killing-me-softly

 The way certain subjects in stories are dealt with often makes or breaks the writing for me, often more than the descriptions, characterization, or plotting.  And although I may be guilty of the offenses myself, seeing them in published work does, at least, make me more aware of them.

I recently read two romantic suspenses in which the heroine/mother had lost a child.  I didn’t know they had this in common when I started, just turned out that way.
And please don’t misunderstand me.  I’m not mean-spirited.  I know there are very few things in life more traumatizing, more horrendous than suffering the loss of a child.  And maybe I would’ve been better prepared if I’d deliberately selected women’s fiction.
But there it was.  Two books.  Romances.  With back-to-back grieving mothers.

The first wasn’t handled badly.  The mother still mourned her loss, but was trying to cope with it and rebuild her life.  There was a gentle strumming of my heartstrings, but I didn’t mind.  It served the purpose of the plot, I liked her, and she impressed me with her courage.

The second?
At first the heroine evoked my sympathy.  A terrible loss, certainly.
That soon ended, however, when I noticed the child’s name/circumstances of death (five years earlier) coming up every 5-10 pages in a 500 page novel.  No, I’m not exaggerating.
A third of the way through the book I wanted to stick my finger down my throat whenever I saw the name.
Halfway through, I intentionally skipped every single paragraph from the heroine’s pov.  Why the hero was more eager to get her into bed than grief counseling I’ll never know.
And no, I didn’t finish it.  When I peeked at page 450 and the child was still haunting the thing, I passed.
I couldn’t feel sorry for this heroine.  She was feeling too sorry for herself.  In fact, the only reason she became involved with the hero at all had to do with—you guessed it—the child’s death.

This wasn’t strumming.  This was flagellation, using a deceased toddler as a bullwhip.

I usually don’t mind having my emotions played when it’s done with skill.  But I found myself thoroughly resenting both the ploy and the author in this case.
Timmy can only fall down the well so many times before even Lassie gets sick of the crap.

Yes, make me feel.  If you can make me laugh, cry, want, need, or empathize—I’m all for it.

But aren’t certain emotions/themes/triggers best used sparingly, or at least with a certain subtlety?  Is it difficult to be objective enough to know when you’ve gone overboard?