:: book bound

I read about Sundays at Tiffany's on a book blog somewhere over on LiveJournal and decided to pick it up based on the endearing concept of the novel. I was a wee bit hesitant, knowing full well that Patterson is apparently some crime/thriller novelist guru, and well, although I wasn't disappointed necessarily, I wasn't wowed.

The novel read easily and I finished it over three, one hour sessions on the treadmill. Although the story gives you everything you need to know about what's going on, it doesn't exactly leave you feeling full. It was as if I got a taste of everything, but never had a whole course.

The story was predictable, and Patterson's (or Charbonnet's) attempts at tricking the reader into thinking it would end differently, I felt, were just thrown in for that purpose. I rolled my eyes and kind of thought, really? We could do without this part. Who're you fooling, kids?

The copy didn't wow me. There weren't lines upon lines that I needed to highlight to remember. It was light, fluffy, and I do not regret reading it; it simply wasn't a substantial literary dinner.

One concept in the book I did find myself relating too, however, was main character Jane's tribulations with her position in life. A little over the age of thirty, stuck in a job she dislikes, kept under her mother's thumb, and feeling herself to be in a permanent rut, I sympathized.

Michael, I could not. His life as an imaginary friend just seemed peculiar to me, and the process not well explained throughout. It was as if both author's took a fabulous concept and kind of murdered it with their execution (no pun intended). That must always be the biggest disappointment in a novel - a good concept with a poor plan.

On the redeeming side, I particularly enjoyed:

"Honey, I don't want to ride the train. I want to drive the train." (p. 11)

Drive on, monkey. Drive on.