The next book I just finished was chosen for two reasons: its inclusion on a list of “Western canon” and its Pulitzer Prize. It is also an author that I have wanted to read for a while, but I was always intimidated by the size of most of his novels. This was Tales of the South Pacific by James A. Michener. There was also some interest since the musical South Pacific was “based” on it, and I was in the chorus in high school.
To say I was “disappointed”
or “underwhelmed” is a bit of an understatement. I honestly cannot understand why this novel
has/had so many accolades. It’s 19 chapters
of independent though loosely connected stories (“tales”) about the Pacific Theater
in WWII, with some recurring characters.
Fans of South Pacific will recognize the likes of Luther Billis,
Nellie Forbush, Emile de Becque, Lt. Cable, Liat, and Bloody Mary (the last
three are in one overly long tale “Fo’ Dolla’” in the middle).
I guess I have
two big complaints. One is that I found
it incredibly boring, which may have been the point, the many days/weeks/months
of waiting around, but it doesn’t make a compelling story. For a novel set in World War II, there’s a
remarkable lack of war in it. The second
complaint was my surprise at the unabashed amount of sex in it. Essentially all of the characters are dehumanized
to each other so that they are just objects to be used, even those who “love”
each other. In the end, I’m surprised
that a Pulitzer winner from 1947 has no redeeming value, no morals to take
away. Towards the end, I was skimming
paragraphs because I had lost interest in it.
I definitely do not recommend it, and it makes it easier for me to avoid
his much longer works.
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