The 5 most disappointing novels I read in 2013

As I've noted before, no amateur reader in his or her right mind could possibly give you a list of the worst books of the year; there are obviously many dreadful books published, but why would you read them or start reading them? Unless you're a pro critic paid to read and comment on a wide range of material, the books you read would or should always be books you fully expect to enjoy - based on word from friends, reviews, previous enjoyment of the author's works, or maybe a gut feeling based on topic, blurbs, jacket copy, book publisher, cover image. So I can't tell you the worst books of the year, but any reader can tell you about the most disappointing books of the year - ones started with high hopes and expectations that soon, or maybe not so so, are dashed. Each of these books had some qualities that drew me to them, drew me in, and kept me in, for at least a while, but in the end these are the 5 most disappointing novels I read (at least in part) in 2013, alphabetical by author.

The Round House, by Louise Erdrich. Really sorry to have to place this one here, as I've been a champion of Erdrich since her first fiction back in the '80s and and have even said she's a potential candidate as the next U.S. Nobelist, but The Round House is a mixed bag at best. Her heart's in the right place and she takes on an important issue of tribal justice and abuse of women, but after a few good opening scenes the book goes off in all different directions, including a very ham-handed and improbable denouement.

Days of Abandonment, by Elena Ferrante. Ferrante is a pseudonymous author who has never publicly revealed her (or maybe even his) identity - and gets a lot of publicity by shunning the same - enough anyway to draw me to read her novel. As above, despite a few powerful scenes, at some point I came to see that this short novel was going nowhere - just a continuous rant against the bastard of a husband who abandoned narrator and kids. Maybe there was something I missed, but I abandoned this novel half-way.


Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk, by Ben Fountain. This was the "other" Iraq war novel of the year but not nearly as good as The Yellow Birds. In fact, it's a novel about soldiers (at home on leave attending a Dallas football game as honored guests of the club), but, despite this premise, for me the novel just went on an on with one scene after another of drinking and hi-jinx. Fountain may have something to say, but he took too long to get there and I walked off the field.

Someone, by Alice McDermott. Another author who's been a favorite since her first book in the mid-80s, the great chronicler of Irish-American families in the NYC suburbs, but this novel jumps around all over the place and never finds a focus - in fact leaves some of the key scenes undeveloped. It seems that she wrote this novel over a long period of time perhaps in fits and starts.

The Woman Upstairs, by Claire Messud. Another one by a writer whom I’ve really admired (The Emporer’s Children), but this novel is dominated by the voice of a highly unlikable narrator and misses many opportunities to turn her tortured plaint into a dramatic narrative.

In short, I would read works by each of these writers again, and I hope that these works are merely mis-steps in otherwise stellar careers.