My Most Difficult Book Post

As soon as I finished Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens, I wrote about it. I have edited what I wrote several times since then. A true girl child of my culture, it is very difficult for me to speak critically in public. Only in the last few years have I realized how much this cultural silencing has cost me.  I love that there are still people who read a book and feel passionately about it. I never want to discourage anyone from reading anything. But since this is my blog, and since I well and truly suck at pretending, I'm going to tell you my experience with this novel. 

I don't remember exactly when this book first came across my radar, but when I read a description of the story, I thought, "OMG, this book is so me." After a few months waiting for it to arrive from the library, I dove in eagerly. For the first fifty pages or so, I told myself I was disappointed because I had set my expectations too high. I convinced myself I could ignore the inauthentic dialogue, relax and appreciate the beautiful passages about nature, and enjoy the development of a main character I loved. The plot, however, continued to devolve into melodrama, and the annoying dialogue got even more annoying. By the time one of the characters drove from the North Carolina coast to Asheville to get supplies, I was almost mad enough to throw the book across the room. Instead, I returned it to the library unfinished.

Over the course of the next few months, multiple people told me how much they loved this book, and I thought, well, maybe I've been unfair. So I re-ordered it and finished reading. As much as I love the character of Kya, and as much as I love the descriptions of nature and the themes of the appreciation and preservation of wilderness, I cannot love this book. In addition to the melodramatic plot, the dialogue is almost insulting. I have lived in North Carolina my entire life. Not once have I ever heard anyone use the term "Alabamee" for Alabama. If this was meant as a joke, it's not funny. And going to Asheville from the coast for any kind of supplies, what is that about?  I can't even begin to address the insertion of bad poetry into the narrative because I can't begin to understand why anyone would do that or why any editor would let it pass.

I've spent a couple of weeks trying to understand why I am so disappointed in this book. I think it's because it could have been so good. It could have been elevating. Owens could have taken Kya and her surroundings and gone the route of Kent Haruf or Anita Brookner. Instead she went full on Michael Crichton. Good intentions and a great ability to describe the natural world do not make up for the missteps in a book I really wanted to love.