Currently Reading #22

[littlerdog.livejournal.com]

I settled on the Blackmoor book as a nice gentle paperback to read in bed but I can't persist with it. There's two main reasons for this.

Firstly, the author's annoying habit of using a word that's almost, but not quite, the right word. It's not a case of malapropism; I'm not sure WHAT it is. Thesaurus abuse, maybe.

For example:

"In his teens, George was drawn to the scarcity of Beth Fisher, whose distinctions had made a recluse of her."

Leaving aside the regrettable fact that that is one clunky sentence, let's examine the use of 'scarcity'. Is he drawn to the fact that she's scarce--ie he hardly ever sees her? No, he sees her a lot because he follows her around. He's drawn, presumably, to the fact that she--well, I was going to say is an albino, but that makes her sound like a horse in a Flicka book, so let's say--has albinism. She has scarce, I think the author really means, rare, traits, eg white hair.

I hesitated over that sentence a while, then was brought to a screeching halt by this one:

"Seeing him like that, finally away from his mother, George was struck by the invincible tethers lashing him to the boy."

Invincible? It is and isn't the right word. No, tell a lie, it isn't the right word at all. The author's either trying to be clever or they haven't a clue. You pays your money and you takes your choice...or you take the book back whence it came. That's more likely.

The second fault is more grievous. Here we have a family living in a house with a lawn that's so hot water turns to steam on contact. Yet the lawn is green and requires cutting. That's pretty tough grass, isn't it? I'd have thought it would be baked brown. But if that weren't bad enough, the householders don't seem particularly curious about their steaming lawn. And to crown it all, the former coal-miner cutting the grass can't put two and two together and make four. You'd think a miner, of all people, would think, bloody hell, there's an underground fire here, something'd better be done. But no, he doesn't think anything of the sort. Nor does he seem to think it necessary that anybody be consulted about this weird lawn. Hence presumably the stage is set for the underground fire to keep burning merrily away until the house falls into it.

Come on. There's willing suspension of disbelief and then there's the downright fucking unbelievable.