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A review by sandygx260
The End of Temperance Dare by Wendy Webb
2.0
Wow, Wendy Webb sure has her writing formula down. The last book I read by her, The Fate of Mercy Alban, was unintentionally silly. The End of Temperance Dare shares a similar setting—a large, remote manor on the banks of Lake Superior. The story also has the same type of main character—at times juvenile, clueless, often downright irritating, and beautiful.
This book is also a black hole of convoluted details. I had the same problem with The Fate of Mercy Alban, but I hoped Webb has surmounted that problem. Not the case.
The manor where the story takes place, Cliffside, was build as a TB sanatorium by Miss Penny Dare’s father back in 1925. The story is set in 2011. We're never told how “industrialist and philanthropist” Chester Dare was wealthy enough to purchase forty acres of land and build a huge TB manor on it, but he had to be at least twenty-five when he had the sanatorium built. Granted he could have been a supremely generous ten year-old, but I doubt it. It’s as if the Dare family started with Chester, which is lazy writing.
Why does this matter? Because a huge part of the story referenced over and over again is that Chester Dare died in a car accident 20 years ago, in 1991. In 1991, he would have at least 91. Yet everyone acts like it's such a tragedy that he was taken away too soon. It's hard to explain without reading the book, but citing that specific build date struck me as preposterous.
That is only the start to the sketchy detail circus.
A huge deal is made of Cliffside, now a writer's retreat, not having any Internet, but halfway through the book housekeeper Mrs. Baines references how much her husband loves eBay, then later the main character Eleanor Harper researches newspaper articles on her laptop! Say what? I guess the Internet fairy visited Cliffside. Wow! I won't start ranting about the “mysterious” Doctor Nate and the sheer ridiculousness of his circumstances.
I will rant about Eleanor Harper, new director of Cliffside. Again, the book makes a point of detailing her career as a crime journalist, of how she's seen it all—assault, torture, murder, mayhem— she has been so wrapped up in her work that she never took time off and never looked for a better apartment or ate cookies in bed— yeah, I made up that last detail. Despite her hard-boiled career, Eleanor acts like a total ninny, plus she's about as intuitive as a milk-dipped cookie. Judging by her time-line, she must be in her mid-forties, but too often she acts like a ditz. One detail that made me laugh happened when Norrie, as she calls herself, is walking in the woods and wishes she had her hiking boots with her. Why would a woman who worked all the time and never did anything else but work own hiking boots?
I immediately scoffed at the notion of hiring a former crime journalist to direct an internationally known artist’s retreat, but at least that detail is explained toward the end of the book.
Too many other problems kick the reader right out of the story. The other characters are cliches. The main mystery is somewhat clever, which is why I'll give this two stars.
But I've come to the conclusion there's no reason to ever read another Wendy Webb novel. Her formulaic writing is not for this critical old detail hound.
This book is also a black hole of convoluted details. I had the same problem with The Fate of Mercy Alban, but I hoped Webb has surmounted that problem. Not the case.
The manor where the story takes place, Cliffside, was build as a TB sanatorium by Miss Penny Dare’s father back in 1925. The story is set in 2011. We're never told how “industrialist and philanthropist” Chester Dare was wealthy enough to purchase forty acres of land and build a huge TB manor on it, but he had to be at least twenty-five when he had the sanatorium built. Granted he could have been a supremely generous ten year-old, but I doubt it. It’s as if the Dare family started with Chester, which is lazy writing.
Why does this matter? Because a huge part of the story referenced over and over again is that Chester Dare died in a car accident 20 years ago, in 1991. In 1991, he would have at least 91. Yet everyone acts like it's such a tragedy that he was taken away too soon. It's hard to explain without reading the book, but citing that specific build date struck me as preposterous.
That is only the start to the sketchy detail circus.
A huge deal is made of Cliffside, now a writer's retreat, not having any Internet, but halfway through the book housekeeper Mrs. Baines references how much her husband loves eBay, then later the main character Eleanor Harper researches newspaper articles on her laptop! Say what? I guess the Internet fairy visited Cliffside. Wow! I won't start ranting about the “mysterious” Doctor Nate and the sheer ridiculousness of his circumstances.
I will rant about Eleanor Harper, new director of Cliffside. Again, the book makes a point of detailing her career as a crime journalist, of how she's seen it all—assault, torture, murder, mayhem— she has been so wrapped up in her work that she never took time off and never looked for a better apartment or ate cookies in bed— yeah, I made up that last detail. Despite her hard-boiled career, Eleanor acts like a total ninny, plus she's about as intuitive as a milk-dipped cookie. Judging by her time-line, she must be in her mid-forties, but too often she acts like a ditz. One detail that made me laugh happened when Norrie, as she calls herself, is walking in the woods and wishes she had her hiking boots with her. Why would a woman who worked all the time and never did anything else but work own hiking boots?
I immediately scoffed at the notion of hiring a former crime journalist to direct an internationally known artist’s retreat, but at least that detail is explained toward the end of the book.
Too many other problems kick the reader right out of the story. The other characters are cliches. The main mystery is somewhat clever, which is why I'll give this two stars.
But I've come to the conclusion there's no reason to ever read another Wendy Webb novel. Her formulaic writing is not for this critical old detail hound.