Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Review, Heyday
A REASON TO NOT READ
I’ve just decided to quit
reading Heday, a novel by Kurt
Andersen, after 483 pages of the 620 pages.
The problem is not so much
with Heyday (though it has some
problems) as with me. I’ve become a mean-spirited reader. I’m picking apart the
book. In spite of my first-hand knowledge of the time and effort that goes into
writing a novel, and this is an ambitious historical fiction, my approach has
sunk to a sort of scavenger hunt.
How did this happen?
Anderson set forth to
create an ambitious narrative about five people who journey across North
America in 1848 and, according to the book’s 26 quoted reviewers, succeeded
beautifully—a “tour de force” according to the Baltimore Sun. More glowing tributes: “riveting historical
detail” (Entertainment Weekly);
“command of the period” (The New Yorker). You get the idea. This book has more compliments than most writers
get in a lifetime.
My problem began as early
as page 24 when Andersen speaks of “India rubber overshoes.” A flag goes up. The
rubber of 1848 melted or turned brittle in the weather, but maybe there were
shoes. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. When steel first showed up in
spectacles, I hesitated. That was followed by a steel blade on a pistol,
followed by a steel plow. Steel was so difficult to produce and so expensive at
the time it’s incredible there would be a plow.
A WEDGE IN CREDIBILITY
Anderson had flipped my
switch. From that time on, I looked for failures in accuracy, most often
anachronisms. When he mentioned celebrating Thanksgiving Day, the plot and
characters became less interesting than looking for the author’s next mistake.
In any given night, I wrote question marks by items referenced in the text,
things such as a urinal, tube of paint, cigarette, pink
daffodil. Did they exist in America in 1848? Historical fiction is a genre that lends
itself to vicious games of this sort.
To continue reading would
be a little like living with a faithless lover not because you love him, but
just for the satisfaction of catching him in another deception.
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