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lmkramer507's review
3.0
The writing is good, and I even read some of the descriptive phrases aloud to my son asking him if he could visualize the setting.
Most of the book takes place in a book store, so that's a plus.
The story just wasn't terribly gripping, however. I read to the end, but when someone asked what I was reading, I really couldn't recommend it.
Not a bad read, not terribly wasted time, but I'll bet there are other books on your to-read book that you'd enjoy more.
Most of the book takes place in a book store, so that's a plus.
The story just wasn't terribly gripping, however. I read to the end, but when someone asked what I was reading, I really couldn't recommend it.
Not a bad read, not terribly wasted time, but I'll bet there are other books on your to-read book that you'd enjoy more.
hectaizani's review
3.0
I guess this is a coming of age in Manhattan story. Protagonist Rosemary is an eighteen year old from Tasmania who after the death of her mother, comes to New York to find herself. She gets a job at the Arcade, the largest used bookstore in New York City. The Arcade deals not only in used books, but specializes in rare books, books costing upwards of $20,000 to the determined collector. The Arcade is populated by a phalanx of oddball characters, such as a pre-op transexual cashier, an albino general manager, and a floor clerk who is obsessed with nude photography.
The author adds a literary mystery involving a lost Herman Melville manuscript to the mix causing Rosemary to spend her time researching the possible existence and providence of the manuscript. Where it falls apart is in character development. Rosemary is affable and likeable, the other characters are more caricatures than real. Some of the relationships are allowed to just fizzle, as it seems the author didn't know what to do with them.
The author adds a literary mystery involving a lost Herman Melville manuscript to the mix causing Rosemary to spend her time researching the possible existence and providence of the manuscript. Where it falls apart is in character development. Rosemary is affable and likeable, the other characters are more caricatures than real. Some of the relationships are allowed to just fizzle, as it seems the author didn't know what to do with them.
amandap716's review
1.0
This book was painful to get through. I thought it was terrible. I forced myself to get through, but decided that if I wasn't finished by the time it was due back at the library I wasn't going to renew it.
alanaleigh's review against another edition
3.0
A literary mystery can be just the thing you need, particularly when you're sick and stuck at home over the weekend as I was, so it was delightful to find The Secret of Lost Things by Sheridan Hay on a Barnes & Noble table... A young redhead named Rosemary just starting her life in Manhattan by working at a bookstore and becoming involved in a secret that involves a lost Melville novel? Naturally, I purchased it on the spot.
But I'm sorry to say that there was one scene that seemed to rather exemplify the whole experience of reading this novel for me... and my summary is not for the faint of heart, so kids, turn back now. The scene is this: an ailing albino with an obsessive interest in the narrator manages (without any arm-twisting or pressure) to get her alone in the rare books room, where he ejaculates into her hand and then assumes an unearned intimacy to their relationship and conversation... shortly before the speedy conclusion to the story.
Granted, the reading of this book was a much less sticky situation, and to be fair, Rosemary/we didn't put up a struggle when she/we found ourselves being groped by our albino manager/reading this book. He asked if she was okay and then suggested that she might be "unsatisfied." I latched onto this word and found it hard to forget as the book spiralled into its quick conclusion. As the reader, I too felt unsatisfied (and not because of a poor sex scene). Perhaps "unsatisfied" isn't even the right word... "disappointed" is a better fit. The book didn't quite build up my sense of anticipation to make "unsatisfied" a qualifiable adjective for my feelings at the end of what was supposed to be a literary mystery.
I was disappointed on two levels... one, that the story had all the intriguing details and none of the complicated interconnectedness that one usually finds in a mystery... and two, that the writing was better than the tale being told and so the author's potential remained buried.
I found the tale at the heart of this novel a great draw in the beginning and a great let-down at the end. As a bibliophile, how could I really turn away from a story like this? A missing Melville novel and a young woman working in a labyrinthine bookstore? It taps into some daydream that literate young women have, kept on the shelf besides the one where we open a book store in a small town. The cast of characters seemed just odd enough for a literary mystery (aside from the open-hearted pre-operative transsexual named Pearl with her wealthy boyfriend)... mostly comprised of older men with various issues (which includes the aforementioned albino manager). In addition, the author brought a wealth of knowledge to the table about various subjects with the tantalizing idea that there might be a more fantastic secret to unearth. All the elements were there, why didn't it work?
