I managed to finish this ... book, but just ... barely. Will I read another by this author ... I don't think so. Did I enjoy this ... book? No ... I did not ... enjoy ... this book. Why?The freaking ellipsis* (ellipses?)! The author's overuse of ... after ... after ... changed what could have been a fairly mediocre attempt at writing a 19th century mystery into something resembling sheer hell for this reader. These blasted dots made it impossible to tell (or care) if the character's voices were different, made it impossible to become involved , and most importantly of all, made it impossible for me to EVER so much as consider reading anything else by this pompous, overbearing, windbag.Besides the ellipsis problem, there were other aspects of this book that rankled. 1. The plot--what little there was of it. Sure, most 19th century mysteries aren't considered all that mysterious nowadays, but they were in their time. In their time, they were fresh, new, and exciting, and many such as those by Anna Katharine Green can still knock the breath out of you. This plot was stale, old, and boring even when judged against 19th century mysteries. When you consider that it's a 21st century attempt to mimic a 19th century work, it crosses the line from trivial to pathetic.2. The characters. Doctorow's characters bring new meaning to the phrase two-dimensional characters. This group of cliches had to be the most poorly written characters I have ever come across. They would be forgettable if it weren't that they were so bad. On top of this, even without the freaking ellipsis (ellipsises?) they all sounded alike. I don't mean their speech was similar, I mean they all sounded EXACTLY alike. You can pick two passages of dialog at random, and unless the dialog relates to something specific to the character, there is absolutely no way you can tell who is speaking. (Trust me, I tried this.) When you add back in the freaking ellipsis, the sameness of the characters becomes almost comic.3. Pacing. The pacing is beyond slow, it's tedious. By the time the author stretched out what little plot there was to make a novel, you wind up having to wade through pages and pages of padding to find a bit of plot. (And then what plot you do find, isn't worth the trouble.)4. Writing style. If the author has a writing style, it's buried very deep under all the ellipsis. Buried so deep that I, for one, have neither the time nor the inclination to bother digging it out.In short, the plot is crap, the characters are crap, the pacing is crap, and the writing is crap. If you like crap, you'll love this. If not, then don't bother unless you can find the version of the book that all the big-time critics seem to have read and rave about. (This other version must exist since there is no way they could have been reviewing the load of crap I waded through.)*So you won't think I'm exaggerating about the ellipsis, here's an example copied straight from the book:His eyes were sharp and clear black behind the incongruous pincenez [sic] affixed to the bridge of his nose ... but his head was shaved, he was beardless ... and in this freezing catacomb his legs were bare ... so that I was put in mind of some ... garden creature ... something hairless ... and all eyes.
A goodreads friend recenltly reviewed a novel by E.L. Doctorow, and that caused me to remember that I read another novel by E.L. Doctorow, _The Waterworks._The novel was first published in 1994. I read it in the late 90s.The novel falls in two genres I'm interested in: Gothic and SF horror. Specifically, the story takes place in New York in 1871. E.L. Doctorow is excellent at creating a picture of the time. The corrupt politics of Tammany Hall. Maimed veterans of the American Civil War out on the street begging for alms.The narrator is a journalist who caught a glimpse of his father--which is a surprise, for the narrator thought that his father was dead. The narrator investigates this mystery and discovers that his father, along with some other wealthy men, are not dead. These men are being kept alive by Dr. Sartorius. Sartorius, a brilliant and innovative Army surgeon during the Civil War, had invented treatments that were then unknown to medicine: blood transfusions, dialysis, bone marrow transplants and others. His dark secret is that young children must be sacrificed for their blood and somatic cells. These treatments are done in a secret locale.Two shortcomings of the novel. Doctorow overuses ellipses....This was a distraction for me, the reader....A second problem is that I felt the novel was somewhat padded....Though my memory might be at fault here...But I felt at the time that this story should have been told at novella length....If the novel didn't go overboard on the ellipses, and were written at novella length, I would have given this 5 stars.This book, of course, was published before the epublishing revolution. It is no accident that in this new era of publishing, the novella as an art form is experiencing a resurgence.
Do You like book The Waterworks (2007)?
This would've been a great novel... absorbing and thoughtful and a surprising sci-fi twist... if Doctorow had been able to control his use of ellipses (elippsises?). You couldn't read three sentences... without running into at least one triad of dots... and they were... thrown... in seemingly at... random. Not only that, but every character seemed... equally to be afflicted with ... ellipsosis. What seemed at first to be an... interesting and effective means of... emphasis... quickly became profoundly distracting. So... for three dots... I give three... stars. Had there been fewer of the former, I'd've given... more... of the latter.
—Pat
Thank you for this review! I say that because I always wanted to read him and I was so disappointed with this novel. I had a hard time just staying focused. It was boring for lack of a better word. But I have a little hope now that I won't find the same thing if I pursue his other works.
—Akiva
A moody, elegant thriller, beautifully paced. A retired New York City newspaper editor writing after the turn of the century recounts the tale of what happened when his talented freelance writer, Martin Pemberton, went missing in the 1871. This was before the city had grown much above present-day 72nd Street. Martin believes, and others agree, that he may be losing his mind. He has twice recently seen his father, dead these last two years, being driven through town in a sepulchrally white omnibus. Martin is editor/narrator McIlvaine's best writer and when he disappears McIlvaine goes looking for him. New York is not depicted at its best. It is in fact a horribly corrupt and violent town. (For background see Luc Sante's Low Life and Herbert Asbury's Gangs of New York.) U.S. Congressman and later NY State senator Boss Tweed runs a patronage mill called "the Ring" and virtually every municipal office is up for sale. Except for the Christian charities there are no organized social services to speak of. Child labor is rife. Streetwalkers fight over turf. Con men are a public nuisance not reigned in by the unscrupulous police department. The Lower East Side is known for its flourishing opium dens. Everyone, in short, is on the take. In the midst of this mayhem the city evinces a vibrant commercial sector, which is hardly squeaky clean itself. Martin's late father, Augustus, was perhaps its major figure. After Martin vanishes we learn that after Augustus died his vast fortune disappeared too. Hmm. And not only that, but the old man's widow is now living in penury with her son, dependent on the kindness of relatives. That's the tease. I won't reveal more. Needless to say, this is a beach or inflight read of a very high order, and perfect source material for Martin Scorsese.
—William1
