For a novel that was in the New York Times bestseller list for over 60 weeks, and was given the accolade of 'Richard and Judy Bookclub Summer Read' (a title with varying degrees of esteem depending on the individual), I expected a page-turning beauty of a book. Can you sense the disappointment?
Edwards has taken a premise with wonderful promise and crushed it into a protracted yawn - sorry, yarn - that is woefully unfulfilling. David Henry makes an erroneous decision to secretly send his baby girl, born with Down Syndrome, to an institute whilst leading his wife to believe she died in childbirth. The girl, who his wife Norah would have named Phoebe, is instead unofficially adopted by the nurse who was present at the birth. The story should have been about the heart-rending impact that David's deceit had on everybody's lives, including Phoebe who matures into an independant and lovable young woman. Instead it's a lengthy narrative that merely follows each character as the decades pass; and the superficiality of the characters inspires little but a 'who cares?' response from the reader.
The characters have so much potential. Sadly, Edwards fails to develop them and engender sympathy, or even empathy, with David, his family or Phoebe. It would have taken a skilled wordsmith to manipulate the story and character and, unfortunately, Edwards possesses no such craft.
The book displays fleeting evidence of Edwards' considered use of language, but most of the time the pages are filled with superfluent descriptions and showy, tired metaphors. It becomes apparent that Kim Edwards was a graduate of writer's school - although she would have failed miserably if following the rules outlined in George Orwell's 1946 essay: 'Never use a metaphor...or a long word when a short one will do...break any of these rules [rather than say anything] barbarous'.
Maybe I'm being too harsh. Yet it was a huge effort to finish this book which, at almost 500 pages long, is at least twice the length it ought, and needs, to be. When characters reminisced or scenes were described, I switched off. I found the flowery language all too excessive. You can almost feel Edwards' effort in every word...'Metaphor? Check. Simile? Check. Sentimental schmaltz? Check.'
After spending weeks (which was most unlike me) ploughing through the book (after the half-way point, I felt like I'd vested so much time into it I had no option but to continue) i reached the end. And was so disappointed! After such a build-up, after reams of narrative, it climaxed and...well, I won't spoil it for you if you want to read this over-inflated book for yourself. Needless to say, it's not on my list of recommendations.
The Memory Keeper's Daughter is like a reunion of friends. So much waiting, eagerness and such potential and yet, in reality, it's forced and feels rather a let-down.
