Do not read this book...

Last night, I just finished a book called "The Memory Keeper's Daughter" (Kim Edwards). A couple of days before that I finished "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" (Betty Smith). If you are familiar with either of these books, read on. If not, all you need to know is to avoid the first and to check out the second.

Let me just start my first written book review by saying that The Memory Keeper's Daughter is a waste of paper. Not to mention time, words, and energy. I had to read it for a book club. But you don't have to. Save yourself.

That is, unless you like bland characters that all talk the same, even though they're supposedly from completely different parts of the country. Or unless you like a seriously depressing plot line. Or unless you like to read books that should have taken 75 pages to complete but rambled on for an extra 300 pages. Or unless you like books that use a clever analogy. . . over and over and over again. It was only clever the first time, Ms. Edwards! Or unless you like books that spend half their time explaining events and more than half of the rest of it reminiscing about those same events.

You say I sound bitter? Well, add to all of that the fact that in trying to find this book in time for the discussion group (yes, I'm planning on attending and I've got a mouthful to say!), I drove to the downtown library and picked up the Large Type version - the only copy they had left. (This begs the quesion: Who keeps recommending this book?) You should have seen me reading! It was like going to a movie theater and sitting on the front row - my head like a typewriter as I got to the end of each line. And the page turning! Argh!

So, perhaps the reason I despised this book so much was because I had just finished that other book so close before. From the outside, they could have been similar. Intriguing titles, story lines both about families growing up, both spanning about 25 years. But the outcome was so completely different. Reading "Brooklyn" made me feel like I knew someone personally who lived through the depression. That I was hungry, cold, and counting my pennies right along with them. (Oh, wait, that was when we lived in Connecticut!) And that I could recreate Brooklyn of the 1920s if I wanted to. The author created an entire neighborhood with flamboyant and grisly characters all within the confines of their class and status. I felt like I was part of the fight everyone was in just to survive with dignity. And even though every character had flaws, some of them major, I still rooted for them because they were so human. By the end of the book, I wanted to meet them because I felt like I knew them so well already. That is what a book is supposed to make you feel! Like you've been somewhere you've never been before and met interesting new people and like you've taken a walk in their shoes.

Ahh. I feel better getting that all off my chest!