In case you’re not on Goodreads, I’ll tell you I’m currently reading An Echo In the Bone by Diana Gabaldon. I’ve been a huge fan of hers since Outlander, and I’ve read most of her books more than once. But I confess, I probably won’t post a revue of this book and here’s why.She would get plus five, for research. As an author, I empathize and totally appreciate the intensive research it must have taken to write another fantastically done period novel.
She would also get plus five for her dynamic prose. I read some of the passages of description or dialogue, and just marvel at the word usage, and the imagery she provides. It’s amazing.
And the characters. It’s like meeting your oldest and dearest friends for tea. Friends you haven’t seen in years, and are thrilled to welcome back into your life.With me, you just know there’s a ‘but’ coming don’t you? Right now I’m about a third of the way through, and it’s the first time in a long time I feel like I might not finish a book. And one by a beloved author? Well that just makes me sad. And makes me ponder.
It took several days of ruminating to come to the conclusion, it’s not her. Nor anything she’s written. It’s me. Over the years apparently, my tastes have changed. Maybe it’s reading one too many LKH books. But really, is there any such thing as too many? I guess these days, I’m looking for a fast paced, action packed, thriller type of story.I’m in a bit of a quandary. As an author I have nothing but raves for her dedication to her work, and for the product that dedication produces. But as a reader, I’m really not enjoying it this time around. And it’s not her fault. So rather than write a less than stellar review, which she in no way deserves, I’ll just say nothing. And that leaves me feeling a little empty somehow.
What would you do?