A Bumpy View From Lake Como: A Review
When I first came across The View From Lake Como by Janice A. D. Blanchard, I was intrigued. The promise of a picturesque Italian backdrop paired with a journey of self-discovery sounded like a delightful escape from the usual urban landscapes I often find myself lost in. But as I delved deeper, it became clear that this book was less about the beauty of Lake Como and more about navigating a series of narrative missteps that I couldn’t help but chronicle.
From page one, I found myself wrestling with choices that seemed, at best, unfocused. Our protagonist, Giuseppina—who, for some inexplicable reason, goes by Jess—embarks on a journey of self-discovery that felt both superficial and emotionally immature. A little more than 15% in, the first red flags raised their heads, and I started jotting down notes on my phone about the inconsistencies that plagued the narrative. Perhaps others might enjoy this story with a more forgiving eye, but for me, once my critical brain kicked in, there was no turning back.
The disjointed formatting alone was enough to throw me off the scent of what could have been a captivating read. The inconsistency in separating sections with either small double lines or all-caps mini-titles felt jarring and chaotic. A seamless reading experience was ill-fated from the start, and I found myself longing for something more cohesive—a simple double space would have sufficed!
The character’s journey through therapy, using an app called Thera-Me, presented its own set of quirks. Instead of engaging deeply with her therapist, Jess opts for journaling her thoughts on her phone during immensely critical moments, like sitting bedside with her dying uncle. Can you imagine? On one hand, it makes her appear emotionally detached, while on the other, the notion of relying on a notes app for profound self-reflection felt utterly modern and somewhat dissonant—hardly Victorian, as the plot seemed to hint.
Jess’s decision to leave her husband—rooted simply in her dissatisfaction—came across as rather frivolous. Instead of exploring ways to engage with him, she complains about boredom, which felt shockingly immature. To add to the emotional complexities, her depiction of panic attacks lacked authenticity; I couldn’t help but feel as if the author had never experienced one firsthand. Breathing into a paper bag? Surely, there’s more nuance to anxiety than this cartoonish approach.
Blanchard’s portrayal of medical scenarios left me scratching my head as a reader, especially when Jess’s Uncle Louie suffers a heart attack. The nursing protocols thrown around were not only unrealistic but practically ludicrous. With medical inaccuracies piled atop each other, I couldn’t help but wonder where Blanchard’s editor was hiding—perhaps enjoying a slice of Italian cake?
Among the clutter of inconsistencies, Blanchard does spark a memorable moment with a quote about relationships being like crabs on the beach—except crabs walk sideways! While the intent was perhaps to convey a clever metaphor, it epitomized the confusion this book delivers.
Despite nearly putting it down, I found myself skimming through the last quarter. In hindsight, I appreciate that I pushed through; after all, it added perspective to my reading journey. However, I wouldn’t rush to recommend it to many.
In conclusion, The View From Lake Como might appeal to readers who enjoy messy emotional explorations and those not as perturbed by narrative inconsistencies. For others, especially those who value cohesion and depth in storytelling, this might feel like a missed opportunity—one that could have glimmered with the beauty of its setting but ultimately stumbled over its own pace and characterization. Would I recommend it? Maybe not. But it certainly stirred some engaging thoughts in me, and sometimes, that’s enough.