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A review by ariw
Honeycomb by Joanne M. Harris
2.0
I really, really though I would absolutely love this one. I really, really didn't like it at all.
Reading the acknowledgements afterwards made maybe some of the "way" of this a little clearer – there, Honeycomb is described as a book that came to life through Twitter, and where I had been anticipating something sitting a little closer to [b:In the Night Garden|202769|In the Night Garden (The Orphan's Tales, #1)|Catherynne M. Valente|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320548374l/202769._SX50_.jpg|196179] (deep and interwoven and utterly complex) it all felt repetitive and rushed and even trite.
Where I've previously adored Harris's prose, here I found it stilted and awkward – lines like "Its petals were as pale as young love, its leaves were like the starry sky, its roots were drenched with the dreams of the Folk; and its scent was like honey and heartbreak" lose all meaning when they sound just like those lines that came before it, a style in the shape of a style. (Also - pale is not a word I would use to describe young love, and i kept getting caught up on these moments throughout.)
The stories feel randomly thrown together – maybe like a twitter thread – with a common thread through some, which more and more frequently began with "Meanwhile," [..] and others just abruptly appearing out of nowhere. I'm sure this pacing would appeal to some, but it really didn't to me, and so this one was just a personal disappointment. Such a beautiful–looking disappointment, though!
Reading the acknowledgements afterwards made maybe some of the "way" of this a little clearer – there, Honeycomb is described as a book that came to life through Twitter, and where I had been anticipating something sitting a little closer to [b:In the Night Garden|202769|In the Night Garden (The Orphan's Tales, #1)|Catherynne M. Valente|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320548374l/202769._SX50_.jpg|196179] (deep and interwoven and utterly complex) it all felt repetitive and rushed and even trite.
Where I've previously adored Harris's prose, here I found it stilted and awkward – lines like "Its petals were as pale as young love, its leaves were like the starry sky, its roots were drenched with the dreams of the Folk; and its scent was like honey and heartbreak" lose all meaning when they sound just like those lines that came before it, a style in the shape of a style. (Also - pale is not a word I would use to describe young love, and i kept getting caught up on these moments throughout.)
The stories feel randomly thrown together – maybe like a twitter thread – with a common thread through some, which more and more frequently began with "Meanwhile," [..] and others just abruptly appearing out of nowhere. I'm sure this pacing would appeal to some, but it really didn't to me, and so this one was just a personal disappointment. Such a beautiful–looking disappointment, though!