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A review by branch_c
Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins
2.0
Well, Robbins is certainly, as described in his own dust-jacket blurbs, "offbeat," so I'll give him credit for that. But I remember enjoying his Jitterbug Perfume not primarily for its offbeat-ness, but for the mythology, the secret history, and the more straightforward contemporary fantasy elements such as the quest for immortality. Hadn't tried any of his other books until now, and it turns out that this one just wasn't my kind of thing, so maybe in general his stuff isn't, and Jitterbug Perfume was the exception.
There were lot of reasons I wasn't wild about this book: first off, it's one thing to be offbeat and another to cross the line from the offbeat to the simply inane, and I'm afraid that happened here, particularly with some of the secondary characters and their dopey repeated quirks. For another thing, a major theme here was supposed to be the nature of love, and while Robbins had some interesting things to say on that subject, it's not a theme that really needs much exploring for me, and anyway it was overshadowed by the frankly juvenile sexual stuff. The secret history, such as it was, was for the most part info-dumped on us as a theory constructed by the female protagonist. The story and style reminded me at different times of Pynchon, Dave Barry, Neal Stephenson, and others... which in theory seems like it ought to be a solid achievement, but in practice, it came across as so snarky and self-consciously clever that most of the humor fell flat. And the postmodernist asides to or about his electric typewriter added nothing for me.
There is some creativity here, no doubt about that, especially in the drawing together of disparate elements - I do see why some people love Robbins, and this book in particular, but for me it was mostly unenjoyable.
There were lot of reasons I wasn't wild about this book: first off, it's one thing to be offbeat and another to cross the line from the offbeat to the simply inane, and I'm afraid that happened here, particularly with some of the secondary characters and their dopey repeated quirks. For another thing, a major theme here was supposed to be the nature of love, and while Robbins had some interesting things to say on that subject, it's not a theme that really needs much exploring for me, and anyway it was overshadowed by the frankly juvenile sexual stuff. The secret history, such as it was, was for the most part info-dumped on us as a theory constructed by the female protagonist. The story and style reminded me at different times of Pynchon, Dave Barry, Neal Stephenson, and others... which in theory seems like it ought to be a solid achievement, but in practice, it came across as so snarky and self-consciously clever that most of the humor fell flat. And the postmodernist asides to or about his electric typewriter added nothing for me.
There is some creativity here, no doubt about that, especially in the drawing together of disparate elements - I do see why some people love Robbins, and this book in particular, but for me it was mostly unenjoyable.