CBR 17 BINGO: Rec’d as I’ve seen this book recommended by a number of Goodreads reviews.
I should have known on page 2 of this novel that I wasn’t going to enjoy it, because in that brief span of time the author had already italicized three words for emphasis. You may think that’s petty of me, but hold that thought–I’ll get back to it.
The premise of The Measure is this: One spring day, everyone over the age of 22 wakes up to find a mysterious box on their doorstep. Inside is a length of string and a note saying, “The measure of your life lies within.” Nobody knows where these boxes came from or what they mean, but that doesn’t stop everyone from immediately losing their collective minds because, whatever this is, it can’t be good. Suspicions are eventually confirmed when scientists collecting data samples announce that the length of the string coincides with the length of the recipient’s life. Anyone turning 22 years old after that spring day receives a box on their birthday, and eventually the science becomes so exact that people can estimate their time of death down to the month and year.
The novel doesn’t address who is behind these boxes, which is fine; it’s not that kind of novel (although, I would have been more interested in that angle). Instead it delves into the characters’ decisions about whether or not to open their boxes and what to do with the information if they do. The world divides itself into “short-stringers” and “long-stringers” (weirdly, we never hear about any of the “medium-stringers”) and all the prejudice that arises from those labels. Short-stringers can’t be trusted because they have nothing to lose, and eventually they start having rights stripped from them–rights like serving in the military or holding office or owning a gun in America (yeah, I’m not buying that last one).
The premise is interesting and offers provocative discussion questions for a book club: Would you want to look at your string and know how long you have left? What do strings say about pre-destiny? How would the length of someone’s string affect how you feel about them? Unfortunately, the execution of this novel is just not compelling. I kept thinking about how this story could have been expressed by different writers: How Ted Chiang could have spun a powerful short story about the civilization that sent the boxes or challenged my thinking about fate vs. free will. Or how Emily St. John Mandel could have made me choke up over the excruciating beauty of ephemera. Instead, this book was sentimental glurge that took 350 pages to say “It’s not the days in your life, but the life in your days.”
Regarding the italicization I mentioned in my first sentence, within the first few pages, I noticed that the author likes to italicize words for emphasis a lot. By page 6 it had become so distracting that I decided to keep track (I was reading a hard copy, not an ebook, so I had to make notes). I counted only those instances where the author’s intent was to tell the reader which word was to be stressed in a sentence (so, for example, I didn’t count song lyrics set apart by italics or foreign words). In 349 pages, there were 485 italicized words, which means that the author was telling me how to read her writing more than once per page. Seven separate instances popped up on page 87 alone. It got to the point where I got startled if two or three pages went by without italics.
Granted, if you are listening to an audiobook, this wouldn’t be an issue (I wonder how the audio book narrators felt about it though). But I can’t stress this enough–these italics did more than merely irritate me–they pissed me off. I hate being talked down to, and either the author has no faith in her readers or she has no faith in her own writing. I don’t mind the occasional italicized word when an author wants to alert a reader to a particularly relevant point, or when a sentence can be interpreted in multiple ways, but 1.25 times per page is insanity. Here are a few examples where it either would have been obvious where the emphasis should be placed or else it wouldn’t really matter:
- “Unless we keep talking about it–and keep getting mad about it–then nothing will ever change.”
- “That’s beyond fucked-up” said Chelsea.
- “I think there’s only one way to react,” said Maura.
- When he phrased it like that, it almost sounded normal. Which made Ben feel better about his decision to write back.
I can’t figure out why any of this is necessary and it really makes me wonder about the editorial process over at William Morrow and Company.
In conclusion, while not the worst novel I ever read, The Measure was both annoying and disappointing.