novella
Active Member
I finished Mother’s Milk by Edward St. Aubyn a few weeks ago. I hesitated to review it immediately, as I was not sure that my assessment was fully formed.
While I love St. Aubyn’s writing—it’s full of unexpected sharp observations and funny self-reflection—this story didn’t appeal to me much.
At the outset, there’s the problem of the newborn infant POV, which goes on for way too long. He continues to go to a ‘precocious’ child’s point of view at various points in the narrative, which I found really precious rather than precocious. I love St. Aubyn’s idiotic grown-ups, and I wish he had stuck to them and explained them as fully as he did these annoying, self-consciously limited children.
Then there’s the problem of the parallel with the Virgin Mary and the child Jesus, which I got right away and just assumed he’d let the mild allusions go eventually, but NO. He has to actually refer to that later in the book, which BTW, puts the adult male narrator in the sad position of being a neglected, alcoholic Joseph figure.
St. Aubyn leaves out all the juice and joy, too. There’s no random adventure, no good sex or tension, little real confrontation. I kept turning the pages, waiting for him to catch fire, and he just didn’t. I feel sad about that, like this book was a half-hearted attempt on the author’s part to plod his writing career along without being really into it.
And, yet, he’s so talented, I would definitely buy his next . . .
While I love St. Aubyn’s writing—it’s full of unexpected sharp observations and funny self-reflection—this story didn’t appeal to me much.
At the outset, there’s the problem of the newborn infant POV, which goes on for way too long. He continues to go to a ‘precocious’ child’s point of view at various points in the narrative, which I found really precious rather than precocious. I love St. Aubyn’s idiotic grown-ups, and I wish he had stuck to them and explained them as fully as he did these annoying, self-consciously limited children.
Then there’s the problem of the parallel with the Virgin Mary and the child Jesus, which I got right away and just assumed he’d let the mild allusions go eventually, but NO. He has to actually refer to that later in the book, which BTW, puts the adult male narrator in the sad position of being a neglected, alcoholic Joseph figure.
St. Aubyn leaves out all the juice and joy, too. There’s no random adventure, no good sex or tension, little real confrontation. I kept turning the pages, waiting for him to catch fire, and he just didn’t. I feel sad about that, like this book was a half-hearted attempt on the author’s part to plod his writing career along without being really into it.
And, yet, he’s so talented, I would definitely buy his next . . .
