BOOKED SOLID: ‘Roses’ capitalizes on ‘Twilight’ paradox
By Corinne White
Published on Wednesday, February 10, 2010
On the inside cover of Leila Meacham’s debut novel “Roses” (2010) the summary proclaims that the new novel “reads like a Texas ‘Gone with the Wind.’”
The publishers probably shouldn’t have done that.
“Roses” does not even begin to live up to the expectations set by Margaret Mitchell’s epic saga. That’s not to say, however, that “Roses” isn’t at least a decent attempt to appeal to “Gone with the Wind” lovers. The story is sure to send most readers into fits of frustration and happiness as the characters’ reeling drama unfolds.
Drama, to be sure, is the last thing “Roses” lacks. The novel chronicles three generations of three wealthy Texas families whose lives are a tangled mess of who’s in love with who and who cheated who out of what. Each family is distinguished in its own field — the Tolivers in the cotton industry, the Dumonts in retail and the Warwicks in the lumber trade — a smart choice by Meacham that both makes the novel easy to follow and gives each family a distinct personality.
The novel spans World War I, the Great Depression and World War II, resulting in a roller coaster of economic turmoil and success as we follow the families through their rising and falling fortunes. But what Meacham can really write about is love.
The main love story — between Mary Toliver Dumont and Percy Warwick — is the glue that prevents the novel from falling apart. Meacham has that distinctive talent for making the reader feel strongly about the characters’ lives — more than most authors can. I made the unfortunate mistake of reading the book on third floor Berry and during a particularly intense scene, slammed my hand on the desk in front of me and gasped, drawing some unwanted attention from my peers.
So, just as a warning, you may want to read “Roses” either by yourself or in loud environments. It makes you yell at the characters. And that’s where all its strength lies. The writing itself, however, is quite limp. “Roses” will elicit some strong emotions from its readers, but it will never become the next novel in the “Gone with the Wind” lineage of southern classics that it hopes to be.
It can’t and won’t be a classic because of Meacham’s sappy, cliched prose. Admittedly, “Gone with the Wind” was no masterpiece of the English language, but it certainly seems like one compared to “Roses.” Meacham litters her book with phrases like “dizzy from a rush of desire” and “she felt the blood quicken in her loins, hot and throbbing.” I do not mean to suggest that “Roses” is pure trashy romance, but it’s no classic, either.
Perhaps the “Twilight” series serves as a better literary analogy for Meacham’s novel. In both cases, the writing is both dismal and, paradoxically, really good because it has a way of emotionally investing its readers.
I am willing to bet that no matter how intellectual someone is, if given the choice between a skillfully written but lifeless novel and the somewhat trashy, but emotionally engaging “Roses,” they would choose the latter. And most will be glad they did.