The Art of Book Reviewing
Over ten pages of notes on a yellow legal pad, handwritten, black ink on some evenings, blue ink from a fine point Pilot pen on others. The author of the novel, I observe on the yellow paper, is writing of a time in U.S. history (1905-1915) of great catastrophes and “the rapid gathering of wealth and the centering of management of industries into fewer and fewer hands.”
He writes a lot about language, this guy. He writes about “inventing new language for the unspeakable.” His protagonist believes — or is that the narrative voice speaking? — that “words create thought, not vice versa.”
The author’s use and abuse of alliterations is documented both on the legal pad and in marked passages of the book:
” … the piped peeps of the peepers.”
And the doozy, the one where the book reviewer just knows that the author had Roget’s Theasurus in his lap, the book of synonymous words propped open by the massive erection sustained from such careless — but perhaps, the author believes, deliberately chosen – flinging about of words:
“… certainly he never communicated the sense to his son, but then, he wasn’t the sort to share his counsel or strut it, commend consolation, ignite debate or stroke it, proffer congratulation, talk sex, politics, business, or religion, cajole or gladhand, trade barbs or bon mots, josh around, or call his one and only affectionate nicknames — horsefly, piss ant, buzz cut, bullethead, bucko, bucky, buckaroo, spike, spud, sluggo or stretch, slim or stubby, satchmo or socks or sprat or sprout …”
How many hours spent with this miserable, overwrought, near-500-page sodomizing of the English language? Who knows. Many. Many massive moonlit monkeyshine minutes spent reading and ruminating the rhapsodizing wrath of a writer who, in his last published novel – his book, his bane, bold, bawdy, bibliographic biography — the last one that the critics almost uniformly remarked was way too full of alliterations … well, sometimes, sir, the critics are right.
Damn. I wish this were my actual review instead of the one I have to write.

April 4, 2008 at 4:03 am
“…this miserable, overwrought, near-500-page sodomizing of the English language ”
I hope you use that.
…
April 4, 2008 at 7:52 am
A document dilligently denouncing a deplorable draft defaming the dignified English language.
Truly terrible when our lovely language gets ravaged and raped.
April 4, 2008 at 9:15 am
I might use that line, Kitty. It was written viscerally and I think it really sums up my thoughts about the novel, the title of which I can’t mention just now because I’m obliged to review it for my client, and the book hasn’t been released yet.
A document dilligently denouncing a deplorable draft defaming the dignified English language.
Excellent, Zel! And the novelist in question probably thinks alliterations take great skill. It’s actually easy, isnt it?
April 4, 2008 at 9:21 am
It is. When I was in high school, my writing teacher encouraged alliteration, saying it helped the writing progress more fluidly. Really, the only purpose alliteration serves is comedic, and can break the reader away from what might otherwise be an engrossing scene.
Anyone can think of words that start with the same letter (or look in a thesaurus, as you mentioned), but it takes someone with skill to write without cheap gimmicks and parlor tricks.
April 4, 2008 at 9:40 am
Precisely! Every time this writer employed an alliterative moment it served to halt the narrative, to draw the reader into the writing process, and that’s just dead wrong, particularly in a 500-page novel.
April 4, 2008 at 11:47 am
I googled ” … the piped peeps of the peepers” and two listings came up; one was yours.
…
April 4, 2008 at 12:16 pm
Noooooooooo! I don’t want to own that phrase.
April 4, 2008 at 2:54 pm
Good Lord! Someone needs to send the editors to the wilds of Utah to dry the hell out.
I still like the line a movie reviewer had about a particularly awful movie - “just because I had to suffer through this movie doesn’t mean you should”.
I think it was one of the NY Times guys. I can’t remember now.
April 4, 2008 at 4:08 pm
That’s how I felt when I had to slog trough this novel, Julie, the horror of suffering through bad writing because I had to.
April 5, 2008 at 6:52 am
I’m reading Stephen King’s “On Writing.” He gave the following as an example of a bad metaphor: “He sat stolidly beside the corpse, waiting for the medical examiner as patiently as a man waiting for a turkey sandwich.” King’s book was published in 2000. He said the example was from a “forthcoming novel.” Does anyone know which book? Or maybe it was edited out before publication.
I googled it and couldn’t find it.
…
April 5, 2008 at 9:14 am
That bad metaphor almost sounds like something King himself might have written.