Other Boleyn Girl is that the author's not actually a college educated adult - University of Sussex, I challenge you to procure Ms. Gregory's transcripts and "prove" she was ever there. See, Philippa Gregory is actually a twelve year old girl, clutching a bright pink feather pen in her hand and wearing a princess-style dress her mother sewed for her, yearning for freedom and understanding and for Billy Smith, the hottest, most smartest, most excellentest boy in the entire sixth grade, to stop noticing her more attractive sister and start dating her instead.
Most authors understand the basic concept of plot flow, of continuity, and of reasonable and sensible transitions. Philippa, on the other hand, seemed to have missed that particular lesson (perhaps she was writing dark poetry and painting her nails black under the bleachers on the football field) and seems to think there's no such thing as "physics" or "time and space" or "logicality." A scene will proceed like this:
Mary was gazing out the window of her living room, while her father was leaving for France to collect Anne. They were delayed. "Hey, Anne, how are you?" asked Mary. Their father stepped up beside them in the Queen's chambers. "Hi, your majesty." Catherine of Aragon didn't like her. George walked with them under the bright sun. Henry laughed with Mary.
And there you have chapter two. I kept pausing, wrinkling my brow, and re-reading the paragraph because I couldn't understand how Mary had been in her house then suddenly Anne was there but they were at the castle and then there was Catherine and wait, what? Where am I again, and what the hell am I reading?
I'm hiding my face because I'm ashamed of this bookIt also doesn't help that the characters are completely lifeless. Last time I checked, Henry, Catherine, Anne & Co. were vivid, fascinating characters, caught up in history's most decadent soap opera. Here, however, they are flat and dull; rather than coming to life, they are just words on a page (and uninteresting ones, at that.) Anne is annoying and bland, Mary is snore-inducing, and George is, I believe, a piece of paper that they carry around with them because they don't actually have a brother, but really wish they do (and by "really" I mean they're "mildly interested" because they're incapable of more emotion, even with a few saucier words tossed here and there.)
Henry himself is beyond bland, appearing every so often in awkward ways (like when Mary was talking to Anne, but then in the next sentence was dancing with Henry, even though Henry was still sitting on his throne and Mary was still in the corner because there had been no indication of movement on either's part) and you really have to ask this is supposed to be Henry VIII? Boring! How one makes a tyrannical king that gleefully chopped the heads off his wives, plotted against everyone and everything, and generally had a grand old time oppressing everyone that questioned him, into a boring bland character that one could skip right over reading, baffles me.
So, basically, the book sucks. Terrible writing, uneventful plot (even during the "good" moments), heinously boring characters, and no continuity or transitions whatsoever. The only good thing about this book is that when you start reading, you fall asleep about five minutes later, give or take. Next time I'm suffering from insomnia, I'll break this book out, and start reading. That should give me ten solid hours of unconsciousness.
No comments:
Post a Comment