I have decided to review books not just as a reader, but as a writer. What does this writer do well, and how? Where do they miss the mark, and why? Most books get dozens, hundreds or even thousands of reviews. My aim here is to provide book reviews specifically for writers, learning their craft and developing the tools to write great books themselves.
So often I read a book that leaves me unimpressed, unmoved by its characters, themes and story. Most often I would not review those books at all. The ‘If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing’ school of thought. But I realized there are lessons to learn from a book that doesn’t hit the mark. And when a book exceeds our expectations, what is it that makes it great? I will try to find those things and point a light on them, positive and negative.
My first attempt here will be at Cormac McCarthy’s ‘Suttree’.
As a writer in training, I am learning the different ways to express character. Physical descriptions help the reader see the characters in their mind’s eye. The actions of a character show what is important to them. The speech and mannerisms develop character, and the thoughts, actions and words of other characters reflect on the main characters. And the strongest method in first or close third person is to give the reader access to the mind of the characters. In close third person a reader can become intimately involved in the main characters’ minds and emotions.
McCarthy provides superb descriptions of setting and often uses these descriptions to reflect on the mood of the characters. But the reader’s understanding is inferred and not confirmed. The physical character descriptions are rudimentary enough to differentiate characters, and the reader’s imagination can fill in the blanks. The language of speech is stilted and barren. ‘Hidy, says one. Hidy back, says another. Come back soon.’ This suffices for conversation. We fall back on the actions of the characters, and the actions of the main character Cornelius Suttree speak well of him. He checks on his friends, arranges food and shelter. He cares. We think. He didn’t care for his family or provide for them, so we don’t know what to think about his character beyond superficial friendship. He drinks, falls down, gets in fights, gets arrested and passes out. Near the end of the book he lives on the avails of prostitution, not quite a pimp. So much of McCarthy’s work is like turning over a rock and watching what levels of degeneracy man can fall to. I suppose it makes a statement about nihilism and shakes a fist at good society. But as incisive an eye as he has for scenery, he balks at exploring the inner mind and heart of men. I am left wanting more.
Writers are told to be brave. Here, I think McCarthy fails. He is afraid to look into that cold dark place, the actual heart and soul. He muddies the water with senseless violence, hoping to distract from the real issues. Questions remain about why and how. Questions literature is supposed to at least try to tackle.
I read Cormac McCarthy’s ‘Suttree’ and I enjoyed it, but it was ultimately unsatisfying. I am learning to read as a writer and so I can better see why I am unsatisfied. McCarthy describes in great detail and with an amazing vocabulary the settings of the stories. The river in Suttree is a character we get to know through a full wave of sensory language. The impression verges on poetic as the flotsam and jetsam of society flow down in front of Suttree’s houseboat. The plants and birds and animals are all observed in excruciating detail. Sights, smells and sounds envelop the reader, almost to excess. Yet the people, the characters, are barely explored. Why Cornelious Suttree abandons his wife and children the reader is left guessing at.
I think ‘Suttree’ will be the last Cormac McCarthy book I read. I am disappointed. The story degenerated into debauchery. Maybe rich, cultured Texas folk can take pleasure in that, like a guided tour through Amsterdam’s Red Light district. But anyone who has seen this thing in real life knows there is no honour or grace in it. Drunks are all alike. And the pained existence of an intellectual outcast is too much of a cliche. You’re not twenty-one anymore, grow up Cornelius.
This is what passes for intellectual art, edgy storytelling. This idea that unless an artist has suffered outrageous misfortune their voice is not worth hearing. Bullshit.
So I was disappointed. While some of the writing is great, it borders on self indulgent. The descriptions go on too long. But I was most disappointed with the characters, the understanding of their thoughts and motivations, and the weak story.
The reader is left guessing at too many points. Why did Suttree abandon his family, what happened to his mother? (Was she mentally ill? It ran in the family. Is Suttree ill?) What did he study at University? Why is he a bum? Is it just the alcohol?
It is a long book, over 400 pages, but not much happens and we don’t know even if Suttree grows. Does he leave town for a better life or just to run from the law?
There is a term in literature, third person. Third person omniscient, third person single character, third person close. My writing and reading preference is close third person, where the reader experiences the action of the novel with a main character, and gets to know the thoughts and feelings of that main character. I think McCarthy’s writing can best be called distant or remote third person. We don’t get close to the main characters and so are held at a remove. We are observers of the action, watching a city from the safe confines of that hop-on-hop-off tour bus. Look at that, we think, but we are unmoved. It is a movie rather than an experience.
And that is the greatest flaw of ‘Suttree’. A reader reads to ‘Experience’ a different world. Good literature immerses the reader into the story and allows the reader to feel the thoughts, fears, hopes, needs and wants of the main point of view characters. We can engage in a bar fight without the fear of being killed. We can fall in love without risking a broken heart. We don’t have to take that real risk. But ‘Suttree’ keeps the reader at a distance and we never feel what they feel. We watch them, and can pity them. But we never connect with them.

I have decided to review books not just as a reader, but as a writer. What does this writer do well, and how?  Where do they miss the mark, and why? Most books get dozens, hundreds or even thousands of reviews. My aim here is to provide book reviews specifically for writers, learning their craft and developing the tools to write great books themselves.
So often I read a book that leaves me unimpressed, unmoved by its characters, themes and story. Most often I would not review those books at all. The ‘If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing’ school of thought. But I realized there are lessons to learn from a book that doesn’t hit the mark. And when a book exceeds our expectations, what is it that makes it great? I will try to find those things and point a light on them, positive and negative.
My first attempt will be at Cormac McCarthy’s ‘Suttree’.

