Two Frogs

Savannah Blues


by Mary Kay Andrews
Date Reviewed: January 25, 2003

This book annoyed me no end. Besides the fact that the plot seemed to be completely pointless, the ending trite and predictable, the characters absolutely flat and inconsistent, and the language inauthentic, this author could. not. choose. a. voice. Some chapters were told in first person, and some in third. Apparently, one of the characters collaborated with an all-seeing narrator (God?) to tell this stupid story of a divorced woman who’s out to (pick your favorite plot-line, maybe you can develop it better): a) get revenge on her ex-husband, b) win the heart of her new man, c) get her hands on some big-deal antique, d) save a plantation house from being demolished, e) start her own antique shop, f) get her mother into alcohol rehab, g) clear her name of a bogus murder charge, h) solve said murder, and i) choose the best outfit to do all these things in, despite being an avowed tomboy. Weezie, the main character (and oh, yes, the book is FULL of stupid names like that), lives in Savannah, Georgia, in the carriage house behind her husband’s townhouse, as laid out in their divorced settlement. Her ex-husband, Talmadge, is a complete schmuck who moves his new girlfriend, Caroline, into the townhouse the day his ex-wife moves out. The book spends 404 pages aimlessly following Weezie around on her escapades as she seeks to do all those things listed above, with the help of her lawyer-uncle James, his boyfriend Jonathan, best friend Bebe (I swear to God, that’s the character’s name), and sometimes-boyfriend Daniel. The author seems incapable of following a reasonable timeline, either across days or even during the course of a conversation. For example, at one point Bebe cuts Weezie a “slab” of cheesecake. They exchange three lines of dialog apiece, then Weezie is suddenly rinsing her plate off. Later, Daniel and Weezie get into Daniel’s truck to go have dinner at the home of a socialite friend of Weezie. They climb into the truck, exchange four lines of dialog each, and suddenly he’s pulling to the curb in front of the friend’s house. The book is just littered with such time-warps. They’re jarring and detract from what little story there is here to tell. I guess to sum it up, this book sucked. I suppose if you were an antiques enthusiast, you might get more out of this book than I did, but that wouldn’t be saying much.

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