Well, partially because the author wasn't trying to write the DaVinci Code or the Thirteenth Tale... the author ultimately decided to write about loss, whereas the book jacket promised adventure. Things did not connect, they remained in their own worlds and Rosemary just did her best to absorb all this information about loss and pain and frustration. One person's past did not converge with another's, the Melville novel did not turn up, the albino died. You can't blame this on the hype of marketing, because for a time, even Hay/Rosemary is caught up in research and is ducking behind bookshelves to eavesdrop on conversations. Perhaps Hay thought she was writing something more of a mystery before being unable to find a conclusion for that kind of story. In the usual literary mystery, all of these characters and detailed subjects should have been interwoven in a complex thread that made the main character realize everything was connected... but no. They weren't. All that Hay could come up with on this front was the knowledge that everyone was hungry for something they lost or never had... and each person dealt with this pain in a different way.
Putting aside my issues with the story (though really, by throwing in an albino, you're already on your way down, I don't care what kind of allusions you're making to Moby Dick), I should say that my true disappointment was with a writer who set us up with the promise of a literary mystery, allusions to other intriguing topics, and complicated characters... but then leaves us... unsatisfied.
Our young narrator cannot be to blame, but because of the coming-of-age factor, you knew from the get-go that nothing else would be solved, nothing would be revealed, and the lost thing that we would mourn was the chance an editor let go to help shape a better novel by getting the author to whittle down the scope a bit. I'm not asking to regain The Isle of the Cross or anything, but Rosemary was never going to see a bigger picture when she was too distracted by the stories around her. Topics like the Argentinian Dirty War are practically thrown in for color, illustrating what real loss is as a mother mourns her son who disappeared. A bigger, unifying idea like a lost novel was never going to come to anything. In the end, I felt like each character and topic was an unfinished short story that should have been explored more fully on its own, but instead we're left with blank pages instead of a Melville novel.
On that note, though, I might say that all is not lost in the reading of this novel. I did enjoy this author's writing style and as a result, I would be willing to read her work again. For all my quibbling between "unsatisfied" and "disappointed," if I cared enough to write out my frustrations with the book, Hay must have done something right, if only draw me in with the promise of her story and style. If you are a person who likes books about books, then you should at least enjoy part of this novel... though I hope that Sheridan Hay's next endeavor does not leave me with the impression that an uncomfortable sexual encounter can be illustrative of my encounter with her book as a whole.
But I'm sorry to say that there was one scene that seemed to rather exemplify the whole experience of reading this novel for me... and my summary is not for the faint of heart, so kids, turn back now. The scene is this: an ailing albino with an obsessive interest in the narrator manages (without any arm-twisting or pressure) to get her alone in the rare books room, where he ejaculates into her hand and then assumes an unearned intimacy to their relationship and conversation... shortly before the speedy conclusion to the story.
Granted, the reading of this book was a much less sticky situation, and to be fair, Rosemary/we didn't put up a struggle when she/we found ourselves being groped by our albino manager/reading this book. He asked if she was okay and then suggested that she might be "unsatisfied." I latched onto this word and found it hard to forget as the book spiralled into its quick conclusion. As the reader, I too felt unsatisfied (and not because of a poor sex scene). Perhaps "unsatisfied" isn't even the right word... "disappointed" is a better fit. The book didn't quite build up my sense of anticipation to make "unsatisfied" a qualifiable adjective for my feelings at the end of what was supposed to be a literary mystery.
I was disappointed on two levels... one, that the story had all the intriguing details and none of the complicated interconnectedness that one usually finds in a mystery... and two, that the writing was better than the tale being told and so the author's potential remained buried.
I found the tale at the heart of this novel a great draw in the beginning and a great let-down at the end. As a bibliophile, how could I really turn away from a story like this? A missing Melville novel and a young woman working in a labyrinthine bookstore? It taps into some daydream that literate young women have, kept on the shelf besides the one where we open a book store in a small town. The cast of characters seemed just odd enough for a literary mystery (aside from the open-hearted pre-operative transsexual named Pearl with her wealthy boyfriend)... mostly comprised of older men with various issues (which includes the aforementioned albino manager). In addition, the author brought a wealth of knowledge to the table about various subjects with the tantalizing idea that there might be a more fantastic secret to unearth. All the elements were there, why didn't it work?
