This review has been more difficult than any other I've written. There are some good things to this book, but they are so overshadowed by the bad that it's sometimes hard to see them.
I read the first few paragraph of Turtle Moon in another book, and decided to give it a shot. Though I didn't enjoy it, Turtle Moon gave me the opportunity to parse exactly what makes a good book, one full of potential, go so, so, so bad.
To start with the book as a whole, there are a few glaring problems. First, this book might be described as magical realism by those trying to emulate the form. Realistic/real-world environment? Check. Unexplained phenomenon (ghosts, characters afflicted with inexplicable conditions, a boy crying pebbles)? Check. Association of bizarre events with a particular time of year? You bet. The problem is it fails in some of the more subtle means the genre employs.
If this were magical realism, it lacks the political and social advocacy that informs much of the traditional works in the genre. The focus is primarily on middle class (actually, upper-middle class) divorcees who moved to Florida with their kids. I was born and raised in Florida, in a town where a large number of such people moved. Trust me, they usually aren't the type to garner much sympathy. And Hoffman's characters aren't either. If this were about how hard it is to raise a child on your own, I'd give it a pass. Instead, it's a clichéd washing of "kids grow up and it's hard to let go."
On the topic of Florida, a few words must be said about Alice Hoffman's treatment of the state. Like most non-residents and non-natives, she treats Florida as just a coastline with some other stuff attached somewhere. The only real place she mentions is Tallahassee. All her other places are fictitious, which is fine, except the way she describes them violate the suspension of disbelief if you know anything more about Florida than beaches. She describes her town of Verity on the ocean. That means easy. She describes it as a short drive on the Interstate (presumably 95) from Miami. Then she describes it as extremely rural and small, with lots of wild spaces, and trees, and lakes, and... There's nothing like that on the eastern coast of Florida, but particularly anywhere in the southern part of the state. Her description of how it feels in rural Florida in the summer drew me in, but her flawed geography broke that sense of reality and turned me off. Even worse, by the middle of the book, even that initially decent description becomes a pastiche: it's hot, it's humid, there are palm trees. Moving on.
I know at the top I said there was some good to this book, and I'm getting there. There's just one more thing I have to note. Hoffman makes the dubious decision to write in present tense for much of the book. This wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for her shifting tenses mid-paragraph. You start reading a sentence of present action, which becomes a flashback to past action, and then changes just as abruptly to future. It doesn't make the book difficult to read; it makes it feel less real. Every time you are pulled out of the story because of a change of tense, it's a mark against the style. And trust me, it'll happen at least a few times. And I've avoided mentioning her using overwrought clichés to the point of absurdity.
The plot itself isn't terrible, but it's not good either. A synopsis of the main conflict reads like a Lifetime Original movie. Don't believe me? "When her son is suspected of murdering a neighbor and kidnapping her baby, a mother must work with a loner cop to clear her son's name. But can she help falling for the gruff policeman?" When you take out the poetry of Hoffman's language, that's really what you get. And it's not very exciting, either. There are no shocks, no twists, nothing to differentiate this story from how you expect it will turn out.
Now, that promised good thing. When she's not using clichés, or hackneyed dialogue (which is more than prevalent), or restating the same thing for the tenth or fifteenth time that does nothing to drive plot or character, Hoffman's language can be brilliant. Downright poetic. There are true moments of lyrical beauty in this book, and when you find one, it's very nice. But there aren't enough to make up for the bad that surrounds it. As a vehicle for pretty words, this one is missing all four wheels.
In the end, I'm glad I read this book, but not because there was a modicum of enjoyment to be had. Sometimes it helps to read something bad to remind yourself what makes another book great. And this shows what is bad in spades. By the end, even the attempts to raise the stakes feel hollow, and the imagery around it is boring. I feel like this is an example of a book that could've been great in the hands of someone who knows how to write characters that aren't flat, that can use less clichés, that makes plots better than Lifetime, that knows the area she's writing about better than a tourist, and that knows it's better to tell a story well than try to be cute with the verb tenses.