June 24, 2019
Review of Bittersweet
Today’s post offers a review of Bittersweet, by Lloyd R. Free. This is a novel set in the early 1960s – a time of great political and cultural upheaval. In this context, two young friends decide to leave the United States behind and move to France.
The full title of the novel is Bittersweet: A Coming of Age Historical Romance. I must say it right away, I’m really not a fan of over-explaining in fiction, and that includes book titles. This is particularly the case with (sub)titles denoting the genre of the book.
Ironically enough, the novel was described as literary fiction to me. It isn’t, and the title is the first clue – both because it describes what it really is (a coming-of-age story), and because it (over)describes. Have you ever seen a title such as Mary and John: A Literary-Fiction Story?
Review Of Bittersweet: Genre, Plot, Narrative
Genre is always important when reviewing a work, because it all boils down to expectations of the intended audience. Personal preference is insignificant.
With this in mind, Bittersweet is clearly not literary fiction. To be fair, it isn’t marketed as such (e.g. on its Amazon page), but the circumstances that brought it to my attention clearly alluded to its being.
Now, I never review a book for what it isn’t, and I won’t do that now either. But I will have to take the above details into consideration in my analysis, which will assign it a somewhat schizophrenic quality. In other words, the review will probably appear more critical than warranted by my general opinion of the book (more about this in the concluding section).
What Bittersweet Isn’t (and what It Could Have Been)
And so, with all this in mind, Bittersweet lacks several of the markers that one would expect in literary fiction. In brief, these are:
- No discernible narrative tension. There can’t be a narrative without tension and an antagonist, and in literary fiction this is unthinkable. But even in coming-of-age stories, some sort of conflict is required; at the very least between the young characters and society. Such references in Bittersweet are entirely secondary and unimportant to the plot. The only morsel of narrative tension in Bittersweet originates from a rather unconvincing love triangle.
- Not enough darkness and grit for literary fiction. Self-explanatory. In coming-of-age this isn’t crucial (though of course it is related to the point above, regarding not having narrative tension).
- Somewhat weak, unrealistic characters. I will say more about this further below, in the next section.
- Lack of a unified thematic context. Lacking this is catastrophic for literary fiction, but not that bad for coming-of-age stories predicated on width rather than depth. Scene-wise, the narrative is constructed skillfully, but a more general context and unifying thematology seems to be, if not missing, at least underdeveloped. As a result, Bittersweet comes off as a group of scenes (albeit, well-written ones) rather than a homogeneous whole.
A literary-fiction novel is doomed by not having the elements above, but in the case of Bittersweet this isn’t that disastrous, because it’s a coming-of-age story.
Having said that, it does feel like a lost opportunity. What separates “okay” from “good” or “good” from “excellent” is precisely the willingness and ability to go beyond what is expected.
Language and Style
Before proceeding to analyzing the characters of Bittersweet, a word about language and style. This is an area where the novel does very well, and it’s probably among its strongest facets.
The language of the novel, though not exactly poetic, is perfectly functional. Descriptions are evocative but, generally, not overbearing. There is a multitude of references to important artists and authors, which helps in the creation of the sociocultural context of the novel; ditto for strong historical references, such as colonial politics. Very nice!
More importantly, the novel has a distinct honesty and directness about it, perhaps as a result of the author having written just as he pleased, maybe even alluding to personal experiences. Whether that’s the case or not, there is a certain authenticity in terms of experiencing and reactions, which is definitely great news.
Review Of Bittersweet: Characters
For a literary-fiction novel, characters are everything. Everything. Plot is not important at all. For other genres, including coming-of-ages stories, there can be a bit more latitude, though of course realistic characters is something worth aiming for.
As I explained in my post on realistic characters in fiction, authors should first be concerned about getting that realism, and only then worry how to balance it with generic requirements.
And so, Bittersweet is adequate in terms of character developments though, again, it doesn’t seem willing to go beyond what is required.
As I mentioned in the previous section, characters appear a bit weak and unrealistic, without much depth or complexity. The difference between the two main characters is exaggerated, and they come off as slightly stereotyped.
Abstraction, Symbolism, Subtlety
More importantly, perhaps, there isn’t enough abstraction or subtlety. Characters’ thoughts are offered in a direct manner, lacking the nuanced symbolism that is critical for literary fiction, and definitely nice to have for anything else.
The text is a bit too eager to tell rather than describe, as if wanting to make sure the reader “gets it”. There are many instances of inner-dialogue questions that come off as too simplistic, clearly in exposition territory.
What about the draft? If he dropped out of ROTC and the University, he’d lose his student deferment. What about money? How would he get there? What would it be like to live in a foreign country? What happens when you don’t speak the language? What about the future his mother had planned for him?
Again, although this is catastrophic for literary fiction, it’s not that bad for coming-of-age novels. Still, however, this kind of simplicity almost makes the book appear as one belonging to the young-adult genre (just to clarify, the novel contains enough descriptions of explicit sexuality to make it unsuitable for the youngest of audiences).
