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debi_g 's review for:
The Aviator's Wife
by Melanie Benjamin
2.5 stars
The subject matter of The Aviator's Wife is a powerful draw for readers, but the author's approach is unsettling and unsatisfying.
To be fair, I must admit that the I struggle with the paradox of fictional biography. Melanie Benjamin's author's note explains that the "emotional truths" are what she imagines, "the relationships, the reasons these historical figures do the things they do." She goes on to say that she feels "the inner life can be explored only in novels, not histories-- or even diaries and letters. For diaries and letters are self-censored even at the moment of writing them; it's impossible to be honest with oneself" (400). This rationale confuses and disappoints me for reasons other than the glaring sentence fragment. First of all, the Lindbergh family has endured excessive and falsified media attention throughout their lives. The author takes pains to demonstrate the unfair imposition of untrue, unwelcome, and disrespectful narratives upon their lives, yet she perpetuates such behavior by writing a novel that is essentially fan fiction fueled by light research. A small bit of time online reveals a substantial quantity of meaningful facts the author chose not to include. It is perplexing why an author would not feel obligated to read more exhaustively on a historical topic.
Although I consider it deceitful and disrespectful to re-imagine actual people, places, and events and call it fiction, and I feel the writing and editing could have been stronger, I cannot deny that this book appeals to many. Anne Morrow Lindbergh is an appealingly enigmatic character, and I too read this book to discover more about her.
My favorite thought from the book comes near its end: "Unlike men, women got less sentimental as we aged, I was discovering. We cried enough, when we were young; vessels overflowing with the tears of everyone we loved" (391). Though I stumble over the verbs and the sentence structure, I can relate to the observation.
I understand the challenges faced by editors, and realize that many readers are not irritated by the same pet peeves that I nurture, but I could list several problems with grammar, continuity, and consistency.
Instead of complaining ad nauseam, I'll close with one last thought: Charles Lindbergh... what an asshat!
The subject matter of The Aviator's Wife is a powerful draw for readers, but the author's approach is unsettling and unsatisfying.
To be fair, I must admit that the I struggle with the paradox of fictional biography. Melanie Benjamin's author's note explains that the "emotional truths" are what she imagines, "the relationships, the reasons these historical figures do the things they do." She goes on to say that she feels "the inner life can be explored only in novels, not histories-- or even diaries and letters. For diaries and letters are self-censored even at the moment of writing them; it's impossible to be honest with oneself" (400). This rationale confuses and disappoints me for reasons other than the glaring sentence fragment. First of all, the Lindbergh family has endured excessive and falsified media attention throughout their lives. The author takes pains to demonstrate the unfair imposition of untrue, unwelcome, and disrespectful narratives upon their lives, yet she perpetuates such behavior by writing a novel that is essentially fan fiction fueled by light research. A small bit of time online reveals a substantial quantity of meaningful facts the author chose not to include. It is perplexing why an author would not feel obligated to read more exhaustively on a historical topic.
Although I consider it deceitful and disrespectful to re-imagine actual people, places, and events and call it fiction, and I feel the writing and editing could have been stronger, I cannot deny that this book appeals to many. Anne Morrow Lindbergh is an appealingly enigmatic character, and I too read this book to discover more about her.
My favorite thought from the book comes near its end: "Unlike men, women got less sentimental as we aged, I was discovering. We cried enough, when we were young; vessels overflowing with the tears of everyone we loved" (391). Though I stumble over the verbs and the sentence structure, I can relate to the observation.
I understand the challenges faced by editors, and realize that many readers are not irritated by the same pet peeves that I nurture, but I could list several problems with grammar, continuity, and consistency.
Instead of complaining ad nauseam, I'll close with one last thought: Charles Lindbergh... what an asshat!