15 of 18 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
The lights are on..., March 22, 2006
This review is from: The Diviners: A Novel (Hardcover)
But nobody's home.
The Diviners is a monumental, 567 page epic that reaches its clutches far and wide to capture as much about end of Clinton era society as possible. Evidently this is Moody's attempt to write the great social novel along the lines of Franzen's 'Corrections' or Delillo's 'Underworld', both blockbuster successes.
Some problems, however:
The novel starts off with a chapter devoted entirely to a huge, all encompassing scan shot that tracks the sunrise around the world: 'The light that illuminates the world begins in Los Angeles. Begins in darkness, begins in the mountains, begins in empty landscapes, in doubt and remorse.' Huh? Light begins in doubt and remorse? Explain please, but we hear no further about the metaphysical implications of this, for we are thrust in the next sentence in the 'city of shadows' where there are hints of human insignificance and nightmares. No more about these as the next sentence brings in an eruption of spectra.
The attempt is clearly meant to dazzle, to show off Moody's linguistic virtuosity. But I found that this the effect of this vast chapter, which tracks the light around the world, guzzling up whole regional histories: 'Light upon the Nanjing Road, traveling westerly, on buildings of British design, light on the four-story French additions to the neighbourhood,' was to exhaust, rather than invigorate.
This throw everything into the mix and see what happens style continues throughout the book. It very loosely centres around Vanessa Meandro, Krispy Kreme addict and megalomaniac and the miniseries 'The Diviners' which runs from ancient Mongolia to present day Utah. A cast of thousands wants a piece of this script - Thaddeus Griffin, a B list action hero; a Seikh cab driver; a bipolar bike courier, the Vanderbilts, a host of production assistants, a thriller writer who gives botox parties. STOP, please, enough. You get the idea.
The structure of the novel is episodic. Episodic structures work fine when there is a core of characters that are developed through the series, but when each chapter spirals away from the previous one in terms of the protagonist, the style, the centre of action, it is hard for the reader to keep up and maintain interest.
It is as if Moody arrived at his computer each morning, threw down a few ideas that were in his head, spiced up the scene with some jazzy prose riffs, then went off happy, repeating the process the next day with an entirely different set of ideas.
Big novels can't afford to be sloppy in terms of structure. They must be constructed carefully, with characters developed properly so the narrative holds the readers interest. They cannot be constructed by throwing in a million different ideas and watching the word count mount. It might seem fun whilst doing it, but the end result is a let down to readers. The register is the same throughout - hyperbole, hysteric realism, each page packing in as much social observation circa 2000 as possible. It doesn't matter whether this lasts for 567 pages, or 200 or 9,000, the novel is no better or worse becasue of it. It is the fundamentals that have to be right in any novel - character, pacing, tempo, style, and the Diviners is a lazy exercise in trying to construct a novel on an impressive scale.
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7 of 8 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Of a divided mind about The Diviners, January 31, 2006
This review is from: The Diviners: A Novel (Hardcover)
I'd never read Rick Moody before (very bad of me, I know), but hearing a radio interview with the author piqued my interest and I picked up The Diviners. So I was rather unprepared for the stylistic whirlwind within. Reading Moody is like embarking on what you think is going to be a straightforward bit of Google fact-checking and 45 minutes later you end up reading about echidnas and Paris Hilton and having no idea how you got there.
Several chapters in, however, I began to feel messed with, like a vein of contempt for the reader runs through this work. Watch me! Watch me swoop and dive and tug your emotions and expose your 21st-century wired mind, irrevocably changed in ways you weren't even aware of by the Internet and 24-hour 100-channel TV and cell phones and Ipods and Blackberries.
Then I just felt bored. So many chapters. So many word logjams per chapter. So much the same.
Then I began to get worried for Mr. Moody. I picked up his memoir The Black Veil and found some of his runaway thought patterns, word patterns, as symptomatic of his mental illness. I picked up Garden State, and found in this early work a more-or-less straightforward, conventional narrative.
So I can't quite make up my mind about The Diviners. Is Moody a big enough seller now that he feels he can throw off convention and write however the hell he wants to write and do this show-offy postmodern stylistic acrobatics thing that makes the reader work, yet rewards her with a thrill ride, or are his brilliant, layered ramblings the evidence of an unquiet mind?
Perhaps the more learned can enlighten me. I sort of spaced out during those literary theory lectures in college. But as a reader, I say check out The Diviners for the fireworks, but have your guard up and don't expect to fall in love.
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26 of 36 people found the following review helpful:
2.0 out of 5 stars
A real disappointment, September 7, 2005
This review is from: The Diviners: A Novel (Hardcover)
I am confess to being one of those "The Ice Storm is one of the highlights of 20th century literature" people. But the novel speaks for itself, and Demonology had some terrific moments. The Diviners, however, is not a good book. It is horribly, and unnecessarily, impersonal; the characters come this close to caricature, and it commits the worse fictional sin: it is dull. I would never have thought myself to be one day saying that of a Moody story, let alone a novel. But it is what it is. Stylisitically, it is not very complex,and I have no good or bad feelings about the writing style, though it is perfectly predictable. Every chapter gives a bit more forward motion plot-wise, but wrapped in this long-winded diatribe about the moment to moment actions of a character who you don't get to know because all you get are the physical movements, catalogued. This is subjective, but I can't stand novels about society's vacuity. It's been done so many damn times by now, and the writers who do it are either substandard (Bret Easton Ellis) or popular but boring (DeLillo). This novel has no blood, no guts, and the laughs come pretty cheap. $26 is a lot to plunk down as a means to get to sleep. The public library, which provides a great service, has spent their money for you. Go there for this book, if you must.
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