I love David (and the ever-silent Leigh) Eddings. I enjoy every fantasy book he has written. This book, however, is outside of their general genre, and just doesn't work for me. In fact, I was several chapters in when I realized that I may have actually read the novel before, but blocked it out...call it a self-protective fugue.The story itself has some interesting potential - one of a pair of identical twins is murdered and the other has amnesia, so no one is sure which twin survived. But, oddly enough for such an experience author, the writing is the problem.First, the voice. The story is told in first-person, and the first person is quite a smartass. Mind you, I happen to be one myself, but *all* the time with the snarky, snide, verbal play-by-play. It gets old. If you've read the Belgariad and the Mallorean, you'll know what I mean when I say it sounded like it was told from Silk's PoV...and remember how Garion pointed out how annoying that was to deal with constantly? Apparently the authors forgot. It reminded me a great deal of the tone of Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress - but those books had an advantage because I already knew and enjoyed the character (though admittedly, the snarkiness also got old fast). There's also the jarring effect of a familiar voice in an unfamiliar setting; generally that familiar tone comes in a more archaic locale than downtown Seattle in the late 90s.Related: all of the cutsy language crap. Mark even uses it on the witness stand. Mommified, normie (which was what he used), and the like. In some ways, it was more painful than wading through "r u thar?" texts from twelve year olds. Who talks like that? And who does it ALL the TIME?The second complaint I had probably came in part because I skimmed some other reviews, and I realized their authors were correct. The author goes ON and ON about his thesis and his opinion of Milton, Hemmingway, Faulkner, and the like. Congrats, Eddings, you are well read, but I really don't care if you think Milton was a pompous Puritan, certainly not enough to want to hear about it in depth. In some ways, the novel felt like a platform to give the authors a place to discuss their literary biases. Please, go substitute teach at your local college; do a seminar or something.The direction of the novel was fairly obvious, especially since it was outlined on the cover flap. Beating us over the head with certain references was aggravatingly annoying.The fact that Twink was totally cool with everyone she interacted with have in-depth discussions about her was also kind of eye rolling. (We'll ignore the fact that her family friend, his roommates, his professor, her aunt, her priest, and her counselor [he gets a slight waiver] were all fiercely intelligent and attentive enough to notice all sorts of details; family might care that much, but for so many intelligent outsiders to want to delve in was odd.) Sure, there was a lot of sneaking around but "I want to do a case study on your craziness..." - she was fine with that?Speaking of which, let's discuss the trial. Okay, fine, it was a hearing to determine the level of insanity but really. Admittedly, I don't know a lot about law, but there were a lot of things that didn't add up. For instance, the prosecution - and the defense - pretty much laid their entire case out. I don't understand why Mark's housemate's testimony was valid; they barely knew the girl. More time was spent quizzing the girl going for her masters than the actual doctor. And WHAT was up with the DA?! In a high-profile case, where the DA's office is supposidely itching to not go for the "legally insane" defense, who would send a low-tiered, incompetent, non-question asking underlying to the trial? Someone higher up the rung should have been there. The low man DA was almost as ridiculous as "no questions."Mark's attitude was also annoying. Basically the girl he considers his baby sister - his only surviving family - is on trial for murder, and he's kinda worried about his papers. Who wouldn't give a semester bye for that, especially after he lost his parents? Then, too, having been pretty well raised with Renata/Regina's family and having lost his own, you would think he would identify a bit closer with them, rather than just waiving them off. He doesn't seem to understand why the surviving twin's parents are a mess, but my question is, why isn't he?The supernatural elements were so minor that they weren't really worth including...either more attention or no attention should have been paid to them. There's a logical inconsistency in the fact that someone blabbed about the convent on network TV, but the reporters can't find it...really? Not to mention the fact that they took the emo raging cop OFF the air despite the likelihood that he would provide more entertainment raging than he would have with the canned speech; what TV station would cut that? Especially after Mark goes on and on about the evil TV people.I blocked the novel out for a reason, I think. It was annoying and overdone, and Eddings was *way* too self-amused. I might possibly reread it out of loyalty to the author, if every other book on my shelf has caught fire and the city shuts down the library. I'll probably wind up thinking, it can't be that bad. Belgariad! Polgara! Sparhawk! Eddings is an awesome writer, it can't be as annoying as I thought.It is, future self. It is.
