My thoughts on A Boy's Own Story

A few months back a good friend of mine suggested I read A Boy's Own Story by Edmund White. Herman, my husband, was lucky enough to find a used volume on Amazon for a few bucks. I was excited. It took me a long time to read it because the prose is so wonderfully descriptive that I wanted to take my time and savor the read.

The story told a gay boy’s tale from his early years of wanting to be intimate with his father, through a long and boring period of adolescence and puberty, and ending with his first sexual experience with an older man.

I finished it a few days ago, and I must say I did not enjoy the read. Yes, the rich, descriptive prose was often a joy, but it became a drag on the pacing of the story, which as far as I could tell, wandered aimlessly about with no clear structure or purpose.

This story, more so than any other I’ve read, brought home the idea that a good novel is more that pretty words and descriptions on the page. The ability to paint colorful pictures with words is not enough. A good novel has structure, pacing, and a plot with characters that lead the reader to examine his/her own life experiences.

Many people I’ve talked to think this is a great book, perhaps a masterpiece, but I certainly was not impressed, and I will think twice before selecting another Edmund White story.