I re-read Jeannette Wall’s ‘The Glass Castle’ this week, after reading a weaker book about a dysfunctional household. I wanted to remind myself what good looks like and try to document what makes for a great family history.
In a word: Love. As sad as the Wall family saga is, Ms. Wall captures all the foibles and despicable behaviour with eyes that see with love. Showing the failures of her parents to provide for even the most basic needs of their children explores the needs of those dysfunction adults, and the probable trauma they had endured themselves.
There are many moments of laugh out loud humour in ‘The Glass Castle’. There is a lot of painful living documented here, but the energy and life force of the author and her siblings never allows the narrative to become too depressing. We are rooting for them.
The love of learning, reading, and the damn hard work the children exhibit is inspiring. The way the three oldest kids stick together is awesome. They are a team, a clan, and together they are invincible. Team work gets them out of Virginia and all the way to Manhattan.
There is a pathos to ‘The Glass Castle’, and too often books like this become dissociated in the minds and hearts of the reader. It becomes a bus tour through the part of town you would never want to live in. But Ms.Wall keeps the reader involved and emotionally connected throughout. We experience the trials with little ‘Mountain Goat’, feel her hurts and losses, and share the elation of her victories. And that, I believe, is why we read. We want to experience these things, know what it really feels like to live in a house with no heat or plumbing, to root through a garbage can for your only meal of the day, and to find your calling at a high school newspaper. The reader experiences life with Jeannette, with the luxury of setting down the book and going into the kitchen for a warm dinner.
This is a wonderful book. The world is indebted to Ms.Wall for having the courage and heart to share it with us.

I finished Lindsay Wong’s ‘Woo Woo’ today. I didn’t like it, but it was a book club selection and I made a commitment to read it. I will explore why it didn’t work for me.
This is a brave book. To expose one’s family by sharing all of their dirty laundry is to be, if not applauded, acknowledged. The horror of mental illness is a tough subject to discuss, and Ms. Wong takes a good shot at it.
’The Woo Woo’ book reminds me of two others, Jeannette Wall’s ‘The Glass Castle’ and Cea Sunrise Person’s ‘North of Normal’. ‘The Glass Castle’ is the best of the three and highly recommended.
Written in first person, the reader is along for the ride with Lindsay. One of the great attributes of first person narrative is that we get to know the narrator. It is an intimate device that has the reader understand the thoughts and feelings of that character. The reader can share the sensations and experiences as the story progresses.
But in ‘The Woo Woo’ the reader is blocked from knowing the narrator by a Smart Aleck exterior.
People are all labeled, Pizza Head and Beautiful One. Thus labeled they become caricatures and un-relatable. The effect is of watching a farce. Funny but un-relatable. There is no emotional investment by the reader, as there doesn’t seem to be one by the writer.
There is a wall of action coming at the reader such that the pace becomes numbing. A few breaks would have served the work well.
Lack of introspection hurts the book. The author admits to being a mercenary bully. We need some decent thoughts and actions to balance these out, and to give us reason to root for, to care for, the author. But the Smart Aleck, tough exterior, (understandable for self preservation), keeps the reader from knowing the author. This emotional distance is the weakness that demotes the entire work.
Telling the story two or even three times, jumping back and forth in time, works as a device when it is a hook. But when the final scene of the jumper on the bridge comes, it is something we already know. And even then, it is told at a remove, by an author who wasn’t there, but learns about it secondhand. Incorporating the narrative of a cousin who was there would have made the scene more compelling.
The language these people use with each other is harsh, but it becomes repetitive. I began thinking, ‘I already read this’. And the foul language, while it may be accurate, detracts. Maybe a thesaurus for the words ‘Fuck’ and ‘Retard’ could have been consulted.
Reading ‘The Woo Woo’ had the effect of watching things from a bus tour, rather than being involved and caring. We read to experience the actions and emotions of the people in the stories, without the risks they take. We want to know how it feels to live with mental illness, especially when the ill person is a loved one. But that love and empathy are missing.

Sol Stein’s ‘Stein on Writing’ might be labeled a tome. Over a thousand pages on my Kobo the book is nothing if not thorough. He covers everything important on the craft of writing. I’ve read over a dozen writing books in the last six months (I have lots of spare time) and I nodded again and again at the good advice offered. These are the kind of rules and suggestions that every writer should have in the front of their mind while editing and re-writing any work of prose.
It is a dry text, more of a textbook than a conversational encouragement. Very little of the author’s personality shows through. And the part that does reminds this reviewer of being cornered at a cocktail party by an expert in his field who enjoys hearing himself talk. The reader will learn a lot of the craft if he can get past the self righteousness.
I am reminded of a great quote from the recently deceased Jim Lehrer of PBS. ‘Assume the viewer is as smart and as caring and as good a person as I am.’ I did not get the feeling Sol Stein subscribed to this thinking. Which is too bad.
Purchasing and reading a book is a commitment of money and time. You will spend ten, fifteen hours or more with this author. In the case of ‘Stein on Writing’, I found I couldn’t spend more than an hour or two at a time. I did learn a lot from it, and I do recommend budding writers read it and note the tips.
There are lots of other authors, who have written books on writing, who are more fun to spend time with. Anne Lamott, Annie Dillard, Steven King, Dorothea Brande, Ariel Gore, Brenda Ueland. Each of those authors left me feeling stimulated and encouraged. And thinking I would LOVE to run into them at a cocktail party.