An action story: The Last of Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper
I have owned a copy of this novel for about five years. Every Fall, I get a weird motivation to read the book. Funnily enough, I have started the book about five times and never gotten past the first ten pages. After I fail to read it, I put it back on the shelf and dutifully feel the longing to give it another try the next year. I truly believed that if I could just get past the first few pages, I would be sucked into the story and love it. Sadly, this was not the case. Try as I might, I seriously could not get into this book. I even felt duly motivated because this year, I did part of my engagement photo shoot in the Moravian Cemetery where Chingachook is buried in real life! Look at how pretty it is!
I wanted so badly to just fall in love with the characters and this story, but I couldn’t. I don’t know if it was the archaic writing style (thee’s and thou’s, etc.), the annoying, overly-pious White Christian characters, or the one dimensional Native American characters. Maybe it was the untranslated French rife throughout. No matter how you slice it, I HATED THIS BOOK. It was by far one of the most boring novels I have ever read. For an action packed story about escaping some of the toughest, scariest Natives in the North East, it was surprisingly dull, annoyingly pious, and of course, as a product of its time, almost offensively racist in the depiction of the Natives. The way the Natives speak—in these prolonged, annoying metaphors—was quite awful. I am hard pressed to find one thing I liked, so I will just say that I’m happy to finally mark this as read and take it off my shelves.