Well, partially because the author wasn't trying to write the DaVinci Code or the Thirteenth Tale... the author ultimately decided to write about loss, whereas the book jacket promised adventure. Things did not connect, they remained in their own worlds and Rosemary just did her best to absorb all this information about loss and pain and frustration. One person's past did not converge with another's, the Melville novel did not turn up, the albino died. You can't blame this on the hype of marketing, because for a time, even Hay/Rosemary is caught up in research and is ducking behind bookshelves to eavesdrop on conversations. Perhaps Hay thought she was writing something more of a mystery before being unable to find a conclusion for that kind of story. In the usual literary mystery, all of these characters and detailed subjects should have been interwoven in a complex thread that made the main character realize everything was connected... but no. They weren't. All that Hay could come up with on this front was the knowledge that everyone was hungry for something they lost or never had... and each person dealt with this pain in a different way.
Putting aside my issues with the story (though really, by throwing in an albino, you're already on your way down, I don't care what kind of allusions you're making to Moby Dick), I should say that my true disappointment was with a writer who set us up with the promise of a literary mystery, allusions to other intriguing topics, and complicated characters... but then leaves us... unsatisfied.
Our young narrator cannot be to blame, but because of the coming-of-age factor, you knew from the get-go that nothing else would be solved, nothing would be revealed, and the lost thing that we would mourn was the chance an editor let go to help shape a better novel by getting the author to whittle down the scope a bit. I'm not asking to regain The Isle of the Cross or anything, but Rosemary was never going to see a bigger picture when she was too distracted by the stories around her. Topics like the Argentinian Dirty War are practically thrown in for color, illustrating what real loss is as a mother mourns her son who disappeared. A bigger, unifying idea like a lost novel was never going to come to anything. In the end, I felt like each character and topic was an unfinished short story that should have been explored more fully on its own, but instead we're left with blank pages instead of a Melville novel.
On that note, though, I might say that all is not lost in the reading of this novel. I did enjoy this author's writing style and as a result, I would be willing to read her work again. For all my quibbling between "unsatisfied" and "disappointed," if I cared enough to write out my frustrations with the book, Hay must have done something right, if only draw me in with the promise of her story and style. If you are a person who likes books about books, then you should at least enjoy part of this novel... though I hope that Sheridan Hay's next endeavor does not leave me with the impression that an uncomfortable sexual encounter can be illustrative of my encounter with her book as a whole.
ridgewaygirl's review
4.0
Rosemary has lived all of her eighteen years in a small town in Tasmania. When her mother dies, a family friend sends her off to New York armed with three hundred dollars and her mother's ashes in a small pine box. Rosemary finds a job in an enormous used and rare bookstore where the employees are about as colorful as you could hope to find in the NYC of 1980. Rosemary learns to negotiate relationships, although the man she decides to fall in love with is about as unsuitable as possible.
There is a mystery, too. A manuscript, presumed lost, by Herman Melville is hinted at and she, as well as a few others at the bookstore, begin searching for clues to its nature. This book is beautifully written, in a slightly old-fashioned way, reminiscent of The Thirteenth Tale. Rosemary is naive, in the way of a sheltered eighteen-year-old, but she isn't stupid. The book explores Melville's friendship with Nathaniel Hawthorne and how his career as a writer ended with the publication of Moby Dick. The parts about Melville are eloquent and have me eager to dig into Moby Dick.
There is a mystery, too. A manuscript, presumed lost, by Herman Melville is hinted at and she, as well as a few others at the bookstore, begin searching for clues to its nature. This book is beautifully written, in a slightly old-fashioned way, reminiscent of The Thirteenth Tale. Rosemary is naive, in the way of a sheltered eighteen-year-old, but she isn't stupid. The book explores Melville's friendship with Nathaniel Hawthorne and how his career as a writer ended with the publication of Moby Dick. The parts about Melville are eloquent and have me eager to dig into Moby Dick.
spinstah's review
4.0
I read this in a day -- it's a nice little story about a young woman who moves to NYC and finds work in a used bookstore. She promptly gets talked into helping the manager with a clandestine purchase, and manages to share bits & pieces of the information with various members of the staff.
I really liked the story, but was sometimes annoyed by how naive the protagonist is -- but that just served to remind the reader that she's an 18-year-old from Tasmania, who has really never been exposed to the world. So while that was at times frustrating, I think it worked well -- it kept things more interesting. And really, half the story wouldn't have occurred if she was more mature and sophisticated when the story occurs.
