Sunday, April 16, 2006
I don't know about anyone else, but I turn to poets for answers. Love? Ask the poets. Death? Ask the poets. Life? Poets. It seems that though they may not have the answers, their thoughts on the matter are highly attuned to humananity. David Huddle is a poet. At least that's what the blurb on the back of his novel says. David Huddle may be one of the best poets I've never read, but his novel The Story of a Million Years is nothing more than a pedestrian look at married couples. I feel I've read or seen all this before. A middle aged man having an affair with a seemingly mature teen girl who's the daughter of his wife's friend. (Mrs. Robinson in reverse?) Or how about two couples in fairly monotonous relationships and their struggles to remain faithful. Huddle puts no new spin on the age old stories and leaves them nothing more than common narratives through common terrain. I expect better language from poets. I expect more from poets. I expected more from Huddle.