Lynn Smith   reviews Prodigal Child.     

 

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A LYRICAL ADDITION TO THE RAGS-TO-RICHES GENRE

 
         
   

Despite frequent episodes of bad luck with the law, despite the father from hell, despite his underprivileged working class origins, Eddie Connor cashes in on his multi-faceted talent that earned him the titles: musician, sculptor, songwriter. It’s hard to believe that after reading his account of growing up oppressed by poverty and a drunken father, that the mature Eddie Connor states, ‘As bad as things had been… I wouldn’t change a damn thing."

   
   

The language of David Moulton’s Prodigal Child is simple and uncluttered – an easy-to-get-through vacation read, perfect for slow Saturday mornings on a sunny beach. Which is perhaps a soothing place to learn more about the dark side of the British school system in the 1950’s.

   
   

David Moulton provides a detailed first-person biography of the life of young Eddie Connor, skillfully encouraging the reader to develop a bond with the protagonist. Such a bond it is that Eddie Connor’s regular brushes with the law, in part, thanks to his volatile temper, leaves one sympathizing with him as a victim of circumstance. As the principle character however, he seems to possess a lack of critical self-examination which would have made his hubris more satisfyingly complex.

   
   

The same absence of moral complexity is to be found in the lack-luster portrayal of women in the novel. Eddie’s poor, bullied mother never emerges as anything more than disillusioned wife and sad mother, whose only response to why she does not leave her tyrannical husband after years of suffering and abuse is: "Who would look after your father if I left?"

   
   

Eddie’s love interests seem devoid of passion. His is a self-conscious, timid expression of affection, lapsing into limp little phrases like," I had grown extremely fond of her," and "Her lips found mine." Now Julie, dear sweet girl, seems to have very little opinion of her own and fails to evolve above the pitiable, silent suffering woman. Rather like good ol’ mom, wouldn’t you say, Herr Freud? Then there’s Elizabeth, the mystery sister, emerging here and there in the novel, not much more than a footnote.

   
   

The highlight of Prodigal Child is the selection of lyrics scattered throughout the novel, adding a depth of emotion not quite reached by the principal character himself. In as much as they document the life of one man, they publish our universal mourning for loss and rejection.

   
   

 

   

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Shefaa Desai is an English teacher from Moncks Corner, South Carolina.

   

 

   
   

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