Originally published on my blog here in June 2003.Most people are fascinated by the intimate relationship which exists between identical twins, and this forms the basis of the most recent novel from David and Leigh Eddings, one which edges into the horror genre - a new departure for the pair.Regina and Renata Greenleaf were identical twins, who continued to use a private language between themselves long after most pairs have given it up - right through high school. (I was surprised not to find any references to this cryptolalia - use of a secret language - online; may be it's not as common a practice as the Eddings imply.) Then, on the point of graduation, their car broke down returning from a party and when one of them went to find a phone, she was attacked, raped and viciously murdered. The surviving twin is so traumatised by this, that she reverts to their secret language, and it is only following six months in an asylum that she recognises anyone or returns to speaking English. Even so, she cannot remember the past, making it impossible to tell even which twin she is (or even to tell her that she had a twin sister).To the chagrin of her parents, the person she recognises is a family friend, Mark Austin - also the narrator of the novel. His is a graduate student at Washington University (the whole novel, like all of the Eddings' non-fantasy, takes place in Washington State). A major part of the novel is about Mark's attempts to help the surviving twin (now insisting on being known, rather nauseatingly, as Twink) rehabilitate to the real world by auditing some of the courses at the university, including the basic English one he teaches. This means that Twink moves away from her parental home to stay with an aunt, who has a job which means that she is out a large proportion of the time - surely a situation which a psychiatrist would be unhappy about for someone only recently released from a mental ward. And then strange things begin to happen...The main idea is strong, though it could be the basis of a far more bleak novel offering more insight into how it feels to be a twin and the nature of mental illness. (This could be done most easily by improving the essays that Twink hands in, which Mark somewhat bizarrely thinks are brilliant - they're nothing like that good.) Such a tale would be a radical departure for the Eddings, and the impression I got was that his was something they kept moving towards and then shying away from to produce something more lightweight. (After all, they don't want to alienate all their fans.) This desire makes the second half of the novel poorer than the first, and also means that some of the cute phrases and ideas which fill so much of the Eddings' recent writing appear once more. It may also explain an interesting change of attitude: all of the Eddings' fantasy involves the killing or disabling of a god, but here the role of religion as represented by a Roman Catholic priest is overwhelmingly positive.Regina's Song contains a crime investigation and a (rather unconvincing) courtroom drama as well as the twin psychology and horror elements, and this is something of a mistake from a structural point of view, as it makes the novel seem somewhat overcrowded with strands from different genres. Nevertheless, Regina's Song is consistently entertaining (if you can ignore the cute turns of phrase) and the use of identical twins at the centre of this kind of story is fascinating.
What do You think about Regina's Song (2003)?
I'm 44 and have been reading (and re-reading) David Eddings since I have been 14. Prior to today I have read Regina's Song once before albeit many, many moons ago. The story and story premise I found to be interesting and entertaining, however, there was a definite disconnect for me that prevented me from really enjoying the reading experience. I found the voice and style of this work to be more 'Early Heinlein' than 'Eddings.' A very strange combination indeed. I'd only recommended Regina's Song to Eddings fans interested in reading his entire library.
—Kalenedral_9
Wow.I've always been a fan of David Eddings' work - I love the Belgariad/Malloreon series to bits and pieces (literally - I've worn out three copies of Pawn of Prophecy) and the Elenium/Tamuli only slightly less so.However, I never read any of his non-fantasy work, because back when I discovered Eddings, Fantasy is all I would read. My tastes have branched out a lot in the intervening 15 (or so) years, so I was kind of excited about reading Regina's Song when an online book club I participate in decided to read it, and I wasn't disappointed.The weird thing is, this book both was and wasn't typical Eddings. Anyone who's read any of his fantasy work - particularly as much and as often as I have - will certainly see the similarities in his characterization and his tone. In that regard, it was familiar - it was almost like putting on that old ratty pair of jeans that you can't get rid of, because they're just so comfortable, and they fit.Set in a more modern time period, with most of the story taking place in the mid- to late-90's, Regina's Song is the story of a pair of twin girls, Regina and Renata, one of whom is murdered. The girls were so identical that no one knew for sure which one was actually murdered - and the surviving twin was catatonic and spoke exclusively in "twin" language, so she couldn't tell anyone which one she was. After being locked in a sanitarium for a long while, the surviving twin finally begins to speak in English - but she's got almost total amnesia, with no memory of having a twin sister, and doesn't even know who she is. She gets labeled as "Renata." The story is told from the point of view of Mark, kind of a surrogate older brother figure to the girls, who early on gave up trying to tell them apart and just called them "the Twinkie Twins." After Renata comes back to herself, Mark usually just calls her "Twink."This was actually quite a compelling book - Eddings' writing isn't perfect, and the women in this story do suffer mildly from "Polgara syndrome" - I'm sure other Eddings fans will know exactly what that means - but all in all it was a really good book, and I regret that I never read it sooner.
—Jess
Oh David Eddings....how I loved your stuff when I was wee and just learning about the wonders of fantasy. Even now I think back fondly on the Belgariad, the sequel series, and that other series with the Sparhawk dude. But it's been many years since I've read them, and now, after reading this ridiculously tepid offering, I'm afraid to ever go back for fear of destroying my happy childhood memories.The premise itself sounded compelling, but execution was laughable. The characters all sounded the same. They also all were too talkative, speaking in sentences that no person would ever say in reality. They also spoke for way too long each time. They cracked constant jokes that were not funny. I gave up not one quarter of the way in.
—Pygmy
