I'll be honest, I have pretty low standards when it comes to books. Basically, it comes down to one of three things: I loved it, I read it, and why am I reading this crap?
Deadlands, by Victoria Miluch and published by Lake Union Publishing, falls into the last category. I tried. I really did, but after three days, I managed to slog through to Chapter 6 (out of 20). For the record, I read David Drake's Though Hell Should Bar the Way - which is 390 pages, as opposed to Deadlands' 250 - in two.
Deadlands is a dystopian novel about Georgia Reno who lives with her family in a once-abandoned compound in Arizona. When unexpected visitors arrive, Georgia's curiosity is piqued, leaving her wanting to learn as much as she can about the world outside her home. This is Victoria Mulich's first
novel, which is a good thing; her writing can only get better from here.
What makes Deadlands so awful? Two words: present tense. Sure it's supposed to give a sense of immediancey to the action, but that means you have to have action. Six chapters in, and the most action I've seen is someone was bit by a scorpion.
Actually, it's four: first person present tense. I know, I know, first person's supposed to make the story more relatable, but bad first person is bad. Yes, bad third person isn't exactly something to write home about, but it's a Hell of a lot easier to deal with than third.
Decide for yourself. Here's the opening paragraph:
We don’t hear the car as quickly as we should because of what I’ve brought Wulf here to see—a curve of metal jutting out of the sand, just beyond a scattering of creosote. The rest of the object is buried, wedged too deeply in the dirt to know its size or shape. We aren’t far from the settlement here, no more than an hour walking if you weave through the cacti and brush in a straight line. Two days ago, when I first found the object, its surface was just a glint I thought was mica. The desert had been rearranged recently by a dust storm, the minerals in the dirt mussed, and I thought maybe I’d found an interesting rock worth taking. It was only after I dug that I started to unearth the edge of a container. That’s what I tell Wulf I think the object is—some kind of container, possibly with something inside—but he insists on acting uninterested, on pretending he doesn’t care.
And then there's the stilted, weirdly formatted dialogue:
Vanessa says: “I’m sorry for disturbing you like this, but we’re—well, let me start by saying that I’m a writer.”
“How interesting,” Dad says in the same impassive tone. “We love the written word here. We inherited a whole library when we came to this settlement that we’re quite fond of. Many of the books are outdated, of course, but they’ve aged well. No mold here in our dry air.”
Vanessa smiles, nodding uncertainly. “So what brings you here?” Dad says.
Vanessa looks like she’s working hard to keep up with Dad, to figure out what he’s already figured out or decided about her. She says: “Like I said—well, I guess I haven’t exactly said it—but I’ve been working on a project, an essay about these kinds of places. Communes or little farms set up in the desert, about the people who built them and why. I didn’t realize anyone lived here now. I wouldn’t have shown up like this if I had.”
“Is that right?” says Dad mildly. “I would have guessed that it would be all the more reason to visit if you had.”
“I guess that’s true,” Vanessa says, laughing lightly.
“Curiosity,” says Dad.
“Sorry?” says Vanessa.
“Your object can’t be monetary, since I can’t imagine your project—you’ll forgive me—holds significant worth financially. Therefore, my next best guess is that it’s curiosity. A quixotic need to find answers to questions provoked by the ways and reasons why people lived here. I’m not sure if you’ll find those answers. There isn’t a lot we know about these early inhabitants, these people we consider all-but-ancient dwellers. We don’t pay them much thought, to be frank.”
Where to start?
Yeah.
At least Dad and Vanessa are adults. Then again, Georgia and Wulf sound about the same.
Deadlands isn't even one of those books that'll put you to sleep, it's not interesting enough. It's the type of book you set down to grab a drink and forget to ever pick up again.
No, it's not the worst book I've ever read, but I am so glad I didn't pay for it.
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