Review of McDowell
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Vivien Zazzau
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- Latest Review: McDowell by William H. Coles
Review of McDowell
[Following is a volunteer review of "McDowell" by William H. Coles.]
When Hiram McDowell’s life fell apart, not only was he still considered as brilliant as the sun on a cloudless day atop any one of the numerous mountain peaks he’d already scaled, some more than once, but he was also a surgeon in a class of his own due to the quality of his care and his seemingly selfless service to the medically disadvantaged occupants of a country considered to be among the least developed in the world. Oddly enough, when it came to his personal relationships, many considered him to be as cold as the air on the highest mountain peak and as emotionally insular as a statue. He went from one relationship to the next with no accountability or conscience. He is so unlikeable that the only reason I did not rip this book to shreds and set it on fire by the end of the third chapter was because I had downloaded it to my Kindle. Shockingly, it would not be long before I became his most ardent fan. <i>McDowell</i> is a book that will redefine your definition of a life well lived.
One of the most positive aspects of this book was that I experienced suspension of disbelief on a level far beyond any I had ever experienced. Many define this type of suspension as “willing,” i.e., something we intentionally do for the purpose of integrating that which we know with that which we could not otherwise believe for the purpose of enjoyment. My suspension of disbelief was neither gracious nor willing. It was more akin to a “psycho-litera-tic break.” Yes, I just invented that term because there is nothing in the English language with which to describe what I experienced. William H. Coles made me forget, to a disturbing degree, that I was reading fiction. Though I am about to share two instances that stand out for me, because I doubt the wisdom of sharing them, I will vehemently deny having done so if you tell anyone.
My first psycho-litera-tic break occurred when I awoke in the middle of the night, in tears, because I had had an epiphany regarding Hiram’s sudden yet metamorphotic progression on his road to personal enlightenment. Though significantly struck when I first read it, it was not until later that I realized what I had read because Coles’ prose is exceedingly sparse yet revelatory with an intermittent narration that supplies mostly details that could not instinctively be known. Where other authors would bring out their crying-violin tracks, Coles simply closes the door and moves on. My second “break” occurred when I caught myself wondering if the police might, in retrospect, be able to prosecute one of the characters who had helped Hiram escape their surveillance. It was only after several moments that I was able to find some comfort through finally remembering that this is a work of fiction.
What I disliked most about this book is related to what I loved best. Hiram, though brilliant and wily, is a character who takes unbelievably stupid risks. On an amazingly consistent basis, he shares his personal information with total strangers. Additionally, I was annoyed to discover that a man who had never needed anyone prior to his odyssey suddenly started needing people connections even when it could be to his detriment. Every time this happened, I could hear Barbara Streisand singing, “People, people who need people… are the luckiest people in the world,” and I did not believe her either. So, while this was not a type of disbelief that I could willingly suspend, the author still successfully manipulated me into losing contact with “reality.”
I rate this book <b>four out of four stars</b>. <i>McDowell</i> is a stunning exposition on the meaning and brevity of life. Its revelatory message is that happiness both begins and resides in the mind rather than in external circumstances or the behaviors of others. I cared, deeply, for the characters and found their struggles painfully familiar and believable. As a result, I came to value my own experience more deeply.
Whether you are open to introspection or currently unaware of its benefits, this book is for you. William Coles artfully illustrates that our legacies are ours precisely because they are ours and that we have so much more control over our destinies than we know. <i>McDowell</i> artfully hones and decisively delivers the message that we cannot know ourselves until we are willing to listen to, and consider the views of, others; then, it brings us to a place where we might realize that we are all more alike than different. Hopefully, Hiram McDowell’s fictional status will not obscure the fact that he becomes so much more than many of us could ever hope to be.
******
McDowell
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | on Smashwords
When Hiram McDowell’s life fell apart, not only was he still considered as brilliant as the sun on a cloudless day atop any one of the numerous mountain peaks he’d already scaled, some more than once, but he was also a surgeon in a class of his own due to the quality of his care and his seemingly selfless service to the medically disadvantaged occupants of a country considered to be among the least developed in the world. Oddly enough, when it came to his personal relationships, many considered him to be as cold as the air on the highest mountain peak and as emotionally insular as a statue. He went from one relationship to the next with no accountability or conscience. He is so unlikeable that the only reason I did not rip this book to shreds and set it on fire by the end of the third chapter was because I had downloaded it to my Kindle. Shockingly, it would not be long before I became his most ardent fan. <i>McDowell</i> is a book that will redefine your definition of a life well lived.
One of the most positive aspects of this book was that I experienced suspension of disbelief on a level far beyond any I had ever experienced. Many define this type of suspension as “willing,” i.e., something we intentionally do for the purpose of integrating that which we know with that which we could not otherwise believe for the purpose of enjoyment. My suspension of disbelief was neither gracious nor willing. It was more akin to a “psycho-litera-tic break.” Yes, I just invented that term because there is nothing in the English language with which to describe what I experienced. William H. Coles made me forget, to a disturbing degree, that I was reading fiction. Though I am about to share two instances that stand out for me, because I doubt the wisdom of sharing them, I will vehemently deny having done so if you tell anyone.
My first psycho-litera-tic break occurred when I awoke in the middle of the night, in tears, because I had had an epiphany regarding Hiram’s sudden yet metamorphotic progression on his road to personal enlightenment. Though significantly struck when I first read it, it was not until later that I realized what I had read because Coles’ prose is exceedingly sparse yet revelatory with an intermittent narration that supplies mostly details that could not instinctively be known. Where other authors would bring out their crying-violin tracks, Coles simply closes the door and moves on. My second “break” occurred when I caught myself wondering if the police might, in retrospect, be able to prosecute one of the characters who had helped Hiram escape their surveillance. It was only after several moments that I was able to find some comfort through finally remembering that this is a work of fiction.
What I disliked most about this book is related to what I loved best. Hiram, though brilliant and wily, is a character who takes unbelievably stupid risks. On an amazingly consistent basis, he shares his personal information with total strangers. Additionally, I was annoyed to discover that a man who had never needed anyone prior to his odyssey suddenly started needing people connections even when it could be to his detriment. Every time this happened, I could hear Barbara Streisand singing, “People, people who need people… are the luckiest people in the world,” and I did not believe her either. So, while this was not a type of disbelief that I could willingly suspend, the author still successfully manipulated me into losing contact with “reality.”
I rate this book <b>four out of four stars</b>. <i>McDowell</i> is a stunning exposition on the meaning and brevity of life. Its revelatory message is that happiness both begins and resides in the mind rather than in external circumstances or the behaviors of others. I cared, deeply, for the characters and found their struggles painfully familiar and believable. As a result, I came to value my own experience more deeply.
Whether you are open to introspection or currently unaware of its benefits, this book is for you. William Coles artfully illustrates that our legacies are ours precisely because they are ours and that we have so much more control over our destinies than we know. <i>McDowell</i> artfully hones and decisively delivers the message that we cannot know ourselves until we are willing to listen to, and consider the views of, others; then, it brings us to a place where we might realize that we are all more alike than different. Hopefully, Hiram McDowell’s fictional status will not obscure the fact that he becomes so much more than many of us could ever hope to be.
******
McDowell
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | on Smashwords
Latest Review: McDowell by William H. Coles
