hc.newton
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Hermit of Paradise About?
This starts with an old friend, Sunny, asking Aubey to find her some justice for an old crime.
Then we flashback a little bit to watch Aubey’s last days on the Dallas Police as a detective before his retirement.
Then we flashback to Aubey’s childhood days, living in his family’s home on a lake where he spends summers reading, fishing, and getting into antics with some older men and some children the same age. Free-range parenting at its best, and despite hanging out with criminals, Aubey seems like a well-adjusted kid in love with nature. The fateful summer in consideration, however, brings him into contact with a couple of peers who will change his life—including the aforementioned Sunny.
Something traumatic happens at the end of a beautiful summer—something that will haunt Aubey and his friends for the rest of their lives.
We then flash-forward to his retirement, Sunny asking for justice (with more context), and Aubey’s efforts to get that for her.
That’s the barebones of the plot, anyway. I gave a richer (and provided by the author/publisher) description on my Spotlight yesterday.
I’m Going to be Frank with You
(I’m always honest when it comes to my opinion on books, as far as I know, but occasionally I’ll pull a punch)
Under any other circumstances, this would’ve been a DNF for me. The pacing was off; the book spent far, far, far too long in the childhood section compared to the retired adult section; given what Aubey knew about the crime, too much of what we know about the people/area/history comes from inelegant info-dumping; what he did in the retirement section to investigate it made no sense—other than to make more opportunities for info-dumping….and I don’t want to beat up on things.
I could go on for paragraphs on how bad the dialogue was—I really want to rant about it (actually, ask anyone who lives in my house and they’ll tell you what I think of it). But let me just tell you this much: there are several conversations between two people where each part of the exchange contains the other persons name in the first sentence.
Allow me to illustrate from a well-known scene (with apologies to Mr. Tarantino):
Vincent asks, “And, Jules, you know what they call a… a… a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?”
“Vincent, they don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?” Jules asks, surprised.
“No man, they got the metric system. Jules, they wouldn’t know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.” Vincent laughs and shakes his head.
“Then, Vincent, what do they call it?” Jules raises his voice.
“Jules, they call it a Royale with cheese.” Vincent replies, stretching out “Royale.”
“A Royale with cheese. Vincent, what do they call a Big Mac?” Jules wonders, chuckling.
Vincent shrugs a little, “Well, Jules, a Big Mac’s a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.”
“Le Big-Mac, Vincent.” He practices “Ha ha ha ha. Vincent, what do they call a Whopper?”
“I dunno, Jules, I didn’t go into Burger King.”
Except every sentence should be longer—if not a small paragraph—overflowing with exposition and nowhere near as interesting. If I had a hard copy, I’d have thrown it across the room the second time I encountered this (I could let it go once). But I wasn’t about to throw my phone or e-Reader, as nice as it would’ve felt.
So, what did I think about Hermit of Paradise?
The childhood flashbacks made me think of someone trying to go for a Scout, Jem, and Dill feel. Or something out of a William Kent Krueger novel. It even kind of reminded me of A Snake in the Raspberry Patch by Joanne Jackson or something of a Tiffany McDaniel-talks-about-young-people feel. But Sanders isn’t in their league (yet?).
Sanders swung for the fences in every chapter—more than once in every chapter. I think there’s a decent (not necessarily good, but at least decent) novel hidden here. But Sanders needs a few more drafts and a skilled editor to bring that out.
If I was talking about intentions, desires, and aims here—I’d have a lot of good to say. But I’m not—I’m talking about the characters, writing, and novel—so I can’t say a lot of good.
I do think the characters (most of them, anyway) were promising—too many of the minor characters were interchangeable enough that we didn’t need them all. Again, a little more refining and editing would’ve helped a lot there.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Hermit of Paradise About?
This starts with an old friend, Sunny, asking Aubey to find her some justice for an old crime.
Then we flashback a little bit to watch Aubey’s last days on the Dallas Police as a detective before his retirement.
Then we flashback to Aubey’s childhood days, living in his family’s home on a lake where he spends summers reading, fishing, and getting into antics with some older men and some children the same age. Free-range parenting at its best, and despite hanging out with criminals, Aubey seems like a well-adjusted kid in love with nature. The fateful summer in consideration, however, brings him into contact with a couple of peers who will change his life—including the aforementioned Sunny.
Something traumatic happens at the end of a beautiful summer—something that will haunt Aubey and his friends for the rest of their lives.
We then flash-forward to his retirement, Sunny asking for justice (with more context), and Aubey’s efforts to get that for her.
That’s the barebones of the plot, anyway. I gave a richer (and provided by the author/publisher) description on my Spotlight yesterday.
I’m Going to be Frank with You
(I’m always honest when it comes to my opinion on books, as far as I know, but occasionally I’ll pull a punch)
Under any other circumstances, this would’ve been a DNF for me. The pacing was off; the book spent far, far, far too long in the childhood section compared to the retired adult section; given what Aubey knew about the crime, too much of what we know about the people/area/history comes from inelegant info-dumping; what he did in the retirement section to investigate it made no sense—other than to make more opportunities for info-dumping….and I don’t want to beat up on things.
I could go on for paragraphs on how bad the dialogue was—I really want to rant about it (actually, ask anyone who lives in my house and they’ll tell you what I think of it). But let me just tell you this much: there are several conversations between two people where each part of the exchange contains the other persons name in the first sentence.
Allow me to illustrate from a well-known scene (with apologies to Mr. Tarantino):
Vincent asks, “And, Jules, you know what they call a… a… a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?”
“Vincent, they don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?” Jules asks, surprised.
“No man, they got the metric system. Jules, they wouldn’t know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.” Vincent laughs and shakes his head.
“Then, Vincent, what do they call it?” Jules raises his voice.
“Jules, they call it a Royale with cheese.” Vincent replies, stretching out “Royale.”
“A Royale with cheese. Vincent, what do they call a Big Mac?” Jules wonders, chuckling.
Vincent shrugs a little, “Well, Jules, a Big Mac’s a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.”
“Le Big-Mac, Vincent.” He practices “Ha ha ha ha. Vincent, what do they call a Whopper?”
“I dunno, Jules, I didn’t go into Burger King.”
Except every sentence should be longer—if not a small paragraph—overflowing with exposition and nowhere near as interesting. If I had a hard copy, I’d have thrown it across the room the second time I encountered this (I could let it go once). But I wasn’t about to throw my phone or e-Reader, as nice as it would’ve felt.
So, what did I think about Hermit of Paradise?
The childhood flashbacks made me think of someone trying to go for a Scout, Jem, and Dill feel. Or something out of a William Kent Krueger novel. It even kind of reminded me of A Snake in the Raspberry Patch by Joanne Jackson or something of a Tiffany McDaniel-talks-about-young-people feel. But Sanders isn’t in their league (yet?).
Sanders swung for the fences in every chapter—more than once in every chapter. I think there’s a decent (not necessarily good, but at least decent) novel hidden here. But Sanders needs a few more drafts and a skilled editor to bring that out.
If I was talking about intentions, desires, and aims here—I’d have a lot of good to say. But I’m not—I’m talking about the characters, writing, and novel—so I can’t say a lot of good.
I do think the characters (most of them, anyway) were promising—too many of the minor characters were interchangeable enough that we didn’t need them all. Again, a little more refining and editing would’ve helped a lot there.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.