Feb. 5th, 2020 02:46 pm
Hāʻawi me ka pono ʻole
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muckefuckLooks like I really set a fire in one of my librarians' groups by asking people for the worst-written book they've ever finished. I thought of it because the stories in Under Maui skies and other stories are really awful on just about every criterion, but I plan to finish the book anyhow because it's short and I need to make my Goodreads quota! Plus, in a world where Mitch Albom exist, it will never come close to being the worse-ever book I've ever finished.
Ironically, I chose it because it seemed the most "literary" of the options in the local fiction section, most of which seemed to be romance novels self-published by balding white retirees. Whatever else you want to say about Moniz, he at least grew up on the island and did his research and his other publishing credits seem to be legit (though his is the first book I think I've read where the list of other works by the author includes unpublished titles).
Unfortunately, there's plenty else you can say about him, little of it good. The conceit of the book is that each story is in a different genre and in a different time period and location on Maui. This makes me wonder if there's any genre he can do well. The characters are consistently unconvincing and the plots are threadbare (to the extent they even have them; the "historical romance" baldly brings to mind Forster's dictum); mostly what he brings to the table is local colour (often in the most hamfisted manner possible, e.g. Hawai'ian words and names of defunct Maui businesses dropped randomly into the text).
Fortunately, everything else I've been reading lately has been far superior. I finished the Hulme and the writing remained consistently excellent even if the ending didn't live up to the promise of the middle section. She pulled one of my least-favourite authorial manœuvres and gave two characters severe/fatal illnesses only to discard them in the final reel. In general, the ending felt rushed and too positive, more like a dream in the mind of one of the characters than how any of this would actually play out.
But, again, I enjoyed every step of the long journey to reach that point. The characters are real and complicated and tragic, with distinct and compelling individual voices, and I was invested in them (which is why I feel a bit jerked around that their problems were made out to be more serious than they were). They literally travel the length and breadth of New Zealand, which is beautifully described but not in a way that feels overromanticised. (One of the locales is a swamp and she makes it sound pretty damn dreadful.) And there's a heavy dose of Māori culture in it.
Her use of the language, incidentally, is the exact counterpoint to Moniz': She never seems to throw in a word gratuitously; if it's there, it's because there's no good English equivalent or--if there is one--the characters don't know it. If the characters are speaking English and throw in a Māori phrase or two, it's left untranslated (apart from the glossary at the end); if they're speaking Māori, everything's translated unless they happen to use one of those words without an equivalent.
After such a heavy read, I decided I wanted something a bit light. From my stack of going-out-of-business bargains I selected two contenders. The one I settled on was Julian Barnes' Flaubert's parrot, since it probably makes sense to tackle it while "Un cœur simple" is still fresh in my mind. So far it's fulfilling expectations: a fun read that doesn't tax my brain. It also spurred me on in Trois contes by including a bit of a spoiler for "Julien".
I'd still like to get back to the Prichard, but I don't know how I can with everything else on my plate. My brain is so full of Hawai'ian right now that I don't want to think what might happen if I tried to stuff some Welsh in there, too. But by the time St David's Day rolls around, I might be finished with all this island mania and ready to get back to it.
Ironically, I chose it because it seemed the most "literary" of the options in the local fiction section, most of which seemed to be romance novels self-published by balding white retirees. Whatever else you want to say about Moniz, he at least grew up on the island and did his research and his other publishing credits seem to be legit (though his is the first book I think I've read where the list of other works by the author includes unpublished titles).
Unfortunately, there's plenty else you can say about him, little of it good. The conceit of the book is that each story is in a different genre and in a different time period and location on Maui. This makes me wonder if there's any genre he can do well. The characters are consistently unconvincing and the plots are threadbare (to the extent they even have them; the "historical romance" baldly brings to mind Forster's dictum); mostly what he brings to the table is local colour (often in the most hamfisted manner possible, e.g. Hawai'ian words and names of defunct Maui businesses dropped randomly into the text).
Fortunately, everything else I've been reading lately has been far superior. I finished the Hulme and the writing remained consistently excellent even if the ending didn't live up to the promise of the middle section. She pulled one of my least-favourite authorial manœuvres and gave two characters severe/fatal illnesses only to discard them in the final reel. In general, the ending felt rushed and too positive, more like a dream in the mind of one of the characters than how any of this would actually play out.
But, again, I enjoyed every step of the long journey to reach that point. The characters are real and complicated and tragic, with distinct and compelling individual voices, and I was invested in them (which is why I feel a bit jerked around that their problems were made out to be more serious than they were). They literally travel the length and breadth of New Zealand, which is beautifully described but not in a way that feels overromanticised. (One of the locales is a swamp and she makes it sound pretty damn dreadful.) And there's a heavy dose of Māori culture in it.
Her use of the language, incidentally, is the exact counterpoint to Moniz': She never seems to throw in a word gratuitously; if it's there, it's because there's no good English equivalent or--if there is one--the characters don't know it. If the characters are speaking English and throw in a Māori phrase or two, it's left untranslated (apart from the glossary at the end); if they're speaking Māori, everything's translated unless they happen to use one of those words without an equivalent.
After such a heavy read, I decided I wanted something a bit light. From my stack of going-out-of-business bargains I selected two contenders. The one I settled on was Julian Barnes' Flaubert's parrot, since it probably makes sense to tackle it while "Un cœur simple" is still fresh in my mind. So far it's fulfilling expectations: a fun read that doesn't tax my brain. It also spurred me on in Trois contes by including a bit of a spoiler for "Julien".
I'd still like to get back to the Prichard, but I don't know how I can with everything else on my plate. My brain is so full of Hawai'ian right now that I don't want to think what might happen if I tried to stuff some Welsh in there, too. But by the time St David's Day rolls around, I might be finished with all this island mania and ready to get back to it.