The Battle of Fluff and Substance

by

Anne Michael

Besides enjoying the pleasures of a long holiday weekend, I was just in a mood yesterday to read. I thought it wouldn’t matter what I read as long as I could fall eyes first into it and not come out for hours. I just wanted to be lost to the world in which I live and its denizens for a wee while. I was not looking to escape a bad situation or the chains that bind me to my life, but I didn’t want to be bothered with dust, ironing, dogs, television or having to seek entertainments one step further from myself. 

My mother-in-law, Phyllis, will recommend books from time to time, just as I recommend titles to her. While we are both passionate readers, we don’t necessarily love the same books. Knowing that I am an absolute sucker for Christmas stories of all sorts, Phyllis recommended A Visit from Sir Nicholas by Victoria Alexander. I had thought to save the book for a mid-summer read, adoring the irony of reading a Christmas story in July while sitting by the pool, tall cold drink in hand catching a few rays and reading a good book at the same time. The books currently in my waiting stack held no appeal yesterday, so I decided to read the recommended and waiting Christmas tale.

I had never before read anything by Victoria Alexander. Quite frankly, I don’t believe I’ll ever do so again. It’s not that Ms. Alexander is a bad writer. Quite the contrary. She writes very well. She has a lovely way with description and scene and is quite the dab hand at good dialogue. It’s the dialogue that carries the story and keeps it moving at an interesting and compelling pace.    

A Visit from Sir Nicholas is a love story, a story of grand passion in which Charles Dickens’ book, A Christmas Carol, features prominently. It is the discussions of Dickens work that give this tale the Christmas theme; otherwise it could take place at any other time and place and still work. And it was these frequent observations by the sundry characters populating the pages that I found the most pleasurable, rather like finding a pearl in an ugly oyster.

I love a good story with a happy ending as much as the next person. In fact, given the unpredictability of real life which all too often features unhappy endings, I find I prefer endings in which everyone gets what they want or at least the story’s protagonist lives to do battle another day.

What I don’t like are predictably drawn characters, the strong, willful, intelligent female (blonde, of course) out of place in the mid-nineteenth century and the strong, virile, (dark and curly haired, naturally) handsome, rich and successful male brought to his knees by love and passion and all the sweating and heaving that goes into the mix as a way of persuading the independent woman that she is, after, all in need of mastering one way or another. Sadly, this book is riddled with cardboard characters and descriptions of clothing and furnishing in the Victorian mansions that the likes of Belva Plain and Jean Plaidy perfected long ago and might very well find wanting were they to read Victoria Alexander’s tome.

I did get my wish. I disappeared into another world for a while; the dog snoozed peacefully as Steve and his mom whiled away the holiday hours doing things they enjoyed. All and all it was a pleasant enough, although facile, excursion that gave me the sheer pleasure of reading, even if it was substantially less than mentally nourishing.

I was disappointed after all the hype and enthusiasm and rave reviews Phyllis gave the book. When I was done I felt let down instead of satisfied. But I look at it this way—the book was very much like having a craving for cookies and, being entirely too lazy to bake some really good ones, sitting down and eating an entire box of cheap ones purchased at the Dollar Store. The sweet tooth was assuaged, but flavor and taste were found seriously wanting. Filler, that’s what this book was for me.

I can understand why my mother-in-law would like it, though. It harkens back to a time when “women were women and men were men,” and it was the men who took good care of the women. Mom is far enough away from that period in her own life and the fighting for her own identity in a relationship, and held firmly in the thrall of old age where that sort of thing might look really good.  

I will say, however, that A Visit from Sir Nicholas really made me want to read some Dickens, and that will do nicely as I sit in my chaise lounge soaking up the sun in the heat of the summer reading A Christmas Carol. I know I won’t be disappointed in that.


At age 10, Anne realized she was never going to get to be Miss America since reading a book was not an acceptable talent. So she went on to get a job and raise a family. Along the way, she fixed meals, picked up toys, helped with homework, and collected a drawer full of rejection slips for her “great American novel.” It was not all bad, however, since she ended up wallpapering a closet with them. She currently designs and creates greeting cards for her tiny company, The Frog Prints, LLC, and also works full-time as a Training Specialist. Anne is currently tethered to reality by a loving spouse, two dogs, one cat and the occasional hurricane that blows through Florida, although falling headlong and happily into a book is still her favorite “talent.” She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it