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A review by chaostalking
The Book of Daniel by E.L. Doctorow
1.5
Sometimes, a book just doesn't click with you. Sometimes, you peruse Goodreads, trying to find a review that will help communicate these feelings of dissatisfaction and frustration that you felt throughout the reading experience that you personally cannot put into words. And sometimes, what you end up finding instead is a whole group of people who praise the book in question, and you end up feeling even less satisfied and more frustrated.
That has been my experience with The Book of Daniel, and as a result, I've been struggling to talk about this book for a long time. In fact, for a time, I completely gave up on it. Even now, I don't imagine that this review will be very helpful. I have found the language to describe this book's pitfalls, but I don't think this review is indicative of the experience everyone will have with the book. I think the best thing you can do for a book like this is open up its Amazon page and read the free preview. If you find yourself meshing with it, I say carry on. But if you're apprehensive, my perspective on The Book of Daniel will hopefully offer some food for thought on whether or not to keep going.
First and foremost, a lot of this book felt like reading a series of essays with characters ham-fisted into them. Doctorow writes pages and pages to provide historical context on, for instance, Disney as a corporation, even though the amusement park only features in one scene and really isn't that important to focus on. So many times, I thought I could trim about five to seven pages of the book and not miss out on a thing because it's all unnecessary historical context and needlessly long lamentations on the human condition masquerading as story. It just tired me out. Worst of all, I failed to see how most of these long chunks of word vomit were relevant to the central themes—or if this book even had any themes at all.
You see, in spite of how many essays were stuffed into this book, I couldn't figure out what it was that The Book of Daniel was actually trying to say. And that's not to say that every single book needs a central message, but throughout this reading experience, it very much felt like The Book of Daniel was trying to say something, but couldn't figure out its own message. The book's subject matter largely concerns two versions of the American Left: it follows a young man called Daniel, very much a 1960s hippie, as he tries to make sense of the lives of his biological parents, two communists fashioned after Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, throughout the 40s and 50s up until their eventual execution for spying against the American government. That setup absolutely had to be deliberate, but Doctorow never really dives into that.
In a similar vein is Daniel's relationships with women, especially that with his wife Phyllis. I don't think Daniel is written to be a likeable guy, so when it's established (fairly early on, mind you, so I don't consider this a spoiler) that he is abusive towards Phyllis, it feels very natural. At the beginning of the novel, Daniel describes having sex with his wife before pausing and commenting directly to the reader that by showing us this scene, he paints himself in a deeply unsympathetic light. But Doctorow doesn't do much with this idea other than introducing it. Later on, there's another moment where Daniel contemplates having sex with his sister and it, too, goes nowhere. Sure, Daniel is a raging sexist who objectifies pretty much every single woman he comes across, including his own sister—but why? Why does that need to be there? Why does anything about the American Left need to be there? So much of this book feels like it stands without a purpose, and I found that to be deeply frustrating.
I also could not connect with Doctorow's decision to switch POVs. The Book of Daniel is told in a strange blend of first- and third-person narrative, and many have pointed to this quality as part of the great literary genius of E. L. Doctorow. But I just don't agree. The technique is used to show Daniel's futile attempts to distance himself from his past. As an academic, Daniel understands that his use of the third person will help establish him as a credible, objective lens through which to understand the events he lays out. But the first person always creeps back in, reminding the reader that Daniel is incapable of describing these deeply personal events in a purely objective manner. Unfortunately, while I can appreciate Doctorow's efforts here, I thought the whole attempt came off as rather gimmicky, with Doctorow arbitrarily switching POVs to the point where I felt the technique lacked any literary substance. In fact, given that Doctorow's writing is already quite clinical, this novel could have been told entirely in the first person and made even stronger for it. In one of the most heart-wrenching scenes of the book, Daniel describes his parents’ executions, and you can see this beautiful play of Daniel attempting to distance himself from their deaths through how he is writing being contrasted with the pure emotion inherent in what he’s writing—and it's a scene told entirely in the first person. Though a fascinating risk to take, the blend of first and third person didn’t work at all, more often than not making The Book of Daniel a battle to read.
That's not to say that The Book of Daniel is not completely devoid of value. Daniel's narration when reflecting on his younger self is executed quite well, and the aforementioned scene in which Daniel's parents are actually executed is a haunting accomplishment in writing. But more often than not, this book is an ambitious disaster. Ultimately, there are some interesting ideas here, but The Book of Daniel suffers because Doctorow either doesn't know how to or just doesn't approach these themes. I'm still interested in reading Doctorow's more famous work, Ragtime, but this first foray into his bibliography just wasn't for me.
