Melinda Haynes' <i>Mother of Pearl</i>, moving like a sailing vessel, tacking to catch somewhat random winds, frequently grinding to a halt in the calms, nevertheless followed a true course to its climax. Stories guided by a tragic plot are not all that common, but this one for all its excesses and failings did arrive at its destination, following the wake of such works as <i>Romeo and Juliet</i>. The classic battle between Montagues and Capulets became the South's racial conflict of the 1950's; star-crossed lovers abound in this tale, but it is the demise of the book's heroine that brings peace to the feuding parties. It remains a great story, one told with enviable creativity in modern dress. Worth the read, in my opinion for that alone.
Other aspects of <i>Pearl</i>, however, compare less favourably with William Shakespeare. The music of various southern dialects became tedious and grated at times. Knowing that "aunt" was pronounced "ont" distracted more than it entertained. Dreams and symbols, spirits and landscapes seasoned the book well beyond my tolerance for spice. How many times can a reader happily be treated to a reading of pig entrails, for instance? Characters too often slid from the idiosyncratic to the caricatural. A matter of taste, I admit. Bottom line: this was a book that, in too many places, required my serious effort to keep it from transforming into a pillow.