I don't know what to think. I don't know what to feel. Is this normal? He's an adult. He's twice my age. There's no way. No. There's no way. But OH GOD. I wish there was.
Dear Diary: I think I'm in love with my English teacher.
So begins Lisa Jewell's "Watching You," a pulpy thriller recently praised in the NYT. I haven't read it yet, but this will be my book for the week. The NYT listed several new thrillers, and the writer offered qualified praise for a few. The praise followed one of two trends. (1) The book is maybe overly ambitious and lumpy, but gosh, what risk-taking! Or (2) The book is slick and professional, but maybe slightly too slick and too professional. I'll happily accept a book that fits scenario (2) any day, and apparently Jewell's book is a scenario (2) specimen.
I'll take it! Epistolary novels go way, way back. Samuel Richardson was a fan in the 1700s. "Watching You" isn't technically that--but it uses "found-object text" in a similar way. You can find diary entries in Val McDermid's work, as well. And--famously--in "The Color Purple." ("Dear God....")
A novel can be *both* Gothic *and* epistolary, and "Frankenstein" is a major example. Perhaps Lisa Jewell is borrowing from "Frankenstein." She is, after all, a slick professional.
Starting with a letter--or diary entry--gives your work a sense of immediacy. The reader feels as if he himself is the detective, piecing together clues. Also, I love the way Jewell slips inside her character: The writer buries the lede. As, indeed, you would, if you felt your head spinning. The writer must get through some "OH GOD"s and some "There's no way"s before she 'fesses up: "I think I'm in love with my English teacher."
And: BAM. We're in the Enchanted World. Forbidden cross-generational love. You feel a bit queasy. You might think of Elizabeth Strout's "Amy and Isabelle." Because we know we're dealing with genre fiction, we're aware already that the story will involve murder (and Jewell is aware that we are aware). Our mind is already doing anticipatory work--trying to make the jump from adolescent passion to a killing. Who would resist the urge to turn the pages? I bought my copy today.
Dear Diary: I think I'm in love with my English teacher.
So begins Lisa Jewell's "Watching You," a pulpy thriller recently praised in the NYT. I haven't read it yet, but this will be my book for the week. The NYT listed several new thrillers, and the writer offered qualified praise for a few. The praise followed one of two trends. (1) The book is maybe overly ambitious and lumpy, but gosh, what risk-taking! Or (2) The book is slick and professional, but maybe slightly too slick and too professional. I'll happily accept a book that fits scenario (2) any day, and apparently Jewell's book is a scenario (2) specimen.
I'll take it! Epistolary novels go way, way back. Samuel Richardson was a fan in the 1700s. "Watching You" isn't technically that--but it uses "found-object text" in a similar way. You can find diary entries in Val McDermid's work, as well. And--famously--in "The Color Purple." ("Dear God....")
A novel can be *both* Gothic *and* epistolary, and "Frankenstein" is a major example. Perhaps Lisa Jewell is borrowing from "Frankenstein." She is, after all, a slick professional.
Starting with a letter--or diary entry--gives your work a sense of immediacy. The reader feels as if he himself is the detective, piecing together clues. Also, I love the way Jewell slips inside her character: The writer buries the lede. As, indeed, you would, if you felt your head spinning. The writer must get through some "OH GOD"s and some "There's no way"s before she 'fesses up: "I think I'm in love with my English teacher."
And: BAM. We're in the Enchanted World. Forbidden cross-generational love. You feel a bit queasy. You might think of Elizabeth Strout's "Amy and Isabelle." Because we know we're dealing with genre fiction, we're aware already that the story will involve murder (and Jewell is aware that we are aware). Our mind is already doing anticipatory work--trying to make the jump from adolescent passion to a killing. Who would resist the urge to turn the pages? I bought my copy today.
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