My name was Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered on December 6, 1973. My murderer was a man from our neighborhood. My mother liked his border flowers, and my father talked to him once about fertilizer. This is Susie Salmon. Watching from heaven, Susie sees her happy suburban family devastated by her death, isolated even from one another as they each try to cope with their terrible loss alone.
The Lovely Bones was not at all what I expected, and while the beginning was quite emotional, I felt detached both from the characters and the storyline as it continued on.
My The Lovely Bones review:
While the writing in The Lovely Bones was very good, I had a hard time connecting to the story and the characters after Suzie was killed. In the very beginning, I could feel her fear and her disgust, but afterwards, everything that happened was filtered through her, and so I felt detached and separate from everything. What should have been a very emotional read ended up being pretty much meh in my opinion. I don’t know if it was because Suzie was so young when she was killed, or because she was observing everything from far away, but it just didn’t work for me.
Seeing Suzie’s parents and siblings in the aftermath of her death should have hit me hard, but it kind of didn’t. Maybe because Suzie herself wasn’t really involved, and I didn’t really feel her longing or her despair at not being able to live through her adolescent years and become an adult herself. The Lovely Bones has many very high ratings and rave reviews everywhere, but that didn’t really help me when it came to this story. I also really didn’t enjoy this version of ‘heaven’ or how long it took for Suzie to come to terms with everything. Even the ending kind of fell flat for me, especially because there was never a final resolution for Suzie’s family.
Some of my favorite The Lovely Bones quotes:
For three nights he hand’t known how to touch my mother or what to say. Before, they had never found themselves broken together. usually, it was one needing the other but not both needing each other, and so there had been a way, by touching, to borrow from the stronger one’s strength. And they had never understood, as they did now, what the word horror meant.
Buckley drew back and stared at my father’s creased face, the fine bright spots of tears at the corners of his eyes. He nodded seriously and kissed my father’s cheeck. Something so divine that no one up in heaven could have made it up; the care a child took with an adult.
Reading this book contributed to these challenges:
- 2015 Reading Assignment Challenge
- 2015 TBR Pile Reading Challenge
- Bookish Resolutions Challenge 2015
- Summer COYER 2015