Kim's Reviews > Lowboy

Let me preface this review with this; I am in a rut. A literary rut, a professional rut, a metaphysical rut, a rut rut. Damn, I love the onomatopoeia that goes with that word… try it: grind your teeth together and spit the word out, let your tongue hit the back of your teeth with a little *pfft*. Yeah, you got it.

So, it was with a heavy sigh that I picked up this book. I can’t fully blame the book for this ‘meh’ of a rating. Not really. I wish I had something to blame.

Wray’s writing has been described by other Goodreaders as ‘lyrical’, ‘compassionate’, ‘poetic’, ‘chaotic’… Okay, no argument here. There are some scenes inside of Lowboy’s schizophrenic world that take my breath away (mostly from lack of punctuation, but not always)

"After that the school spread out flatter and wider it was probably the widest thing on earth. The ceiling came and brushed against my face it wasn’t painful but it was difficult to watch. Things kept on moving. The nurses for example. But how did they keep from sliding into each other Emily how did they keep from tearing themselves up. I had creases in my body I was afraid to touch water my stomach was full of confetti. People TVs gurney sliding around like microbes in a dish. The big white microscope with the big blue eye behind it. Are you still listening Emily I saw one doctor Dr. Dickworth they called him or was that a joke he was ripped across the middle like a postcard. Dr. Cocksnot I said to him if you’re looking for your bottom half it went under the bed. No I prefer not to accept my meds at this time there’s not room in my neck and my stomach is full of confetti. I mean to say Yes thank you very much for these delicious caplets."

See? That’s awesome! But, it wasn’t enough.

Another digression if you will: I sometimes ‘sit’ with patients who are deemed ‘unsafe’. This could be for a number of reasons; dementia, schizophrenia, traumatic brain injury..the list goes on. It’s a hodgepodge of fun. These patients inhabit a world that is totally of their own creation, you’re just along for the ride. I’ve been ‘The Dragon Lady’ captaining my own pontoon boat, I’ve spent the wee hours of the morning learning French from an 87 yr old insomniac who felt it was her obligation to teach me her language. I’ve been daughters, mothers, cousins, long lost lovers.

People ask me why I do this---I have a full time job already, why spend my weekend nights babysitting patients? I won’t lie, the money is good, but where else am I going to be a soldier in WWII? Where else can I hold someone’s hand while they confess why they made the choices that they did?

When I’m there, I’m part of the story. When I read, I want to give myself wholly to the story. It’s a thing, an escapism. This book… well, ‘detached’ works best for me. I could go through the motions with Lowboy and Violet and Ali and Emily but I wasn’t involved.

And, this is all about me, right?

More ‘meh’ moments:

* I guessed the ending within the first 20 pages.

* The ‘big bad’ didn’t seem so bad, maybe I’ve read or lived more abominable events than this. Wow, that’s really a sad realization.

* What 16 yr old boy doesn’t believe that losing his virginity would save the world?

So. Rut. Yeah, Maybe I’m whacked. Maybe this book was in the wrong pile at the wrong time. Maybe I’ve had enough dealings with mental illness that it just was too much.

Maybe.