Thursday, January 26, 2006

Pack Up the Moon


Bleucch, eucch.

So many things wrong with Anna McPartlin's book, I barely know where to start. I was asked to read it and review it on Newstalk106's lunchtime show. The other guest reviewer, I was surprised to see, was Dermot Lacey, a strange, showbizzy kind of politician who appears to be so completely consumed with being popular and being elected that he has lost all of his critical faculties along the way. Along with his powers of hearing and listening. During the review I said that I thought it was good that young women were writing books that were relevant to other young women in the same social category as them, I just didn't think this was a good example of that type of book. He said that he didn't care if the book wasn't socially relevant, he thought it was a good book anyway.
He reminded me of my least favourite kind of man, the ones who don't listen to women, who don't listen to anyone, in fact, except for other men who are exactly like them. You know the kind of guys who sell you a crappy car or fuck up a simple plumbing job or arrive three hours late to move your furniture and then, when you complain to them about the level of service you've received in return for your hard-earned money, they roll their eyes at your husband or father as if to say "women, eh? They just don't get that this is how the world works". I do not like men like this. I did not like this man. I did not like this book either, but I've ranted about it so much that I've lost the will to rant about it any more. Suffice to say that I think it's a disgrace that women are expected to pay a tenner to buy this sort of shoddily written, shabbily edited rubbish. Of course, what would I know? I just think that people should do their jobs well. Including writers.

2 comments:

TJMarine said...

What happened to you Accent? Did Dermot Lacey and the show's presenter undermine you? Did they roll their eyes at you like the removal men in your blog? Jeez sounds like you took it to heart. Most likely not an attack on you as a person but more a clash of tastes and perhaps they inappropriately conveyed this in a manner that got under your skin.

I absolutely do not wish to anger you any more than you have been and hope that you can put the sorry incident behind you, but I think you may have allowed the interview to cloud your critique of the book. This is evident I feel due to the amount of words you devote to the interview in your blog. I was interested to read the 'many things wrong' with the book that you promised but they didn't materialise. You did however run out of wind, which you point out - another indicator that perhaps you just needed to vent a bit about Mr. Lacey.

Maybe your blog should have been about media hungry men vs. women with a voice.

I read the book and felt it was 'socially relevant' being able to draw on my interactions with people in Irish society to identify with and relate to the characters. But then I guess we don't all come accross the same people. The characters are middle class, well educated and certainly have their share of troubles to deal with and I suppose not everyone can identify with this.

I wouldn't usually read something like Pack up the Moon, and I have not become an ardent fan of this genre as a result. However it was book of the month for January at Easons. Quite a recommendation I feel and it met my expectations.

Anyway chin up accent. February's a new month and I see that Michael Connelly's Lost Light is book of the month this time at Easons.

accentmonkey said...

You know, you're right. I didn't really go into much of a review of the book in the blog entry, and was really just venting about the radio programme. I guess I feel I've wasted enough of my time on the book already.

Mostly what I disliked about it was that it was poorly produced. A thin enough story to begin with, any merits it might have had were swamped by the mis-spellings and other evidence of lazy (or non-existent) editing. And I think it's unfair for people to be expected to pay money for things that are shoddily put together.