I finished up the Misadventure of Maria O'Mara last night. Not too bad. Not exactly chick lit either. It actually has a bit of soul in it.
I would like to interpret this book to be a story about the social climbing phenomenon in New York city. People are judged by what they do and who they associate with. They are all eager to climb the social ladder. It's all about the one-upmanship.
As a debut novel by the writer it's a great effort. However the ending is weak. The story feels falling apart toward the end. I would like to venture to think that she put too much of herself into the ending versus the earlier parts where she's more reserved and aloof. By involving herself too closely at the end, she somehow jeopardized the coherence of the book.
Reading a book, especially a fiction, involves two concurrent activities of the mind:
- follow the story, need to know what happens next, who "wins" at the end
- critique the writer's craft - does the story feel authentic? does the story flow? how about the diction?
A great fiction is one that leaves no room in your head for the second activity. You are so overwhelmed by the story presented before you, so exhausted emotionally and intelligently to follow the story that you won't be able to contemplate about the writer's craft until long time after you put the book down, when finally the emotional tides that book stirred in you subsides.
Needless to say, that's some top-notch craft by the writer.
There are only so many stories out there, it's all about how you tell it.
