Writing, Plot and Execution

I am finding this novel to be mildly frustrating.

Though only midway through my voyage of discovery, I can't quite help thinking a key idea of writing is represented in this tome. Although the writing is masterful and the story well set, I find myself, at times, noting an inconsistent narrative and tone.

The book starts from a strong suit, but over time the messages become diluted. Where other books have denoted subtle power struggles within the majestic halls of grand citadels, plays full of intrigue and subterfuge kept tense and tightly manipulated by the players, this book trades seriousness and levity at the highpoint so far, the midpoint of the book.

Spoiled though I may be, there is no steel trap logic, no desperate scrabble to remain in play, and alive. And that saddens me.

I must admit, not normally would I be this critical of a story, but I feel this is a special case. I was tantalised by the gems that forthwith remain undelivered, and instead I must content myself to stare through the glass at riches beyond imagining. It's not that which wholly spurs my hand to comment, though, rather that to me, the stakes were raised beyond imagining when the author decided to move to rape.

Let me be clear, I am neither a prude (despite how some might know me) nor naive to the evils of this world. I am lucky enough to have not experienced many, if indeed any, first hand, and for that I am thankful most every day. However, I feel while this subject is a very common idea in many novels, it is necessary that the author generate an appropriate atmosphere for this horror to be conveyed.

I'm getting a little ahead of myself here, so I want to make it clear that the act hasn't actually happened or been described in the book (at least not as of yet). However, what revolted me was not the mention but rather the casual association of a year long torture perpetrated on a powerful political figure, seemingly with the consent of her spouse, with the idea that a heroine of the story would also undergo a similar attack.

I just don't get it.

Rape is a terrifying thing. Being under threat of such, whether within the confines of a barely tenable marriage or elsewise, is frightening and serious enough on its own. It needs no relation to the idea that a character underwent such monstrous invasion for over a year in order to lend a sense of dread to the idea.

I feel this is somewhat symptomatic of our society. Constantly directing our gaze downwards, we outdo each other for horror and vile acts, seeming to delight in the exploration of the terrible. What's bad? Getting killed. What's worse than that...hmmm...torture before the inevitable. What's worse than torture? Rape. What's worse than rape? Rape over a long period by multiple assailants.

When does enough become enough? I already know how damn well low the human race can stoop, and these ideas have their time and place in literature, I don't deny that. But this one-upmanship of the vilest kind must stop. We are fascinated and drawn to the foul end of the spectrum, but it really needs no more examining, for in our pursuits we are turning away from the sun.

And I don't really like that. We're better than that.

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Returning to the opening of this post, I wish to highlight that in my opinion, this book well demonstrates the reality of writing. So many poor souls come bedraggled, hat in hand, to the first page, doubting and tearful and fearing their worth and skill.

I say unto ye; behold that which makes a tale true and hardy doth not squarely fall upon words alone. The head, heart, and soul of its creator is the essence of the novel, and though its pages doth rain words as so many an English morn, let them be stained crimson as your lifesblood, and leave their indelible ink upon the soul of thy appreciative reader.