The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender by Leslye Walton (Note: who is FEMALE)
Genre: Magical realism, Fantasy
Pages: 301
Published: 25 March 2014, by Candlewick Press
Purchased: 19 August 1851, from Mr Doe's Bookshop
Recommended? Only the first half. I think..
Dear Gertrude,
Have you forgotten how to read, or to write? It must be one
of the two, for I saw you on Thursday and you seemed very much alive. In any
case, I have finished The
Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender, and I have thoughts.
First of all, I must regrettably inform you that the author, Mr Leslye
Walton, is in fact very American, strong English name aside. This must explain much of his novel’s
strangeness. He has made up all sorts of
machines and words, and the combined effect makes the story feel set entirely apart from here. I
did not know that Americans have begun to write about the future (1904 to 1959!) as if it were
the present, but they are always getting ahead of themselves in other ways, so
I supposed it is to be expected.
American irregularities aside, the first half of this novel has
given me some faith in Mr Doe. He may sell us only strange books, Gertie, but I
think that we may yet discover some gems. This one is mainly concerned with the
history of a very peculiar family full of people who can turn into birds and see vases when they look at themselves in the mirror and so on (they are French, of course). The writing is lovely--full of the dreamy brutality of faerie tales--and follows the lives of three women, of whom Ava Lavender is least important.
Oh Gertie, I am not convinced that you will love it as I
did, but I think you must try, so long as you promise to stop at the first
half. The second, unfortunately, dashes the entire thing against the rocks. I was
so cross with it that had Bess put the novel up upon the high shelf for punishment.
It sits there now, as I write, staring beseechingly down, but I will not give
in.
You see, the second half of the novel is exceedingly vulgar,
and I do not mean vulgar in the way about which that governess of mine sniffed (what was her name?), though there is a moment of that. I mean vulgar in the sense
that the author seems to turn from an accomplished pianist spinning out a song
to a tone deaf novice pounding at the keys.
It all begins with the entrance of one Nathaniel Sorrows. Compared
to the humanity of all the other characters, he is nothing more than one of
those paper dolls we played with at ten, with a dastardly face scribbled on in
charcoal. He only exists to do mad, evil things because the author has decided that mad,
evil things alone will engender sufficient sympathy from the reader.
And then, afterward, the consequences of the mad, evil
things Nathaniel Sorrows does are erased with an authorly wave of the hand. The
author deals with none of the mess he makes for his characters, the titular one
especially. They all simply decide to feel better, and then do. Of course, this
renders the latter half entirely meaningless. I was left with no feeling at all
for the book, unless a desire to sneak vinegar into the tea of the author counts as a feeling.
This does not seem a very good recommendation, does it? But
it is. I will find a way to force you to read the first half, though I may have
taken apart the binding and burned the rest by the time you see it.
With love,
Prudence Pennylegion
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