Good Bye Binchy?

 

Here's another of my goodreads.com reviews.

 

I think this will be my last ever Maeve Binchy book. I've finally come to terms with the fact that I've outgrown her. I was saddened by this when I began to realize it last year as I read Circle of Friends. I feel as if, from having reading so many of her books, that she can offer me nothing new. When I read several works of an author and start to see that she writes basically the same things over and over again, with only surface things changed, that's the beginning of the end for me. It's odd though, how finding overlapping patterns and formulas in the works of L.M. Montgomery didn't inspire in me a similar desire to abandon her books. I guess my love of Binchy wasn't strong enough to withstand my experience of the utter idiocy of this book.

Nevertheless, I will have fond memories of Maeve Binchy. At seventeen I discovered her through the book Quentins which captured me because it was so emotionally economical, if that makes any sense--I guess I mean it just wasn't the style of books I was used to at the time. I didn't read another Binchy until I was in college and I believe The Glass Lake was my next encounter. That book was a great read. I recall telling the story afterwards to my mother and she became thoroughly engrossed with it as well. After that though, I'm afraid things went downhill. I was unimpressed with Nights of Rain and Stars which came next. I do recall that I started Evening Class, but didn't get to finish it. By then I had come to expect of Binchy a cozy read. I was starting to become cognizant of the formula.

Of course, none of this is any guarantee I won't be tempted to dive into another book sometime in the future when the memory of this sour grape fades. I'll probably be in a mood where I crave Binchy's predictable type of storytelling and want to curl up with the thoughts of that old friend. Maybe I'll have discovered another author to fill her place by then, someone who can take me to new lands of contemplation.