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A review by cupiscent
Miserere: An Autumn Tale by Teresa Frohock
2.0
Eh. Neither great nor terrible. Passable. Readable. Not odd enough to stand out, not standard enough to be comfortable.
And not well served by the decisions made in packaging and marketing it. I mean, the blurb's actually really interesting. The blurb promises a threeway tussle of adult passions, decisions and consequences. The blurb reflects the cover. Neither of them make any mention of Lindsay, the twelve-year-old real-world girl who gets sucked through into the fantasy world in the second chapter of the book and plays a major role in events from there on - events which start with the blurb, dispensing with all of that as backstory in the first chapter.
I mean... what? (Not to mention that I don't particularly like YA, and surprise!world-transportation!YA is my least favourite flavour thereof.)
Stylistically, it's pretty bland. The writing plods along at workmanlike - perfectly serviceable - levels with occasional bouts of melodramatic purple. (Screams ravaging the night, a single drop of blood cascading down her cheek, etc.) If the prose had been masterful, the rather simple nature of the story might have been elevated and given a little more gravitas.
As it is, it doesn't excite, but it doesn't aggravate. It's ok.
And not well served by the decisions made in packaging and marketing it. I mean, the blurb's actually really interesting. The blurb promises a threeway tussle of adult passions, decisions and consequences. The blurb reflects the cover. Neither of them make any mention of Lindsay, the twelve-year-old real-world girl who gets sucked through into the fantasy world in the second chapter of the book and plays a major role in events from there on - events which start with the blurb, dispensing with all of that as backstory in the first chapter.
I mean... what? (Not to mention that I don't particularly like YA, and surprise!world-transportation!YA is my least favourite flavour thereof.)
Stylistically, it's pretty bland. The writing plods along at workmanlike - perfectly serviceable - levels with occasional bouts of melodramatic purple. (Screams ravaging the night, a single drop of blood cascading down her cheek, etc.) If the prose had been masterful, the rather simple nature of the story might have been elevated and given a little more gravitas.
As it is, it doesn't excite, but it doesn't aggravate. It's ok.