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A review by easolinas
Mr. Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt
3.0
In a time when depression was considered shameful, Winston Churchill was pretty open about his psychological problems -- he called his depression "the black dog."
And Rebecca Hunt's "Mr. Chartwell" has apparently taken an whimsical yet dark approach: what if there were a true embodiment of Churchill's black dog? It's a funny, quirky novel.... until you realize that Hunt iss addressing it TOO lightly, and that she doesn't really understand that depression is a very serious disease. This is like a literary version of "Drop Dead Fred."
Mr. Chartwell ("Black Pat") is a big black talking dog who stinks, wrecks your house, and cannot be seen or heard except by the person he's tormenting. And unfortunately, he has decided to stay with the legendary statesman Winston Churchill -- who soon finds his life (and house) turned upside-down and inside-out. He also stays with Ester, a woman who is struggling with emotional depression after her husband's death.
He sits on Churchill. He chases cats. He ruins cigars. He sings annoying songs to distract Churchill when the poor man is trying to work. He chews Churchill's furniture. He makes annoying puns. He gets drunk on gin. The disasters keep piling up -- will poor Churchill be able to overcome the black dog, and be able to do his job? Well, if Churchill's only problem was an annoying houseguest, then the answer would be an obvious "YES"!
I think Rebecca Hunt was aspiring to write a charmingly eccentric story, written in metaphor-heavy literary prose. There's lots of slapstick, word puns, random mayhem, and screwball antics between Churchill and Black Pat, as the caricatural dog keeps making life miserable -- it's depression as a combination of a stray dog and crazy old man.
The problem is, it doesn't work. Rebecca Hunt has obviously never been clinically depressed, and it seems like she's never met anyone who was. It's not funny. It's not cute. If it had a physical form, it would be more like the Nazgul from "Lord of the Rings" -- a horrifying, soul-smothering creature that stalks you relentlessly and can never be destroyed.
And that is where the book collapses. It's fun and cute as long as you don't bother looking below the surface at the REAL "black dog," and realize what Mr. Chartwell is meant to embody. Perhaps Hunt meant for this to be satirical, but the comedy is too rude and bumbling to succeed. It just comes across as being offensively ignorant of what the author is trying to write about.
"Mr. Chartwell" tried to be a dark, clever exploration of depression and the struggle against one's inner demons... but instead it ends up being the doggy version of "Drop Dead Fred."
And Rebecca Hunt's "Mr. Chartwell" has apparently taken an whimsical yet dark approach: what if there were a true embodiment of Churchill's black dog? It's a funny, quirky novel.... until you realize that Hunt iss addressing it TOO lightly, and that she doesn't really understand that depression is a very serious disease. This is like a literary version of "Drop Dead Fred."
Mr. Chartwell ("Black Pat") is a big black talking dog who stinks, wrecks your house, and cannot be seen or heard except by the person he's tormenting. And unfortunately, he has decided to stay with the legendary statesman Winston Churchill -- who soon finds his life (and house) turned upside-down and inside-out. He also stays with Ester, a woman who is struggling with emotional depression after her husband's death.
He sits on Churchill. He chases cats. He ruins cigars. He sings annoying songs to distract Churchill when the poor man is trying to work. He chews Churchill's furniture. He makes annoying puns. He gets drunk on gin. The disasters keep piling up -- will poor Churchill be able to overcome the black dog, and be able to do his job? Well, if Churchill's only problem was an annoying houseguest, then the answer would be an obvious "YES"!
I think Rebecca Hunt was aspiring to write a charmingly eccentric story, written in metaphor-heavy literary prose. There's lots of slapstick, word puns, random mayhem, and screwball antics between Churchill and Black Pat, as the caricatural dog keeps making life miserable -- it's depression as a combination of a stray dog and crazy old man.
The problem is, it doesn't work. Rebecca Hunt has obviously never been clinically depressed, and it seems like she's never met anyone who was. It's not funny. It's not cute. If it had a physical form, it would be more like the Nazgul from "Lord of the Rings" -- a horrifying, soul-smothering creature that stalks you relentlessly and can never be destroyed.
And that is where the book collapses. It's fun and cute as long as you don't bother looking below the surface at the REAL "black dog," and realize what Mr. Chartwell is meant to embody. Perhaps Hunt meant for this to be satirical, but the comedy is too rude and bumbling to succeed. It just comes across as being offensively ignorant of what the author is trying to write about.
"Mr. Chartwell" tried to be a dark, clever exploration of depression and the struggle against one's inner demons... but instead it ends up being the doggy version of "Drop Dead Fred."