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A review by chrissie_whitley
The Blue Hour by Paula Hawkins
2.0
The Blue Hour boasts a premise that, while not impossible to overcome, is difficult to imagine sustaining an entire novel. A bone in an art display is discovered to likely be human, rather than deer. In the real world, the next logical steps would follow quickly: first confirming whether the rib bone is human, then testing it, and attempting to identify whose rib it once was. That's it. The fact that it took nearly the entire book to get just to that point was one of many reasons I really should have DNF'd this one.
The main character, James Becker, is so blank and boring that he becomes entirely unknowable. He's awash with nervous anxiety around his pregnant wife, has an oddly snippy attitude about his work at an art gallery, and is entirely awestruck by the artist whose work is now under scrutiny. He's part jaded man and part young naïf, but instead of the two halves making him feel whole, it leaves him even more hollow — too empty to be the kind of narrator whose perspective can carry a book.
Vanessa Chapman, the deceased artist whose sculpture may contain a human bone and whose husband vanished 20 years ago, had the most potential, but her sections lacked the inspiration or insight into her creative process. They felt flat, serving more as waypoints than meaningful contributions. In the present-day timeline, Beck must deal with Grace Haswell, Vanessa's friend and executor, whose predictable trajectory drained her of any real intrigue.
Even the title, The Blue Hour — referring to the time of day when natural light is ideal for photography — seems utterly disconnected from the plot or its outcome. Vanessa was a painter and sculptor more than photographer. I'm a bit baffled by its choice and it’s unclear what it’s meant to signify.
The concept of this novel is intriguing, and the opening salvo had promise, but unfortunately, that's where it ended for me. Instead, the story was predictable and trite, with pacing that lagged from the outset. Not even the strong wafts of du Maurier's Rebecca could save this one for me.
The main character, James Becker, is so blank and boring that he becomes entirely unknowable. He's awash with nervous anxiety around his pregnant wife, has an oddly snippy attitude about his work at an art gallery, and is entirely awestruck by the artist whose work is now under scrutiny. He's part jaded man and part young naïf, but instead of the two halves making him feel whole, it leaves him even more hollow — too empty to be the kind of narrator whose perspective can carry a book.
Vanessa Chapman, the deceased artist whose sculpture may contain a human bone and whose husband vanished 20 years ago, had the most potential, but her sections lacked the inspiration or insight into her creative process. They felt flat, serving more as waypoints than meaningful contributions. In the present-day timeline, Beck must deal with Grace Haswell, Vanessa's friend and executor, whose predictable trajectory drained her of any real intrigue.
Even the title, The Blue Hour — referring to the time of day when natural light is ideal for photography — seems utterly disconnected from the plot or its outcome. Vanessa was a painter and sculptor more than photographer. I'm a bit baffled by its choice and it’s unclear what it’s meant to signify.
The concept of this novel is intriguing, and the opening salvo had promise, but unfortunately, that's where it ended for me. Instead, the story was predictable and trite, with pacing that lagged from the outset. Not even the strong wafts of du Maurier's Rebecca could save this one for me.