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A review by erincopland
Real Murders by Charlaine Harris
2.0
It's a murder mystery, pretty cookie cutter, you know what they look like. What interests me more is the fact that this book is the author's first, published in 1990.
The author, Charlaine Harris, went on to write the wildly popular Sookie Stackhouse books, which inspired the HBO show True Blood. This book feels pretty far from those, though. In this book she includes a gay character, a character with mental illness, and a character of color, all of whom are poorly represented, so she's batting 0 for 3 in that regard. She manages to let slip revealing things like:
That last question, at least, the main character can answer for me, as she's got two boyfriends who don't know about each other. Upon getting a phone call from one of the men she's dating while the other gentleman is with her at home, she feels "ridiculously awkward with Robin in my place. Why should I? I asked myself. I could see two men at one time if I chose." Which is exciting news.
It seems like we'll often have to deal with a faint queasiness any time we pick up a book published before the most immediate modern period, with its rapidly changing views of gender, race, sexual orientation, etc. Do we just wince when we see casual racism or internalized misogyny and move on? Like many people, I've been thinking about this for a while. What do we do will all of the literature, all of the media created in the past that's rife with the blatant prejudices that colored so many minds?
For example, Ray Bradbury's otherwise beautifully told Dandelion Wine makes casual use of the lesser N word: "[buffalo] heads like N*gro fists," though admittedly it was published in 1956. But what do we do with it? Do we throw the whole thing out? Note the issue but keep reading? I love Ray Bradbury but what do we do with him, and the other works like his?
Certainly I haven't always read so critically. I seem to recall enjoying this author's more recent work, but does that signify her growth as a writer and as a person, or my own growth as a reader and as a person?
What I'm saying is, this isn't a good book.
The author, Charlaine Harris, went on to write the wildly popular Sookie Stackhouse books, which inspired the HBO show True Blood. This book feels pretty far from those, though. In this book she includes a gay character, a character with mental illness, and a character of color, all of whom are poorly represented, so she's batting 0 for 3 in that regard. She manages to let slip revealing things like:
When [Gifford] brought Reynaldo, we didn't know how to treat him. Was Reynaldo a guest, or Gifford's date? A shade of difference there, and one which had us all a little anxious.Not to mention:
At least this would be a unifying election for Lawrenceton. None of the candidates was black, which always made for a tense campaign and a divisive one.Indeed. Another thing I'm fascinated by is that I've never in my life experienced social relationships in the way the main character does, especially with other women. This is her description of a female police officer who is interviewing her:
Lynn Liggett seemed to be evaluating me as a fellow woman, and she found me wanting. She looked down at me and found me smaller than her...I conjectured that since being tall must have given Detective Liggett problems, she automatically assumed I felt superior to her as a woman, since I was so short and therefore more "feminine." Since she couldn't compete with me on that level, Liggett figured she'd be tougher, more suspicious, coldly professional. A strong frontier woman as opposed to me, the namby-pamby, useless stay-back-in-the-effete-east toy woman.She made all of that up! All of that was happening only and entirely in her head. Do other women think like this? Is this just a Southern lady thing? What else of the feminine experience am I missing out on?
That last question, at least, the main character can answer for me, as she's got two boyfriends who don't know about each other. Upon getting a phone call from one of the men she's dating while the other gentleman is with her at home, she feels "ridiculously awkward with Robin in my place. Why should I? I asked myself. I could see two men at one time if I chose." Which is exciting news.
It seems like we'll often have to deal with a faint queasiness any time we pick up a book published before the most immediate modern period, with its rapidly changing views of gender, race, sexual orientation, etc. Do we just wince when we see casual racism or internalized misogyny and move on? Like many people, I've been thinking about this for a while. What do we do will all of the literature, all of the media created in the past that's rife with the blatant prejudices that colored so many minds?
For example, Ray Bradbury's otherwise beautifully told Dandelion Wine makes casual use of the lesser N word: "[buffalo] heads like N*gro fists," though admittedly it was published in 1956. But what do we do with it? Do we throw the whole thing out? Note the issue but keep reading? I love Ray Bradbury but what do we do with him, and the other works like his?
Certainly I haven't always read so critically. I seem to recall enjoying this author's more recent work, but does that signify her growth as a writer and as a person, or my own growth as a reader and as a person?
What I'm saying is, this isn't a good book.