The back of this book labels the prose of its author, Claire Messud, as “virtuosic,” “masterly,” “poised, subtle and perfect.” Plus, her bio indicates that two of her three books have been finalists for the PEN/Faulkner Award and all three were New York Times notable books. So call me crazy for expecting a lot out of the novel, which is the interconnected tale of three friends living in New York and their mutual acquaintances.
And call me crazy to have been slightly let down, even though the novel held my interest, was entertaining and (try as I might to pinpoint my indistinct disappointment) without major flaw. The characters are smart and round, archetypal without being boring. The dialog is witty and quick-fire, and Messud’s writing style is descriptive and sometimes unexpected.
However. Insert a great, big “however” here. It hits some of my nerves: It tells a story from too many points of view, too many “he” and “she”‘s. I seem to think that a good story should be told from a single “he” or “she”, the cozy and involving “I” or, if a an omnipresent narrator is the main character, that narrator shouldn’t be able to read everyone’s thoughts as if their heads were made of cellophane. As a reader, I don’t like to have everything told to me so neatly — I want to make some of my own connections and to FEEL the story rather than being told it. And no, the technique isn’t wrong or bad. In fact, it’s pretty common. But it bugs the hell out of me when an author is so — frankly — lazy.
Secondly, the story is an attempt at so many difficult or over-done themes, like the aging 20-something not quite where they imagined they’d be at 30. Like modern family issues: working motherhood, mid-life crises, parental-child relationships.
And 9/11. You see, we all want to talk about 9/11 in literature, exploring the emotions around the incident. But that exploration of emotion often comes off as an exploitation of emotion — as if the author is using the incident alone to evoke passionate feelings instead of making us feel passionately thanks to her characters and writing alone.
In all, it’s a perfectly acceptable book. “Acceptable” rather than “virtuosic” or “masterly.” If I made the quotes they printed on the back of books, I would say The Emperor’s Children is a book that seems to have been written on a deadline, with work ethic more than genuine inspiration behind it, by a nonetheless talented author, whose other books are surely better. I’ll put one of the award-winning or –nominated previous works on the to-read list for another day and I’m excited to see what Messud can do in other contexts, when perhaps she was equipped with more creativity and inspiration.
Rating: 2 out of 5 stars – Mediocre
