Reading at the Beach

There is nothing better than sitting under an umbrella at the beach, with a cold beer in one hand and a great novel in the other.  I love to review books - be they excellent or awful.  Hence, on occasion, I'll toss some thoughts out regarding my recent reading material on here.

Since our vacation will take place in Rodanthe, it's only fitting to have "Nights in Rodanthe" by Nicholas Sparks as my first review.

"Nights in Rodanthe" was highly recommended and touted by the members of the OBX Connection board.  A couple of dozen board members all raved about how wonderful this novel was - they were wrong.

I'd like to begin the review with the positive aspects of the novel;  the book was marked down from $22.95 to $4.98.

That said, I was incredibly disappointed in the predictable plot and even more predictable outcome.

By page five, I knew that the hero, the love of the heroine’s life, would expire in some very noble way. The only question was not when he would kick the bucket, but how? And even that was disappointing. (Hello Paul! You are 54 years old and can’t drive a Jeep?)

Two people, Paul and Adrienne, both devastated by earlier loves, find each other at a bed & breakfast on Hatteras Island, specifically Rodanthe. (Hence the title. This is the only legitimate reference to the Outer Banks in the book.) There are no other guests at the inn. Even the innkeeper is gone, leaving only Adrienne and Paul. How handy.

But wait! There’s a huge storm brewing off the coast during their stay. Hmmmm … let’s see, nor’easter and anticipated sexual relationship. Anyone making a stormy connection? Because the author sure didn’t. Neither event was little more than a rain shower.

There were at least 3 other subplots within the book, all of which could have added to the overall theme, but none were as well defined as they could/should have been.

I think there was supposed to be some type of mysticism with the conch shell - long known as nature’s image of a certain part of woman’s anatomy. However, in this case, the creature who had resided in the shell had died and started stinking up the beach long before Paul and Adrienne found it.

In their first two days together, there is absolutely no way that the couple could have realized they had found their life-soul-mate when their conversation is so trite, stilted and corny.

Adrienne: “Paul … don’t … “
Paul: “Adrienne …,” he whispered.
Me: “Oh, puhleeze.”

This book captures none of the magic of OBX. It easily could have taken place in any location. Not even the storm generated any excitement. In preparation of the storm, Adrienne did remember to pick up ice at the local general store.

And in preparation of the inevitable boinking, Adrienne did remember to shave her legs.

Many of the OBX board members said they wept whilst reading this. Did I? Yeah. I wept because I actually paid money for such schlock.

Where was the passion? Where was the love? Where was the storm? More importantly, where was the editor?

This read was about as flat and unappealing as a Weeping Radish brew that’s sat out for a couple of days.