One of the biggest criticisms and no-nos you'll find when reading reviews about books is the good old, "Telling instead of showing." As in, the writer should show how things are, rather than just tell the reader. For example, instead of just writing, "Lisa is really intelligent and witty," show examples of how Lisa is intelligent and witty. Authors and their books are accused of being quick and lazy if they tell and don't show.

Yet, here we have a book that has been widely acclaimed, with terrific reviews across the board, but about 80% of Candlemoth is the reader being told things about people and not shown. This is particularly true of the female characters, two of whom main character Daniel Ford falls in love with, one of whom is an older neighbourhood recluse he befriends. This also extends to his best friend, Nathan Verney. I never got a feel for the relationships that were supposed to define the book, because there was too much telling (of political events, which I'll get to later), and not enough actual dialogue to show the connection between these people.

The crux of the story is the friendship between Daniel Ford and Nathan Verney since they were six years old. Daniel is white. Nathan is black. Their friendship is viewed through a historical spectrum of race relations across the 1950s and 1960s. Nathan is murdered in 1970, and the book begins with Daniel in 1982, finally on death row, having been convicted of Nathan's murder. He tells the story of his friendship with Nathan through the years, particularly the late 60s as they run away to avoid the Draft. This retelling is done both through conversations with Father John Rousseau, and Daniel's own internal recollections.

The intent of the book, I suppose, was to show the "blood brother" relationship between Daniel and Nathan that transcends the inherent and institutionalised racism that is present in American politics and society for decades. The idea that Nathan's murder was possibly the work of a conspiracy that involves the Klu Klux Klan still operating behind the scenes in society should be powerful and shocking. But it's not. We just get told about this conspiracy as a series of facts related to Daniel by a prison inmate. Race relations in the 50s and 60s are presented in an encyclopedia fashion with little insight as to how they truly affect Daniel and Nathan.

Indeed, about 50% of this book just felt like a recitation of historical political facts. Many chapters will go on for four or five pages just listing political events of any given month or year of the 50s and 60s. It wasn't much different from reading a history book. And if I want to read a history book, fiction isn't the place I go to get it! I ended up skipping large sections of the text because I was so bored by these frequent, lengthy forays into regurgitated facts.

The book also had what I felt was Forrest Gump syndrome. Every single person that Daniel Ford encounters in his life has some special, profound importance in his life that changes him in certain ways. It started getting a bit ridiculous. All of it told to us, not shown, of course, because the author is too busy reciting historical facts. The two wardens Daniel interacts with in prison are straight out of cliche city. (One is kindhearted, and one is despicably evil to the point of moustache twirling.)

I'm in the minority here, obviously. I don't understand why "telling, not showing," is a major criticism for many, many books, and yet when it's done here so extensively, people are still lauding it as some minor classic. This was dry and dull, I didn't connect to the characters and their relationships, and to even call it a crime novel in the first place is a pretty big stretch.