Sunday, 24 July 2011
I'd heard of her, and she also wrote The Ballad of the Sad Cafe, so I thought I was on to a winner. But, then, oh dear... the eye started to skip paragraphs, the fidgiting got worse, and in the end I'm sorry to say I gave up. But then, what a fool I was to think that I could appreciate it anyway. Set in small town southern states in the fifties....that ALONE should have told me that it wasn't for me. I dislike the decade, I dislike anything to do with small town America, (unless of course it's Little Women) I don't want to read about mill workers, I have only the haziest of ideas as to what a Cotton Gin is (and frankly care even less) and then there is her talk of negro workers, which makes me squirm.
I perservered for a while longer, but the main protaganist is a deaf mute, the town is dreary, teh people are quite horrid and nothing much happens really....Or it hadn't by the time I gave up and irritably tossed it off the bedside table and reached with relief to Joan Wyndham and Dawn Chorus (another one click and SO jolly and uplifting I thank the book gods that I did)
Now, in the case of Carson I can say that I know it to be a case of 'It's not you, it's me,' as I know that she has been lauded, and still is, as a fantastic writer. But definitely not for me. If anyone wants it - just let me know and I'll pop it in a jiffy bag to you.