There's
an old acting adage that says there's a difference between showing
and telling, and that it is always better to show than to tell.
Authors bear the same burden.
Janet
Fitch, author of White Oleander (390 pages), is a writer with a
Bradbury-esque style. She has the bewitching ability to compose a
thought that is taste, smell, and sight. You don't read her
sentences; you feel them.
I'm
just going to go ahead and put you all out of your misery now and say
that I highly recommend this book. Now go buy it. Do not, however,
rush off to see the 2002 movie starring Michelle Pfeiffer. Are you
surprised? You shouldn't be. It's rare that a movie can compare to
the book, despite decent casting. Sad, but true.
The
book itself follows Astrid Magnussen, daughter of Ingrid-- a
controlling and beautiful poetess. Ingrid draws strength from the
power she holds over others, unintentionally forcing her daughter to
live in her shadow. Driven mad by rejection, Ingrid murders her lover
and is sentenced to life in prison, leaving Astrid alone.
Yet, even locked away, Astrid finds that her mother is more of a force to be reckoned with. Actually, that's an excellent way to describe her--as a force. Astrid is passed from one foster home to another, trying to divide herself from her mother, yet she is always present. The novel explores family, individuality, and if the two are not mutually exclusive.
Fitch has an interesting perspective, and I am impressed with her ability to develop characters. Even the smallest character emerges from the pages as a fully formed human being, with its own opinions and voice. I sincerely look forward to reading more of her work.
