Among the many manifestations of my obsessive compulsive disorder is that I must finish every book I start. Not doing so causes much angst, keeps me awake at night, forces me back to reading it. This can be a good thing. I'd've never finished The Lord of the Rings without this compulsion, and now that I have, I revisit it regularly. This happens often enough that I don't begrudge the occasional volume without redeeming value.

Only twice in my life have I not finished what I started. The first, over a decade ago, was Left Behind. I should have liked this story: it's the first in a wildly popular series covering the end of times. (Paging Mr. Drinkmore!) The religious nature of the story set me on edge, however, lowering my ability to suspend disbelief, which was then killed off by a multitude of errors about little everyday things. I put it down after just a chapter or two.

And now there is False Memory by Dean Koontz. This was recommended by my wife (having just finished it) when I said I felt like a light summer read. I need to tread lightly for I risk yucking a serious amount of yum. This man has published more than 100 books (many #1 best sellers) over a career in its fifth decade. He brings in tens of millions every year. Clearly, he must be doing something right. So if there's an issue here, it lies with me. I tried hard, but had to surrender about two hundred pages in. Why?

I should have realized what I was getting into when I saw the author photo. Dude, with your money, couldn't you afford a more natural hair piece? And what's with the dog? Only after the fact have I latched on to this creepiness, but it was a sign to me that I should be on the look out for other cover-ups and un-natural relations.

"I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead."

Mark Twain

I am not saying that I'm a good writer, but I'd like to think I would know one when I read one. I realize how much effort it takes to write what you mean in as few words as possible. I spent at least 40 hours on a piece that was shorter than one of the chapters in this book. I revisited each sentence, cutting here and there until I felt the essence of the story was right. The thought of writing a novel scares me; that is, unless I thought that the effort didn't matter, that whatever I wrote would sell. Perhaps, then, I wouldn't give a shit. And that what this book feels like. It is far too wordy. There is a serious amount of adverb abuse going on here. And what's with the similes and metaphors? He uses them like a 3rd grader trying to prove something to his teacher. I started counting them (OCD!), they were that frequent. If I had continued reading, I would have dug out my blue pencil. You could easily cut out half words and still tell this story. But, I guess Mr. Koontz doesn't have to.

Steady, Bill, steady!

Related to the wordiness is that nothing is left to the imagination. In this story, Martie Rhodes is having a psychotic break down over dangerous objects in the house. She wants to get rid of them all. And we have to read about every single item. After the 3rd drawer of kitchen utensils, each of which has its own sentence, I think we get the point. And, again, what's with the dog. We learn about every supposed thought the animal has. This explains the jacket photo. I admit that I'm not an animal person and I'm predisposed to mock people who treat animals as humans, but, c'mon!

What is going on here? Does he think the readers are too stupid to draw their own conclusions? Or maybe he's just a control freak who wants you to see exactly what's in his head. Either way, it's a turn off.

Careful, now, Bill. You're straying into dangerous territory. Don't express subjective opinion as objective fact.

Perhaps I could have dealt with any one of the above issues, certainly the wordiness. The combination, though, is what killed it. My biggest issue is with Martie Rhodes who is a video game designer. In real life, I build software. I know the level of effort involved in this complicated process, especially one that involves a large amount of artwork and intense software processes. Mr. Koontz implies that she's designing a Lord of the Rings game on her own. Because he goes into excruciating detail on everything else, I have to believe that the lack of interaction with other development team members means there are none. As an author, when you exercise that amount of control over the story, you have to be correct on everything. Ease off on the control and the readers will explain away inconsistencies on their own.

So, it was with a heavy heart that I broke the news to my wife. I do not enjoy telling people that I do not like something that they seem to do. Yes, I have emotional issues of my own, but I truly do try to find out why someone likes something that I don't. Am I missing something? Her response, after hearing me out on this was, "Yes, I agree. I found myself skipping over large sections." WTF?!?

I probably shouldn't be writing this. I am reminded of an email conversation I had with an author of zombie books who took me to task for not being 100% positive when talking about others' work. I was told that this is a career killer. He may be right. I would like to become a published author, but more importantly, I want to read good books. It frustrates me that there is so much crap out there. It seems like I'm the odd man out, though. The market does not value high quality in its books. Sure, they has to meet a minimum standard, but there's no reward for going above and beyond. That saddens me.

Author

Tony Horwitz

Publisher

Henry Holt and Company

Edition

First Edition - 2008 - hardcover - 455

I love the kind of book where the author does a deep dive on a subject as well as writes a travelogue of the relevant sites. Mr Horwitz's Confederates in the Attic was my first encounter with this hybrid genre. The best writers are able to weave the two threads into a single story that leads to both a better understanding of the subject and a deeper insight into the people still living it. Mr. Horwitz does this well.

In this book, the author seeks to color in the period between Columbus's discover of the New World and the landing at Plymouth. His attempts to follow in the footsteps of, perhaps, lesser know explorers take us to the Dominican Republic, Arizona and the American south west, Florida and the south and on up the Atlantic Seaboard. The two themes I grooved most on where the dichotomy of history vs. myth and racial identity. I'll cover the former in greater detail over in my Open Salon blog when I get the time. As for the latter, I was struck most by the Charles Shepherd quote on page 316 of my copy:

I like to think these people are my ancestors.

He said this while looking through a volume of sketches of Indians in North Carolina published in 1590. When you go far enough back, does it really matter who you ancestors are? What does it mean to be European, Indian or African? I've always been leery of DNA tests to determine this, but blood has to matter some, doesn't it? Upbringing should mean more, and this is where ancestors do come into play, their influence diminishing with each successive generations, but still there, except what about the person removed from his culture and brought up among others? And it can't really be what ever you want it to be. I do not believe I can rightly claim to be Irish despite the fact that 50% of my genes come from the Emerald Isle and I still qualify for citizenship. I know nothing of the contemporary Irish context. This is a personal issue for me given my kids whose mother hails from Korea and I appreciate how Mr. Horwitz delved into it.

One issue I will strongly disagree with him on is when, at the end of the book, he wonders about folks whose myths are not founded in truth. He states:

But it was harmless fiction, why spoil the fun with facts?

Perpetuating lies is never harmless. It leads people to a position of just wanting something to be true makes it so. Where does it stop? Astrology is just harmless fun until, when you're sick, it leads to chase ineffectual cures. I could make the argument that the harmless fun of belief in Pilgrims' first Thanksgiving and the Fountain of Youth has lead us to the Texas State Board of Education's new textbook standards.

Ah, but this won't stop me from reading Mr. Horwitz's books. I'll next track down Blue Latitudes.