Furthermore, what makes this strategy even more damaging is the sudden leaps in narrative focalization. There is this scene where one of the protagonists meets with a girl in France, and spends the evening trying to woo her. After the reader is offered the protagonist’s thoughts in this kind of direct manner, lacking literary sophistication, the protagonist and the girl part ways and then we are offered another similar round from the perspective of the girl.
He obviously liked her. He might even be pursuing her. That pleased her. It is always good to be wanted. Yes, he is nice, but Wolf [another man] is like magic, a sorcerer. She loved Wolf’s blond, wavy hair. She liked to run her fingers through it.
When there are no gaps of meaning left for the reader to squeeze through, it’s hard to identify or even sympathize with the characters. This becomes more noticeable in the final third of the novel, where the proverbial buck stops.
For a narrative depending on width rather than depth, and with weak narrative tension, this is not easy to achieve. How do you resolve a narrative that presents no narrative problem?
Sadly for Bittersweet, its conclusion reveals that in a very obvious manner. First there is an excessive reliance on whatever tension can be extracted from the love triangle I mentioned earlier – with the result of descending into melodrama territory. And then comes the ending itself, which isn’t.
To clarify, I have no problem with ambiguous endings. If anything, a skillfully devised ambiguous ending precisely leaves the door open for meaning to get through.
But there is a difference between ambiguity and ellipsis.
The ending of Bittersweet almost appears accidental, as if there were something there still, but was forgotten in the word processor.
Review Of Bittersweet: General Impression
As I warned you earlier, this review probably gives a slightly skewed impression of my opinion regarding the book’s qualities. Bittersweet is a perfectly readable, enjoyable book, set in a very interesting historical context.
The language is very good, the pace is about right, and the narrative is overall well balanced in terms of progression. It doesn’t win any awards for either originality or brilliance, but it has no glaring flaws, either.
In times of appalling writing skills and mediocrity, I’ve learned to expect everything. Bittersweet is better than the average novel out there. Hell, just the fact it describes real, human characters, in a real, historical context is enough to put it on the winning side as far as I’m concerned.
Ultimately, it’s a matter of genre. As a literary-fiction novel – what I was led to believe when picking it – it clearly doesn’t work. As a coming-of-age novel it works better.
6 Comments
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The cover confuses me – it looks YA AND Romance. On the ‘sweet Romance side.’
I don’t read coming-of-age stories any more (too old for them), so I’m glad you reviewed it – it tells me what’s out there.
As for literary, I don’t buy the attitude that ‘literary’ releases the author from the obligation of telling a story, with characters, themes, and plots. In my opinion (laugh all you like), adding that description actually increases the obligation – I expect BETTER characters, themes, and plot. I may be alone on that soap box.
‘Mainstream’ or even ‘general fiction’ used to be a category; it has virtually disappeared, courtesy of our online friend, Amazon. I mourn its passing. It used to mean ‘not genre’ – i.e., not SF or fantasy or detective story – and in more depth than the genre novels had space for. ‘Historical’ seems to be occupying the sweet spot for novels – which leaves us without good contemporary novels. Just a thought.
You hit the nail on the proverbial head when you referred to genres and Amazon. I can’t tell you how many times I laugh (so that I don’t cry) when I go to Amazon to search for books and I see a category like “Menonite” or “Supernatural romance”.
You might not be familiar with a British sketch show called “Little Britain”, but they have this sequence where a guy goes into a store and asks for something impossibly specific (“I’d like a movie about alien cowboys, with a character called Mario, played by Tom Hanks”), and when the store owner says they don’t have it, the guy says “it’s alright, I’ll wait here until it’s made”.
Only, with Amazon, the joke’s on me.
I’m the one waiting, but for what you mentioned as “contemporary” or “general” fiction; the general, not the specific.
I don’t even look for literary fiction on Amazon anymore, their category is pointless, thanks to idiots who place their romance novels there.
/Rant mode off
Thanks for your message!
And yet when some of us WRITE contemporary mainstream, even literary, fiction, getting people to READ it is like pulling hens’ teeth.
I can see why some genre writers don’t polish – they have to get books out, as they are dependent on low prices and volume – but it seems a race to the bottom. There is no perceived value to learning to write well, even though every piece of marketing advice I see always mentions ‘write a good book’ as the first, given, step.
I find myself encouraging the writers, but not being able to read them.
Excellent point on the contradiction between telling writers to write well as a piece of *marketing* advice, whereas, as you aptly point out, it’s about mass production.
Personally, as a result of my long and sometimes painful experience (including having dealt with a traditional publisher), I’ve decoupled writing from marketing. I don’t think art and selling books for monetary profit can be accommodated together anymore (if they ever were, I can’t say).
That’s how capitalism works, I guess; a race to the bottom, to borrow your words.
There’s still a place for ‘artisanal’ and the quality that comes from craftswomanship.
The marketing can even take advantage of that, but it’s tricky getting it right.
Whether we like it or not, everyone will grow up and go through ups and downs, exciting experiences, heart thrills and breaks, it’s all part of life. With the hopes to travel and see what else the world has to offer, you gain a sense of self or what your purpose could very well be.