I really wanted to love this book. It came to me highly recommended. One of my roommates came home from vacation saying it was the best book she had ever read, blah, blah, blah. She and I usually have similar loves and hates when it comes to fiction, so I looked forward to White Oleander. Unfortunately, the book did not live up to my expectations. Some of the "Oprah Books" really are great-many I had read before they became "Oprah Books"-but the more I read the less I like. However, this is the subject for a different review.

The novel tells a story we have read over and over again in books like Ellen Foster and Amy & Isabelle, discussing the difficulties between parent and child. This particular discussion on why mother and daughter just don't get along doesn't work for me. The plot goes something like this (without giving anything away): Ingrid Magnussen is a poet, an artist, a single mom who can't quite cope. She is beautiful, but she thinks of her beauty as a source of power. She tells Astrid, her daughter, that they are Nordic warriors who must always be strong and aloof. Yet, for reasons I won't share, she becomes separated from Astrid by not following her maxims. Astrid then spends years bumping from foster home to foster home, all the while blaming her mother for her fate.

The problem I have with the novel is that Ingrid's character is not believable-she is too extreme. Although the story is told from a young girl's point of view, and Ingrid is primarily portrayed by her daughter, no clear vision actually comes through. This type of narration is wrought with difficulty because the author has to create something real for the reader out of the language and comprehension of his or her narrator. In this case, Astrid does not have the depth necessary to tell the story convincingly. Because of the manner in which Ingrid has treated her, Astrid has isolated herself from the world and cannot easily connect with the source of her troubles and pain. At the same time, no one else could have narrated because no one else could have been close enough to the situations, and an omniscient narrator would not have been personal enough to be heart-wrenching.

Like so many of the "Oprah Books," White Oleander is contrived out of raw emotion without the text having enough depth to justify the response created in the reader. While I was reading the book, I was involved with what was happening, and I felt appropriately bad at the right times. However, by the time I reached the conclusion, I felt cheated because nothing new or different or "real" had been displayed. It seemed as though the book set out to be a dark, heavy, depressing German film full of social commentary but ended up more as a daytime soap.



Recommended: No