Parenthetical.net

Awhile ago I reviewed Inkheart, the first in this trilogy. I’ve finally finished Inkspell and Inkdeath, and after all the poetic waxing I did about Inkheart, my ultimate conclusion is… don’t bother.
Funke introduces way too many characters, throws their balls into the air (…enjoy that image!), and then forgets they’re up there. Why does the magic work differently for one character than another? (Why can Orpheus write any old thing into the world, while Fenoglio has to find exactly the right words to tell the plot to do what he wants?) Why do the characters want the things we’re told they want for the service of the plot? For a trilogy that’s all about world-building on the most meta level, Funke’s is overambitious and ends up feeling sloppy.

Some of the new characters are interesting — particularly Violante, the conflicted, ambitious daughter of the Big Bad, and her poorly-raised son. I’d love a more reasonably sized story about them. Most of the characters are boringly gold-hearted or black-hearted, though. Even Dustfinger becomes a totally dull (and far too powerful) white hat.

A lesson in “show, don’t tell” would also not have gone amiss (emphasis mine):

Without a word, he took her hand and drew her away from the tents, away from the robbers, and away from Resa, who was still standing by the fire. She was wiping the ink from her fingers, wiping and wiping, while Jasper watched sympathetically. It was as if she were trying to wipe away the words she had written.

No kidding, Lady MacBeth! We get it.

It is, in fact, the very definition of over-written. Boyfriend E asked me to explain “over-written” recently, in fact, and I should have just handed him Inkdeath. The simplest thing requires a whole paragraph or more of flowery description — often redundant description, as a new character sees for the first time a thing that we’ve already watched another character see, and has the same reaction to it. Madeleine Robins has a post up at DeepGenre in which she asserts that sometimes, cliches are the way to go: “[Y]ou have to give the reader a moment to rest from time to time. Simply using tried shorthand for an image or action can provide the reader that breathing space, even in the most beautifully written prose.” Yes, please.

A good editing process could have gone a long way in tightening these up. Each book could have been about half as long (or less) and told the same story better. If you’ve read Inkheart and want to know what happens next, just email me and I’ll give you the synopsis — there’s a better use for those hours.

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