These are the questions “Laura Whitcomb” tries to answer in “A Certain Slant of Light.”
Helen is a ghost, she has spent hundreds of years following one host after another, joining in their daily activities and clinging to them as if they were her only source of life, in a somewhat clumsy attempt to find her way to heaven. She does not know who she is, she does not know what she did to be stuck in the loop she’s in, and she is sad.
After years of lonely wandering, blind to those in the “Quick” world around her, she suddenly notices a boy staring at her, his name is James, he is the answer to her prayers, and a way out. (or in… If you’re looking for acuracy.)
Although “Whitcomb’s” writing at some points are breathtaking, spouting beautiful descriptives such as: “They line the walls like a thousand leather doorways to be opened into worlds unknown.” the book was horribly jumpy. One moment I was reading a captivating novel about the implications of being a ghost and the next I felt as though I had inadvertently picked up the wrong book and starting perusing some horribly cheesy Harlequin, complete with instant love and naked marriage proposals.
Needless to say…40% of the way through I lost interest.
Fortunatly in the last 30 pages the plot picked back up… but unfortunately, I was sound asleep by then.
I wanted to like this book, I even tried to convince myself that I was being to harsh on it, but the reality of it is… I just didn’t give a crap. (which is never a good sign.)
It was a book…I read it…now I’m moving on.
There were moments of body hopping, a cult-ish like… secretive father who made my skin crawl, an overly protective big brother with understandable trust issues, an odd skittishly written war scene, a very sad moment of self recognition, and 1 very uncomfortable meeting with a shrink.
Even with all the little moments of literary genius…the complexities of the plot and the well thought out moral lesson, (except the mistakes you’ve made and forgive yourself.) it was still a flop.
Save your money.
Happy reading my fellow Kindle-ites and remember: everyone has a muse… chances are you just can’t see yours.
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