McBirdie`s Nest

I don't normally review train fare books. I mean, what's the point, really? If you bought a book in a train station (or airport), then it is meant to be light enough to pass the time easily--not really something that is going to make you think or stick with you. I can count on one hand the number of books bought in train stations that I went on to recommend to someone else. Normally, in fact, I just leave the book wherever I finish it...sort of paying it forward in the junk literature world.

And trust me, I'm not writing about this one because it was so great. But rather, I'm writing because it made me think. Not really in a good way, though, as the book is kind of crap. I should point out from the jump that this review will contain spoilers. Pretty much because I can't imagine that this is really the sort of book that people would seek out purposefully--and if you happen to buy it after this, I'm pretty sure having it spoiled won't change anything. In fact, they spoil it for you on the book cover, really.

The basic premise--given away in the delightfully subtle tagline, "There are some things a mother and daughter should never share..."--is that a woman meets a man, marries a man, and then finds out post-wedding that man and daughter are going at it like gangbusters. Not really the creepy thriller I tend to go for, but hey, it was buy one get one half off and I needed two books. It pretty much turns out the way you think it will, with lots of deceit and crying and whatnot. Except.

Except.

Except no one ever got angry at the daughter. Is that normal? Not for sleeping with the guy, not for running away with him and leaving school, not even for smugly telling her mother that she was "used up and old". Seriously. Now, sure, I grew up with a slightly less traditional family unit than others, but I don't think it is outlandish to say that if I had so much as inapproprately flirted with my mother's man, I would have been stabbed in the damn throat if I didn't bob and weave fast enough. And I mean with a quickness.

Let me clarify--this is not some adorable little kid who was molested and put upon by a man far older than she. This is a seventeen year old who set about seducing her mother's boyfriend. Now sure, we can argue all day and night over whether or not a girl that age can be held responsible for her actions, but I think we could at least figure on a bit of anger on the part of the mother, right?

But no. The mother in this novel is a Mother. The children are central--more than central to her life...pretty much her whole life. You get the distinct impression that everything else is just something she does to fill in the time while they're at school. A little volunteering, a little job, that sort of thing. She hasn't been on even one date since her husband left her however many years ago. She is made to be both pathetic and barely there. The author unwittingly makes a character who you would likely forget about completely, if the story wasn't being told from her perspective. So when you add in a teenager daughter who is sketched out to be hateful, selfish, and obnoxious from the jump AND a Mother who doesn't even take her to task for being any of those things...why are we supposed to care?

The Mother chases the two of them all the way to France, where she gives up a week of her pitiful life trying to get them to talk to her. She ends up returning to England with her tail between her legs, just mistily hopeful that her daughter will eventually come back. And of course, she does. The daughter--however much time later, a few months, it seems--writes her mother a letter that is just as spiteful in its carelessness (sort of like: "Dear Mum, Sorry about all that ruckus. I'm not with him anymore, can I come home? Love, Useless Daughter") and next thing you know, Mother is running to the airport to welcome her back, no questions asked. Literally no questions asked--Daughter says she 'doesn't really want to talk about it' and shows how bored she is with it, so the subject is dropped.

I have always said that I don't like to watch movies or read books wherein the characters aren't people that I can care about or root for. It's why I don't like heist movies--I don't get why I should be rooting for criminals when I pay my taxes, you know? But I have to say, I never expected to discover such unlikeable characters in what is pretty much just chick lit. Next time I'll just grab one of those, "They know who you are. They know where you live. They want you dead" novels. It would have to be more refreshing than this was. And at least someone is bound to get stabbed in the throat. Rightfully or otherwise.