Wicked by Gregory Maguire

It’s the official blogiversary!  One year ago today, this blog was born.  Whether I know you in real life or not, thanks for stopping by for a read.  I hope that you’ve found something here over the past year to make you think or make you laugh, or give you an idea for the next book to read.  Thanks for the support and comments.  Here’s to the next year. 

As I said last time, it seems like about the right time for a few changes.  Back to some more formal book reviews, for one thing.  And it’s a shame to start out with a book that I really didn’t enjoy. 

Though I used to take it as a point of principle never to give up on a book, a couple of years ago I decided that life was just too short and there are too many good books to waste time on poor ones.  I also came to the realisation that just because everyone raves about Tolstoy or Hardy, doesn’t mean that I have to like them.  But I stuck with Geoffrey Maguire’s Wicked, because there’s a family trip to the show in a few weeks and I often find it hard to follow the stories in musical theatre unless you already understand the basic plot. 

I’m not saying that Wicked is in the category of Tolstoy or Hardy.  I actually think it falls into the category of the Emperor’s New Clothes – things that people rave about just because everyone raves about them.  I count the films of Wes Anderson and the books of Ian McEwan in this category too.  Many of the people who have read and reviewed the book elsewhere clearly wanted to love it from the outset because they adore either the musical or the original books and read this to have their love confirmed.  Which is totally fine, but doesn’t make for an unbiased review. 

Anyway, I was disappointed.   It’s a great idea – how did the Wicked Witch of the West get to be evil? – but poorly executed.  I found the politics clumsy, the dialogue long winded, the characters uninteresting.  It tries to be deep and meaningful satire and social commentary, but fails.  There are a lot of crude and unnecessary sexual references.  And it is LONG – not because there is loads happening, but quite the reverse.  It’s full of padding and could easily have been two hundred pages shorter.  Elphaba is by far the most interesting character, but too much time is spent with the people around her.  Often the most interesting action happens off stage and you find out about it through other people talking after the fact.  (Happens in Shakespeare too but this isn’t quite the same league).  Many other reviewers have commented on how exciting it is to find out why the Witch was so keen on reclaiming the ruby slippers, but I found that unconvincing.  The last fifty pages, when Dorothy turns up, are good, but by then you’ve sat through so much rambling you just want it to end. 

I expected and hoped that this would be brilliant.  And the imagination is certainly there: it’s the writing – more specifically, the lack of editing – that lets Wicked down.