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A review by aksel_dadswell
The Broken Hours: A Novel of H. P. Lovecraft by Jacqueline Baker
4.0
I had mixed feelings about The Broken Hours. The book was not at all what I expected, in good and bad ways.
The writing itself was spectacular, scalpel-precise but never too simple or sparse. Every word felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be. There was a beauty and intensity - and more than a little melancholy - that cut right into my perception and continued its work deep into my brain matter. Lines like the "coldly muscled coursing of the river" provided perfect, delicious moments of imagery so vivid in both what they evoked and the sheer genius of that particular combination of words that I often found myself re-reading them over and over again under my breath until the rhythm became familiar with my tongue.
The story, which was not exactly plot-heavy, opting instead for a gloomy slow-burn character study, was engaging in terms of psychology and atmosphere, but confounded my initial expectations of the cover's promise that this was "a novel of H.P. Lovecraft." I kept expecting - hoping - some eldritch horror would come squirming from the shadows, and was inevitably disappointed when this [SPOILERS] didn't happen. But to judge a book by something it is not - and something that it isn't trying to be, more specifically - is somewhat unfair.
The real problem I had with The Broken Hours was the at once implausibility and predictability of what constitutes the book's major climactic twist. Although the mystery is underplayed quite well at times, to fantastic emotional effect (a particular flashback is brilliantly executed in terms of what it specifically doesn't mention), it became one of those "I really hope they don't go in that direction" contrivances. Ultimately, the author did go in that direction, and although by no means a failure, the reveal fell flat for me. A quiet novel with a quiet ending, all of it laced with melancholy and loss, but with something missing that could have brought some of the disparate elements together and elevated it to great piece of literature.
I'd still definitely recommend the book though; I devoured it quickly and urged myself to read one more chapter, one more chapter with every sitting. Jacqueline Baker writes with a deep sort of Gothic poetry that really gets under your skin and stays there, worming its way into you. Despite my misgivings, its scenes and characters and tangible atmospherics still turn slowly in my head.
The writing itself was spectacular, scalpel-precise but never too simple or sparse. Every word felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be. There was a beauty and intensity - and more than a little melancholy - that cut right into my perception and continued its work deep into my brain matter. Lines like the "coldly muscled coursing of the river" provided perfect, delicious moments of imagery so vivid in both what they evoked and the sheer genius of that particular combination of words that I often found myself re-reading them over and over again under my breath until the rhythm became familiar with my tongue.
The story, which was not exactly plot-heavy, opting instead for a gloomy slow-burn character study, was engaging in terms of psychology and atmosphere, but confounded my initial expectations of the cover's promise that this was "a novel of H.P. Lovecraft." I kept expecting - hoping - some eldritch horror would come squirming from the shadows, and was inevitably disappointed when this [SPOILERS] didn't happen. But to judge a book by something it is not - and something that it isn't trying to be, more specifically - is somewhat unfair.
The real problem I had with The Broken Hours was the at once implausibility and predictability of what constitutes the book's major climactic twist. Although the mystery is underplayed quite well at times, to fantastic emotional effect (a particular flashback is brilliantly executed in terms of what it specifically doesn't mention), it became one of those "I really hope they don't go in that direction" contrivances. Ultimately, the author did go in that direction, and although by no means a failure, the reveal fell flat for me. A quiet novel with a quiet ending, all of it laced with melancholy and loss, but with something missing that could have brought some of the disparate elements together and elevated it to great piece of literature.
I'd still definitely recommend the book though; I devoured it quickly and urged myself to read one more chapter, one more chapter with every sitting. Jacqueline Baker writes with a deep sort of Gothic poetry that really gets under your skin and stays there, worming its way into you. Despite my misgivings, its scenes and characters and tangible atmospherics still turn slowly in my head.