Daddy's' Little Girl by Mary Higgins Clark

Daddy's Little Girl - Mary Higgins Clark

I spent most of 2013 and the first quarter of this year reading fanfiction.


This was my first foray back to the world of published fiction, and my.... it was a disappointment.


See, a friend of mine recommended this book. It had a synopsis that sounded interesting: The heroine, Ellie, was only 7 years old when she discovered the dead body of her 15-year-old sister. There was a handful of suspects, one of whom was convicted and imprisoned despite his steadfast denial of guilt. 2 decades later he was set free, and Ellie, unable to bear this, began writing a book, bent on proving his guilt. New evidences were unearthed ...


Sounds interesting, yeah?


Nope. It was mind-numbingly dull.




... was unrefined, and lacked finess. It was disjointed and awkward to read.


Excessive usage of the word Ellie.



"Ellie is a good kid. She's not a snitch."

Hearing that had made Ellie feel great, but Andrea hadn't let Ellie have even one puff of the cigarette.

Ellie was sure that last night Andrea had left Joan's house early because she was planning to meet Rob Westerfield. Ellie had heard her when she talked to him on the phone [...] Ellie thought about the conversation as she finished the cornflakes and juice. Daddy was standing at the stove. He was holding a cup of coffee. Mommy was crying again



And then later, when the story was told from Ellie's POV, exessive usage of the word "I".



I REMEMBER THAT afternoon as the defining day of my life. Saint Ignatius of Loyola said, "Give us the child until he is seven years old, and I will show you the man."

I assume that he meant the woman as well. I stood there, quiet as a mouse, watching the father I worshiped, sobbing and hugging my dead sister's picture against his chest, while the fragile sounds from that music box drifted around him.

I look back and wonder if it ever occurred to me to run to him, throw my arms around him, absorb his grief and let his mingle with mine. But the fact is, even then I understood that his grief was unique and that no matter what I did, I could never really ease his pain.


...and it goes on. ...





It is so mundane.  And let me repeat this part:



she finished the cornflakes and juice. Daddy was standing at the stove. He was holding a cup of coffee. Mommy was crying again


Save my soul. The whole book is full of paragraphs that are kindred spirits to this one above.


The Plot


You know those books that you find difficult to read because the writing is so monotonous and grating on the nerves, and the plot not brilliant enough to make up for it? Yup this is one of those.