At the end of the Author’s Note, Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason state that they are “deeply indebted to those two [Italian Renaissance and Princeton] settings of the the mind.” In the end, I think this book was more about its setting at Princeton than anything else. The setting overwhelmed the plot.

I think The Rule of Four suffers from its frequent comparisons to The Da Vinci Code. The latter is part of a relatively new genre. I’m not sure what you’d call it — historical research thriller? The Rule of Four is less about a centuries-old mystery surrounding a Renaissance book than it is about Princeton and four guys who became friends there.

In The Da Vinci Code, you see characters working on puzzles and watch as they figure out the answers in real time. The biggest mistake the authors of The Rule of Four make is they don’t do that. In this book, a character will solve a riddle offstage and share it with another character later. That made me feel cheated because I didn’t see it happen. The authors also frequently jump back and forth between time. It wasn’t difficult to follow, but it stopped the forward momentum of the plot. As I mentioned earlier, though, the real star of the book in the authors’ minds is the setting. The setting is lovingly, painstakingly rendered in this book to the point that it overwhelms the plot. The writing was good if you’re looking for description, but aside from that, it was mainly allusory (and for the dummies reading the book, the characters describe where the allusions came from).

I almost laughed out loud at the poor narrator at the end. I don’t think it would be giving too much away to say that a 26-year-old man waxing retrospective about events that happened only four years ago and attempting to sound as wizened and reflective as if it happened 40 years ago just didn’t work for me. That, to me, was the youth of the authors showing. I suspect they’ll cringe when they read that chapter in say 20 years or so.

I think the novel is being done a real disservice when it’s compared to The Da Vinci Code. As a coming-of-age novel, it works fine. It wasn’t a real page-turner, per se. I had trouble really caring about the characters. They’re much more realistic and less wooden than Dan Brown’s cardboard cutout stand-ins for plot advancement, but there was still something lacking. Even when I learned Paul is an orphan or Tom nearly died in the car accident that killed his father, I didn’t really feel affected by that. Later on, during the novel’s climax, several bad things happen all at once, and I just didn’t care.

I’m not really sure why this book is the darling of the critics right now. I don’t want to send the message that this book was awful. It wasn’t, or I wouldn’t have finished it. I think I’ve only ever forced myself to finish one awful book (if you follow that link and know me from my former screen name, you’ll see my review). At the same time, the book shows a lack of maturity on the part of the writers. They must not be long out of college, and it shows, because they are still mired in that love-affair with academia. They don’t know about poopy diapers or bills, and it shows. There is little that resembles real life for the over-30 set, but I imagine younger twentysomethings will find much to love in this book. Had I read it at that age, I might have enjoyed it more. It did make me wax nostalgic for college, I admit. But as Thomas Wolfe noted, you can’t go home again. Even if places don’t change (though they often do), we do, and our perspective makes it difficult for us to see things the same way as we once did. Maybe that’s my problem with this book. I’m too far removed from 22 to appreciate it. If I do decide to release this book, I will have to do it on a college campus to be sure it reaches its intended audience.

I finished Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells this evening. It was a good read, if not a fantastic one. I felt that the narrative had some holes in it. Threads were taken up, dropped, and not mentioned again. The writer hinted, but not strongly enough, that Connor looked like Jack Whitman. I suppose by extension that means that Sidda will have the life-long love her mother missed? I wasn’t always happy with the poetic way the characters thought. It didn’t seem natural to me. An example: “Okay,” Vivi said, and sank down into the massage table. This table, she told herself, is held up by the floor, which is held up by the building, which is sunk deep into the earth, which is my home” (Chapter 22, p. 242). Maybe I’m too prosaic, but I don’t think like that. Sure, use poetry in description, but in the way characters think? It struck me as false. This seemed to be Wells’ favorite way of ending a chapter, by the way. I didn’t feel fulfilled by the ending, and I can’t put my finger on why.

I loved the Ya-Yas. After reading the book, I wished desperately for friends like that. I don’t have any close friends. I did as a child, but I moved. Moving makes you lose friends, I think. It’s just too hard to keep up, especially when the other party won’t work at it, too. I’ve been on both sides of that fence. My moving around so much cost me a great deal. My life would be so different. But then, who is to say that would mean it would be better?

I can remember having girlfriends. I can remember sleeping in Rebecca’s bed, so high off the floor that I had to climb into it. I can remember looking up into the eyes of James Dean on the wall behind her bed. Then she dropped me right before my wedding, and I had to scramble to find a bridesmaid at the last minute who could wear the dress my grandmother made to fit Rebecca.

Darcy and I were sisters. We stayed at each other’s houses. We shared things. I thought we’d always be best friends. I have not had another friendship like the one I shared with her. We loved each other. I moved, and she wrote me back only a handful of times over the 18 years that has passed since then.

Cheryl and I were friends my senior year in high school. We just decided we’d be best friends, and that was that. We rode around in cars with other friends, like Stephanie and Mary Jo, and we laughed.

Jenni has perhaps been the best correspondent of all of my friends. We have become closer in our absence from each other than we were when we lived in the same neighborhood and went to school together. Jenni is my anchor to my home.

But I don’t have friends like the Ya-Yas. And it makes me sad to realize, truthfully, that I never will. Maybe most people don’t, which is why this book resonates with people so strongly. It was one of the things that people liked about Friends, I think. There is this group of people, and they all love each other and would do anything for each other. They’re like family. But they’re not blood relations. They’re just friends. Reading this book and watching the Friends finale repeat last night (I didn’t catch it last week) made me realize I have friend-shaped holes in my heart. You can live with friend-shaped holes. You can even be happy. But the holes are still there, and you aren’t quite complete.

I will be releasing this book, but I am trying to see if anyone who has it on their BookCrossing Wish List wants my copy before I just cut it loose in the wild.