What I love about all of M.R. Carey’s books is the tease. The covers, while all distinct, have a certain continuity to them. Even without the author’s name, you know that it is an M.R. Carey novel. There is a mystery to his covers, no hint to the setting, nothing to suggest what the story could be about, other than a nondescript, shadowed character.
Beyond the cover is the synopsis, it vaguely suggests something, without giving anything away. The synopsis to Someone Like Me simply opens the gate, the path that Carey leads his readers down is a complete mystery.
Someone Like Me left me in a bit of a conundrum: the execution of the story was flawless, the characters were whole and complete, the idea was unique, the only thing it lacked was a connection. While I can appreciate all of the excellent work that Carey did in the creation of this story, it’s hard to be head-over-heels for a story when I just didn’t care. Why did that happen? It’s difficult to say. Perhaps it was simply a timing issue, wrong story - wrong time. At the same time, to a certain extent, it’s the author’s job to take his or her readers away, make them forget about the world for the time that they dive into the universe that the author has created. In that respect, Someone Like Me didn’t work, for me.
Someone Like Me may not exactly have been what I wanted or needed right now, all it really lacked was the je ne sais quoi that connects me to the story. Despite that fact, I know that Carey can and has created this connection in the past, and I look forward to more time being whisked away by his vivid imagination.
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