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Boy snow bird book review

Boy, Snow, Bird is part of a growing trend among recently published books: books whose blurbs make them sound much more appealing than they actually are. It belongs unequivocally alongside deep disappointments such as The Age of Ice and The Night Circus. Getting dubbed a “re-telling of Snow White,” does not help Boy, Snow, Bird. I want to be clear about this upfront: in no way can Boy, Snow, Bird be classified as a fairy tale re-telling (and possibly, Oyeyemi never intended it to be one); it seems clear that in this case, “fairy tale re-telling” is a marketing ploy and nothing more. Readers coming to this book looking for a twist on Snow White will be sorely disappointed. 

This isn’t a horrible book, but it is a waste of time. Boy, Snow, Bird is supposed to be an examination of race relations in 1950s America as they play out in the small town of Flax Hill, Massachusetts. What it is instead is a superficial treatment of a psychologically complex topic told from the perspectives of two half-baked characters. Boy, Snow, Bird’s focus on race relations reminded me of The Help, but unlike The Help, this book lacks that punch to the gut that guarantees a story will be unforgettable. It tells far more than it shows; its dialogue never rings true (it’s unlikely a thirteen-year-old will speak exactly the same as a twenty-something); its many characters aren’t nearly distinctive enough; the organization is a bit scattered and confused; but most unfortunate of all is that Boy, Snow, Bird lacks emotional depth. There is simply nothing memorable about this book, and that is in large part because the story can’t be felt; somehow, Oyeyemi failed to strike any emotional chords--astonishing, really, given the topic. This deeply empathetic reader read Boy, Snow, Bird with complete emotional detachment, whereas The Help induced more than one crying spell. 

As for specific plot details, in the interest of brevity, I will point out only the most egregious. Boy’s husband, Arturo, is supposed to be the catalyst for the book’s main drama, the person on the receiving end of Boy’s deep resentment, a controversial figure who stirs up a whirlwind of strife and tension in most, if not all, of his scenes with Boy. Instead, he’s little more than a bland utterance here, a gesture there. His romance with Boy is so rushed--not to mention passionless--I thought some pages of my book had been ripped out. There’s little to this limp character, and as such, he is practically meaningless. Boy is more thoughtfully crafted, as is her daughter Bird, although both still lacked enough dimension to keep me more than mildly interested. Oyeyemi’s creative decision to  Additionally, the supporting characters--and there are many--blend together; from start to finish I had trouble remembering who was who for the majority of these. I’m convinced this is because there are too many of them, with not enough for them to do. 

It’s clear Oyeyemi enjoyed using symbolism in this book; however, she employed symbolism with much too heavy a hand throughout (there’s no missing the meaning behind Boy’s snake bracelet anyway, but should that happen, there’s even a giant hint right in the cover illustration). In the book’s second half, she employed an epistolary technique that appeared to be an excuse to info. dump family history and that made for, well, boring reading. Oyeyemi obviously tried to take Boy, Snow, Bird to that next level, but it's a miss all around.

Around the final twenty-five pages, Boy, Snow, Bird loses its footing altogether with the completely absurd introduction of a transgender story line. Just when I was expecting the focus to sharpen, the story morphs into something else entirely. Allow me to reiterate my point from the first paragraph: a new Snow White this most definitely is not. 

In short, the blurb does not accurately describe the product; Boy, Snow, Bird does not deliver on its premise at all. Readers searching for books that explore race relations more expertly and with deep emotion and thoughtfulness should read Snow Falling on Cedars, The Help, and--it goes without saying--To Kill a Mockingbird.

Final verdict: You won’t be any worse off for having skipped this. 

(Note: I received this book as an Advanced Reader Copy.)
Caroline