Review: Right Hand Magic by Nancy A. Collins

Right Hand Magic
Paperback: 304 pages
Published December 7th 2010 by Roc
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Source: Publisher

Once again I have encountered a book that I just cannot work up the energy to finish. I was going to struggle through it, but after thinking about it I just couldn’t make myself. I can (usually) overlook thin characters and poor worldbuilding by focusing on the good features of the book, but I just cannot overlook a writing style that I find, frankly, horrible. There’s no looking past that. It’s everywhere.

I made it to page 100 before giving up. By page 15 I was already doing a status update (on Goodreads) complaining about the rushed feel of the pacing and the way the writing felt like it was skimming the surface of everything without any real depth. By page 36 I was cringing over the awkward, forced feeling of the dialogue. Things still seemed skimmed over on the whole, but the author also over explained things that really should have been cut.

Pg. 1 – 2

The flyer on the bulletin board at Strega Nona’s Pizza Oven read “Room for Rent: $750 per Month.” At the bottom of the page was a line of tear-away slips bearing a handwritten phone number, several of which were already taken.

I happened to be at Strega Nona’s that particular day because I was looking at a loft in Tribeca. Since I was nearby, I decided to grab a slice. Located at Broadway and Perdition, on the border of Golgotham, it’s one of the best pizza joints in the city.

Sounds too good to be true, I thought to myself as I tore off the next tab in line.

Housing at that price, just for a single room in a larger apartment, was hard to come by. I knew this because I’d been hunting for a new place for several weeks, without any luck. Even though I had a tidy quarterly income, courtesy of robber baron ancestors, I still had to watch my budget. The materials used in my work were far from cheap, and the last thing I wanted was to have to go to my parents, hat in hand, halfway through a project and beg for an advance on my next trust fund payment.

The reason behind my need to relocate was that the management of my so-called artist’s loft in SoHo, where I both worked and lived, had recently informed me that the amount of noise I generated creating my metal sculptures was in violation of their most recent tenancy rules and that I was to cease immediately or face the termination of my lease. Apparently, the investment bankers and junior-level stockbrokers who lived on my floor didn’t appreciate the sound of twenty-gauge steel being hammered into twenty-first-century art.

I decided it was far easier to move in toto than to either argue the point with the condo board or find separate studio space elsewhere in the city. As it was, there were some unpleasant memories associated with my current digs, all of them involving a certain ex-boyfriend, that made relocating attractive to me.

I checked the time on my cell phone as I shoveled a slice of pepperoni-and-andouille-sausage into my mouth. I had a meeting at three with Derrick Templeton, a Chelsea gallery owner interested in showing my sculptures. Since there were no subway stops in Golgotham, I had to walk either to Chambers or Wall Street if I wanted to catch a train uptown.

After all, time and gallery owners wait for no woman.

I thought that this must have been a first book for the author so I looked at her booklist on Goodreads to check—because I’m inclined to be a bit more understanding to first time authors–but it’s actually not. That really makes me feel that appreciating the author’s style must just be a matter of taste. Obviously there’s a market for it out there. I’m just not part of it.

By page 100 nothing had really happened. Tate had moved into Golgotham and hung out constantly with her new landlord, Hexe. She marvels at his colorful hair and his sixth finger for each hand. She makes a lot of “nump” (equivalent to a Muggle) comments that have her blushing and apologizing constantly, but that’s about it. I was still waiting to stumble upon a plot.

Also, who rents a room and then spends every waking hour with the landlord that they just met? And what landlord lets them? It just seemed really bizarre. I eventually checked to make sure I hadn’t accidentally chosen a YA book. It wasn’t, but the characters really felt young. Especially Tate.

One other thing I need to point out—dialog tags are really, really irritating when they are used constantly. Everything was said ‘sheepishly’ or ‘heatedly.’ It was quite annoying. Also, the author had Tate do huge info dumps in her dialogue. See the quote below. The initial question is posed by Hexe, but the next couple paragraphs of dialogue are all Tate. Until the next question, of course.

Pg. 42 – 43

“What made you decide to become an artist?”

We were walking back to the house when he asked me that. I paused in midstep, forcing Hexe to turn and look back at me as I spoke.

“I’ve always had a creative bent, even as a toddler. At least that’s what my nanny claimed. The first time I realized I wanted to be an artist was in middle school. My school took a day trip to the Guggenheim. I was fascinated by the exhibits–enough that I went back on my own every weekend for nearly three months. When we studied sculpting in art class, I tried to re-create this statue I’d seen there called The Dying Gaul, in modeling clay, no less. It was awful, of course, but there was something about creating something from nothing, using only my hands and will, which was very–gratifying. After that, I was hooked.

“As you may have guess, I grew up rich. Filthy, stinking rich. All that was expected of me was to grow up, marry someone else who grew up filthy, stinking rich and have a couple of filthy, stinking rich kids to inherit the family fortune. I knew so many brats with Roman numerals behind their names who had no reason or desire to make anything of themselves besides what they were the minute they were born, it was disgusting. The last thing I want to do is add to that ‘tradition.’

“The trouble with that lifestyle is this: Hanging around doing nothing while waiting for an inheritance is boring. So many of my old schoolmates got fucked up on drugs and alcohol, mainly out of boredom. I swear, half of the girls in my graduating class in high school developed eating disorders simply to have something to do! The sick thing is, my mother wouldn’t have any problems with my being anorexic–after all, that’s expected from someone of my background.”

“I take it your parents don’t approve of your career choice?”

“They like to call it a ‘phase.’ I’m going through, like I’m the moon. I guess they think I’ll eventually grow out of it–kind of like baby teeth. They keep saying they don’t want to see me get my hopes up and end up hurt, which is another way of saying they’re expecting me to fail–at least, that’s what they’re hoping for.”

So, read over the quoted pieces. If they don’t bother you then chances are this book might be more to your taste.

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