The Lifeboat by Charlotte Rogan

You’re about to read my review of The Lifeboat, a first time novel by Charlotte Rogan.  But before you take the leap, let’s get a few things straight, the first being I generally don’t like book reviews that flutter and weave like a lost dove, while trying to sound profound.  I like to dig into the nitty-gritty.

So on to the first question:  “What is a book review?”  asks a teacher, professor, or some learned, soulless academic, with a loaded shotgun pointed directly at your report card.  No worries.  Just listen. She’s going hammer home the list of rules. Take notes.

No need to do that with me. 

See, I don’t have any rules.  Want to talk about the plot?  Fine with me.  How ‘bout the great characters?  Sure, have a go.  We all have different tastes.  Yours is yours alone.  You may disagree with mine.  So what?  Have another glass of wine…and by the way, pour me one…and we’ll discuss our viewpoints.  You’ll learn something and so will I.

But, the biggest difference between the classroom and now is:  Drum roll please…YOU HAD TO READ THE TEACHER ASSIGNED BOOK.  What a great relief that you now have a choice, and I hope in some small way my book reviews strike like a bolt of lightening when you’re making that choice. I’m going to tell you what I like and what I don’t and you get to make up your own mind if you like what I like, or like what I don’t!  Brilliant, eh!

So what about The Lifeboat?  First answer:  Good book. Excellently written and by that I mean the early 20^th Century vocab and the sentence structure.  Two big thumbs up. Well done!

Synopsis:  Passenger ship goes down, just as Europe edges toward World War I.  You remember World War I began in 1914, right?  So, this ship disaster happens in the shadows of turmoil right before that.  Not enough lifeboats.  Heard that one before.  Too many people crowd onto this particular lifeboat.  There is no rescue in sight. As you may imagine trouble ensues.

Here’s where my Y chromosome pops up.  No Y chromosome?  You’re going to love this book, which hops from angst to glorious angst and by the way, there’s also a plot.  But for me, who needs introspection like he needs strawberry jam on his sizzling steak, the first few chapters move like a description of a train named The Wounded Sloth.  There is no train in the book.  That’s a metaphor.

But, stick with me!  After laying seemingly hundreds of miles of track, day after laborious day, the train starts to move.  The Wounded Sloth belches out a few puffs of white smoke and my hopes soar.  Soar may be too strong.  My hopes flutter and wander aimlessly.

Ok, so what, you may well ask, do I mean by introspection?  Here’s a quote:

“So you wanted to do the right thing.”

“Yes, I wanted to help the person…” I stopped myself initially because I realized I was going to sound very calculating if I said I wanted to help the person who had the most power in the boat.  But, I also became aware that Mr. Reichmann was looking at me very oddly, with a mixture of amusement and fascination on his face, and it occurred to me that he had given me the answer to his question and was wondering what was taking me so long to realize it.  When I stopped talking so abruptly, his face clouded with a shadow of irritation.  But, I couldn’t decide if it was irritation that I was slow to recognize the core of my defense or that I had caught myself before some truth escaped my lips.

The quote goes on and on in the same soul searching vein. As for “….I had caught myself before some truth escaped my lips.” I say no, she stopped herself before the plot picked up to a reasonable speed and we got on with it.

Women are going to love this book.  Men lean more toward sharply drawn characters and a plot that moves cohesively.  The characters in The Lifeboat are sketched in charcoal, and fade with every wave that washes over the bow.  To me, most of the characters are indistinctly fuzzy to begin with, but that’s the Y chromosome again.

The plot?  It’s a question I often asked myself.  The various actions?  Somebody please tell me why they did what they did and why I’m supposed to care.

Now, some of my closest female friends adore this book.  They swoon and proclaim they’re found the lost gospels. I say they may be right and it’s a good thing the Bible had editors.

And yet, with all my petty complaining, I kept reading. I suppose there was enough of an intrigue to keep me turning the pages.  I don’t always do that.  If I find a book off-putting, unlike many other readers, I feel no obligation to the author to finish. I toss the book aside and grab another.  I didn’t do that with The Lifeboat.  Something in it pulled at me and made me want to know.  As I said, the writing itself was fascinatingly smart. So, what’s the bottom line?  Do I recommend the book?  Yes, but if you have a Y chromosome, it’s going to be a staggeringly long, uphill stroll.