Book #64 - The Shell Seekers

I'm a little ill thinking about the books I haven't reviewed. There is no way that I can adequately review any of them with so much competition in my brain, but, I suppose I'll try. That or give up reviewing books I've read, which I'm not ready to do.


I believe the bottle neck came from my inability to write a satisfying review of Rosamunde Pilcher's The Shell Seekers. Not that it was a difficult book to write about, but that my own thoughts annoyed and troubled me so much that I decided I'd rather not share them.

But, that's the sanitized Lucy(which I'm kicking to the curb), here's what the real me thought of The Shell Seekers

It wasn't good enough to be taken seriously (heart beat elevated. O.K. Perhaps kicking wasn't exactly true. More like tip-toe-ing carefully to the curb).


From its supermarket cover (have you seen it? It felt embarrassing to have such a romantically embossed book in my hands) to its one-dimensional characters, the entire book reminded me of a heavyweight beach read.

So....what should get a "nice summer read" review instead trips me up for weeks. Why do I feel so bad about being critical of this book? Mostly, I think it's because many friends and readers I know love this book. But, I also think my stupor of thought is a result of a former self once being able to love this book. My tastes have changed.

It's frustrating, because I think the themes Pilcher wrote about are serious enough to do well. Inheritance, greed, sentimentality, playing favorites with children, staying in a loveless marriage, putting a relationship that never fully developed on a pedestal because it escaped the inevitable boredom, irritation, and complacency that all relationships eventually go through. These are things you don't usually find underneath a flowery cover.

Overall, The Shell Seekers didn't feel wholly honest to me. The situations did have a semblance of reality. I imagine most of us would have some serious introspection if we discovered a piece of art we owned was suddenly very valuable, especially any art we owned that was created by a beloved relative. However, the characters, written as people who you should like (Penelope, Olivia, Richard), or who you should not like (Nancy, Neil, horrible grandmother and husband whose names I can't remember) didn't have motives - or at least any that I understood. It appears to me that Pilcher confused having the coveted flawed character with having bad characters. Just because a character makes bad choices shouldn't make them bad. I wanted to know why Nancy and Neil cared more about money than their grandfather's painting. Was Neil a gambler and in debt and needed cash? Did Nancy think her marriage would fall apart if she didn't continue to be the lavish bride that her grandmother turned her into?

Why in the world would Penelope stay in her never-should-have-happened-marriage when the author has done her best to describe her as a free-spirit, raised by an athiest father and French mother who both could have cared less if she married the father of her baby or took a lover while her husband (who she hoped would either die or leave her for someone else) was at war, who placed a nontraditional value to things (wasn't that the point of the the symbolic painting? Most people would care to know how much it was worth. But not Penelope, who would rather garden and feed people large meals)? Why were Neil and Nancy so shallow and greedy? Because they were genetically like their father and grandmother (who were also inexplicably bad)? Why did Olivia get such a free pass from her mother? Why did we have to invest so much time with her in Greece with her old and linen-clad lover (who I kept imaging as Kris Kristofferson. Odd)? Was I supposed to really care about her gardener's epilepsy?

So many more questions that have no satisfying answers because, once again, I don't think this is meant as a serious book. In which case, I'm being snobby and critical. Or it was meant as a serious book and I'm being picky and callous. Or snobby and critical. Take your pick.

Oh my...this is such a bad book review. For the confused, I'll tidy things up. I enjoyed the book. I'm disappointed it wasn't more.

And that worries me.

Because that means I'm a book snob

Oh....curse you, Shell Seekers! Why did I ever open your abysmal cover with flowers and shiny typeface?


Why? Because there's a well known saying about books and their covers. And I fell for it.