The Living Sea of Waking Dreams: A Novel
By: Richard Flanagan / Narrated By: Essie Davis
Length: 6 hrs and 48 mins
Oh gosh! Juuust read the Publisher’s Summary! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! If this is “dazzling”? I’m shootin’ m’ foot off!
Heck! am I a true and devoted Li’l Sis, or what?! Big Sis gives me her Birthday Audiobook Choices to check out for her and review, and I’m THERE! I’m not reading the Publisher’s Summaries, or anything even vaguely akin to knowing what I’m getting into. And so? When she offered The Living Sea of Waking Dreams, I was just so freakin’ thrilled there wasn’t gonna be a “Gosh, I’m such an idiot!” choice this year (For those, do see 2019 and 2020… dude! I am SUCH a true and devoted Li’l Sis) that I looked past the doleful cover art, bit my tongue at the pretentious title, did NOT think about how this is touted as being written by a Booker Prize winning author (Which, aside from maybe three? means DEATH and TORTURE!!!), and I dove right in.
Almost imMEDiately, I was smitten. One of our heroine’s brothers is off on a disjointed diatribe raving about the many and varied ways the world and humanity are one almighty HELL. And, Anna notes, when he’s upset he stutters. Narrator Essie Davis had me: She was shouting into m’ ear, but I didn’t hold that against her (Which is not like me as I loathe the whole: Shattered eardrums thing…), not holding anything back. The stutter? An angry man completely and unutterably unhinged. Ahhh, thinketh I to m’self, this is going to be not quite 7-hours of unmitigated horror!
Cool!
Plus, I knew only what Big Sis told me, and that poor dear lamb was going by the Publisher’s Summary (Something I say I do not do, but do, am sickened by, do again, and there you have it). It sounded as tho’ Anna’s dying mum is going to be withdrawing into a world of fantastical pondering, all in an effort to escape the reality of increasingly dire medical interventions meant to keep her alive, no quality of life. Soon Anna will notice the window Mum escapes through, and will start withdrawing into the very same world of love and loss, grief and possibility (Dude, I’m sooo taking liberties with the P. Summary’s wording), and? Oh yeh, parts of her body start disappearing, and nobody is noticing… Ya with me here?
As stated, I was onboard with the lunatic ravings of her brother: The world is burning (Quite literally as far as Australia goes), species are going extinct, social media is taking over, et cetera, et cetera, et ain’t it all horrific? cetera. What is said here that I’ve NOT contemplated and discussed with friends and family, like, a gazillion (And six!) times, usually before breakfast if it’s m’ husband?
-But then-
Oy freaking vey: Every single character is just sooo very repugnant, there is a distinct lack of style, there is no story-crafting to speak of, and oh yeh? That window that people escape their harsh realities through? The one that’s supposed to open up and lead the reader/listener into an “eerily beautiful” blah blah and I QUOTED there blah? Soooo not ANYwhere to be found in this monstrosity.
Instead, two siblings feel guilty for not being there for their mother at all, feel guilty that they’ve pursued wealth and power their entire lives, to the extent that they’re not only willing but eager to prolong their mother’s agonized mere existence; to the extent that they’re not only willing but eager to browbeat and upbraid the one sibling who’s never really had a life but who’s taken care of their mum and yell him into submissively yielding to their demands (Do keep in mind what I said earlier, as in: Essie Davis YELLS… Ouch…!).
And that’s it.
Seriously.
With the 6 1/2 hours that followed the most awesome first 18-minutes, I had to do what I’m s’posing was what author Richard Flanagan intended for me to do: Make this soooo not about the characters as characters in a novel but have them “personifications” of human apathy and distraction. The more outrageously awful Mum’s physical, emotional, spiritual condition (The state of our planet), the more Anna checks out (We look at our phones, peruse Instagram, etc. etc. et freaking cetera).
Oh trust me: Big Sis and I talked at great length and with great vitriol about this li’l effort by R. Flanagan (Wait! Have I mentioned how the Booker Prize, bar threeee, usually indicates pomposity and ridiculously ponderously-worded egregiously tedious, just uninspiring efforts? I kinda sorta have? I’ll hush up about it then). Now, p’raps here I should point out that she and I had a previous (FRAUGHT) conversation cuz I’d hiiiiighly recommended the stunningly beautiful Waiting for Eden wherein Eden is but a torso after an IED blast, she’d listened to it, and? Ouch, she haaaaated it. Now, here we have a plotless wonder wherein Mum is tortuously kept suffering, Anna is disappearing body part by body part, species are annihilated daily, Australia is burning, oh and: Orange-bellied parrots… oh and how lovely…?!
It was another FRAUGHT conversation, but at least we both haaaated it. So what a delightful way to spend 45-minutes of discussion (You know, kinda what I’m doing here in several paragraphs).
The writing was killing me (Not as quickly as global climate change is), the characters were nauseating (But isn’t Instagram?), the narration was shrill (But nowhere neeeear as much as Anna). Every now and again Flanagan gave us an itty bitty bit o’ WHY this is so very sad (As in: Mum seems awfully charming and worth loving). All in all? Could NOT get done with this soon enough…
Happy Birthday, Big Sis. If I can’t get 6 1/2 hours of m’ life back, I’m soooo happy they were completely and most atROCiously wasted with yooooouuuuuu!!!
Huzzah!
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