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cta13_ 's review for:
Lady in the Lake
by Laura Lippman
"Lady in the Lake" dragged on, much like a Baltimore summer (as a Baltimore resident for the last near-15 years, I can attest to the interminable feeling of 90+ degree days). I listened to the book, which unfortunately meant that I couldn't skim through any of the parts that seemed to drag the most--discussions of Maddie's deep freezer party planning, discussions of what happened at the club, and all of the suburban ennui that she ran away from in the opening chapters. Despite her escape from that life, she sure ruminated on it a lot.
Like many other reviewers here, I disliked the main character (I won't go so far to wish her dead, as one person did). Frankly, she was boring, in a way that reminds me of some of our most boring characters in modern times. If Maddie were alive today, she would be one of those white women in the exurbs, wringing their hands about social justice issues without lifting a finger and ultimately voting for Trump. She's not likeable (though characters--and women in general--don't need to be likeable), but the fact that she's boring and unlikeable doubled my discontent while reading. The other characters, getting their own voices in interstitial vignettes that break up the dullness of Maddie's life, were infinitely more interesting. Whether or not these characters really provided any substantial support to the plot is debatable; for instance, one of these characters spends quite a bit of time trying to figure out what perfume Maddie wears, which makes not a damn bit of difference. Regardless, it saved me, even briefly, from Maddie's existential doldrums.
One interesting thing that stuck with me while reading, though, was how well the author discussed "privilege" within a 1960s context. We talk pretty openly about privilege (white, male, middle class), but that wasn't a thing that was openly talked about then. It's all around, though, and Lippman shows it almost dripping off the walls in her vignettes, which are mostly written by people on the perpiphery of "polite" society--the waitress, the (black) wife of the (black) politician, the closeted gay politico, all the way to the ghost of the victim herself. Even as a divorcee, recently experiencing a change in her means, Maddie enjoys status, and because of this, she is able to float ignorantly throughout a rapidly changing Baltimore without really taking note of anyone. In her vignettes, Cleo (the victim) tells her that she knows nothing, sees nothing, and it's true because she doesn't have to. For me, it is this insight that saved the book for me altogether--even if this underlying point is made well, the book drowns in dull, unlikeable characters who it is hard to root for.
Like many other reviewers here, I disliked the main character (I won't go so far to wish her dead, as one person did). Frankly, she was boring, in a way that reminds me of some of our most boring characters in modern times. If Maddie were alive today, she would be one of those white women in the exurbs, wringing their hands about social justice issues without lifting a finger and ultimately voting for Trump. She's not likeable (though characters--and women in general--don't need to be likeable), but the fact that she's boring and unlikeable doubled my discontent while reading. The other characters, getting their own voices in interstitial vignettes that break up the dullness of Maddie's life, were infinitely more interesting. Whether or not these characters really provided any substantial support to the plot is debatable; for instance, one of these characters spends quite a bit of time trying to figure out what perfume Maddie wears, which makes not a damn bit of difference. Regardless, it saved me, even briefly, from Maddie's existential doldrums.
One interesting thing that stuck with me while reading, though, was how well the author discussed "privilege" within a 1960s context. We talk pretty openly about privilege (white, male, middle class), but that wasn't a thing that was openly talked about then. It's all around, though, and Lippman shows it almost dripping off the walls in her vignettes, which are mostly written by people on the perpiphery of "polite" society--the waitress, the (black) wife of the (black) politician, the closeted gay politico, all the way to the ghost of the victim herself. Even as a divorcee, recently experiencing a change in her means, Maddie enjoys status, and because of this, she is able to float ignorantly throughout a rapidly changing Baltimore without really taking note of anyone. In her vignettes, Cleo (the victim) tells her that she knows nothing, sees nothing, and it's true because she doesn't have to. For me, it is this insight that saved the book for me altogether--even if this underlying point is made well, the book drowns in dull, unlikeable characters who it is hard to root for.