That has been my experience with The Book of Daniel, and as a result, I've been struggling to talk about this book for a long time. In fact, for a time, I completely gave up on it. Even now, I don't imagine that this review will be very helpful. I have found the language to describe this book's pitfalls, but I don't think this review is indicative of the experience everyone will have with the book. I think the best thing you can do for a book like this is open up its Amazon page and read the free preview. If you find yourself meshing with it, I say carry on. But if you're apprehensive, my perspective on The Book of Daniel will hopefully offer some food for thought on whether or not to keep going.
First and foremost, a lot of this book felt like reading a series of essays with characters ham-fisted into them. Doctorow writes pages and pages to provide historical context on, for instance, Disney as a corporation, even though the amusement park only features in one scene and really isn't that important to focus on. So many times, I thought I could trim about five to seven pages of the book and not miss out on a thing because it's all unnecessary historical context and needlessly long lamentations on the human condition masquerading as story. It just tired me out. Worst of all, I failed to see how most of these long chunks of word vomit were relevant to the central themes—or if this book even had any themes at all.
You see, in spite of how many essays were stuffed into this book, I couldn't figure out what it was that The Book of Daniel was actually trying to say. And that's not to say that every single book needs a central message, but throughout this reading experience, it very much felt like The Book of Daniel was trying to say something, but couldn't figure out its own message. The book's subject matter largely concerns two versions of the American Left: it follows a young man called Daniel, very much a 1960s hippie, as he tries to make sense of the lives of his biological parents, two communists fashioned after Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, throughout the 40s and 50s up until their eventual execution for spying against the American government. That setup absolutely had to be deliberate, but Doctorow never really dives into that.
In a similar vein is Daniel's relationships with women, especially that with his wife Phyllis. I don't think Daniel is written to be a likeable guy, so when it's established (fairly early on, mind you, so I don't consider this a spoiler) that he is abusive towards Phyllis, it feels very natural. At the beginning of the novel, Daniel describes having sex with his wife before pausing and commenting directly to the reader that by showing us this scene, he paints himself in a deeply unsympathetic light. But Doctorow doesn't do much with this idea other than introducing it. Later on, there's another moment where Daniel contemplates having sex with his sister and it, too, goes nowhere. Sure, Daniel is a raging sexist who objectifies pretty much every single woman he comes across, including his own sister—but why? Why does that need to be there? Why does anything about the American Left need to be there? So much of this book feels like it stands without a purpose, and I found that to be deeply frustrating.
I also could not connect with Doctorow's decision to switch POVs. The Book of Daniel is told in a strange blend of first- and third-person narrative, and many have pointed to this quality as part of the great literary genius of E. L. Doctorow. But I just don't agree. The technique is used to show Daniel's futile attempts to distance himself from his past. As an academic, Daniel understands that his use of the third person will help establish him as a credible, objective lens through which to understand the events he lays out. But the first person always creeps back in, reminding the reader that Daniel is incapable of describing these deeply personal events in a purely objective manner. Unfortunately, while I can appreciate Doctorow's efforts here, I thought the whole attempt came off as rather gimmicky, with Doctorow arbitrarily switching POVs to the point where I felt the technique lacked any literary substance. In fact, given that Doctorow's writing is already quite clinical, this novel could have been told entirely in the first person and made even stronger for it. In one of the most heart-wrenching scenes of the book, Daniel describes his parents’ executions, and you can see this beautiful play of Daniel attempting to distance himself from their deaths through how he is writing being contrasted with the pure emotion inherent in what he’s writing—and it's a scene told entirely in the first person. Though a fascinating risk to take, the blend of first and third person didn’t work at all, more often than not making The Book of Daniel a battle to read.
That's not to say that The Book of Daniel is not completely devoid of value. Daniel's narration when reflecting on his younger self is executed quite well, and the aforementioned scene in which Daniel's parents are actually executed is a haunting accomplishment in writing. But more often than not, this book is an ambitious disaster. Ultimately, there are some interesting ideas here, but The Book of Daniel suffers because Doctorow either doesn't know how to or just doesn't approach these themes. I'm still interested in reading Doctorow's more famous work, Ragtime, but this first foray into his bibliography just wasn't for me.