Overall, an interesting read -- especially for anyone in the book world. And it's a fast-moving story, too; I finished it in a day.
I really liked the story, but was sometimes annoyed by how naive the protagonist is -- but that just served to remind the reader that she's an 18-year-old from Tasmania, who has really never been exposed to the world. So while that was at times frustrating, I think it worked well -- it kept things more interesting. And really, half the story wouldn't have occurred if she was more mature and sophisticated when the story occurs.
Overall, an interesting read -- especially for anyone in the book world. And it's a fast-moving story, too; I finished it in a day.
k80bowman's review
2.0
This book was ok. I picked it up because it takes place in one of my favorite environments: a bookstore. It sounded like an interesting story: young woman in a strange place; literary mystery. The story itself was pretty good, but the execution was a bit rough. I found myself having to go back at several points to figure out where certain plot twists had come from, and most times I couldn't figure it out. It wasn't a truly bad book, but definitely not a favorite.
aunt13soc1al's review
3.0
I have to say while it was a good read, it was somewhat slow and hard to stay involved in throughout. I'm not sure I would recommend it to anyone in particular and in a way that makes me sad. I much prefer a book that I will go out of my way to tell someone all about it so that they too will be interested in reading it. I do like that it is set in NY and it makes some very poignant statements about life in the city. My favorite quote from the book:
But habit had done its work, and the short distance had none of its former surprise; the city had now lost its fresh daylight distinction. Once you know your way about, that earlier experience of discovery can't be restored; a completely unknown New York was irretrievable. The dirty park appeared, almost indistinct from its urban surroundings under snow, part of the landscape now, not more than a reminder that it had served as my natural clock, marking the passing of seasons. . . Winter was harder than I imagined.
Towards the end of the book I found another bit that particular touched me:
Just when New York was a world of winter, I was reminded that seasons change, and spring, of all things, began to send out emissaries of what was to come. Each day lasted a little longer, and as a consequence I resumed my evening walks. Buds appeared on the shrubs of my dirty park, stuck to the branches like tiny brown nuts. The trapped plastic bags, ubiquitous to city trees, filled with warmer, snowless air, making them less melancholy than they had once appeared. Perhaps it was I who had changed, despite, or maybe because of, all that had happened.
I wish I could say the rest of the book was a great as those two passages, but sadly it is not. I find that the reasons these two bits in particular stuck out for me is that I have felt the newness of exploring the city and seeing new things with fresh eyes, only to find that after time goes on, it just becomes a background that you no longer stop and gaze around in wonder as you are going from place to place. But I do find that as with the seasons, things change and sometimes I am still surprised to find something, a building perhaps, that I have walked by many a time and never noticed until just then, or wandered through a park coming across a hidden treasure of sculpture that until that moment I had no knowledge of.
But habit had done its work, and the short distance had none of its former surprise; the city had now lost its fresh daylight distinction. Once you know your way about, that earlier experience of discovery can't be restored; a completely unknown New York was irretrievable. The dirty park appeared, almost indistinct from its urban surroundings under snow, part of the landscape now, not more than a reminder that it had served as my natural clock, marking the passing of seasons. . . Winter was harder than I imagined.
Towards the end of the book I found another bit that particular touched me:
Just when New York was a world of winter, I was reminded that seasons change, and spring, of all things, began to send out emissaries of what was to come. Each day lasted a little longer, and as a consequence I resumed my evening walks. Buds appeared on the shrubs of my dirty park, stuck to the branches like tiny brown nuts. The trapped plastic bags, ubiquitous to city trees, filled with warmer, snowless air, making them less melancholy than they had once appeared. Perhaps it was I who had changed, despite, or maybe because of, all that had happened.
I wish I could say the rest of the book was a great as those two passages, but sadly it is not. I find that the reasons these two bits in particular stuck out for me is that I have felt the newness of exploring the city and seeing new things with fresh eyes, only to find that after time goes on, it just becomes a background that you no longer stop and gaze around in wonder as you are going from place to place. But I do find that as with the seasons, things change and sometimes I am still surprised to find something, a building perhaps, that I have walked by many a time and never noticed until just then, or wandered through a park coming across a hidden treasure of sculpture that until that moment I had no knowledge of.