Book Review: Where the Crawdads Sing

PITTSBURGH – The first time I sat down to read Where the Crawdads Sing, by Delia Owens, I was sitting in a hotel in Pittsburgh. And I couldn’t stay awake.

This isn’t to say that Where the Crawdads Sing bored me to sleep. Rather, quite the opposite. Typically, I’ll read two books at a time, three if you include either the Bible or Book of Mormon. In a strategy I picked up from Tim Ferriss, I’ll read a non-fiction book in the morning with coffee, when my brain is fresh and can take in new information that’s allegedly useful – most of it, depending on the book, is. At night, when I’ve worked and written for much of the day and my brain has devolved into mush, I’ll read a breezy fiction book. If I miss a little information because my brain is tired, I’m ok with it; it’s just fiction.

And then came along Where the Crawdads Sing.

I had seen the book virtually everywhere. My mom had a copy I noticed at my childhood home in Maryland. So did a startling percentage of individuals in every airport I was in throughout the year, which is not a small number of airports. That unanimous sign of approval was one of the more convincing acts of social proofing I needed to buy the book.

So I scooped it up, intending to read it exclusively at night, as I do with all of the other fiction reads on my list. Only the language was too rich, too beautiful, the writing too eloquent. It would take me several minutes to get through a page, so busy was I going back through Owens’ descriptions and imagery.

I was hooked. Because of that, I, somewhat counterintuitively, put the book on the backburner, plowing through my non-fiction list until I could carve out the time to read Owens’ debut novel, which topped the New York Times bestseller list for 25 – 25! – weeks.

I didn’t regret it.

If you’re looking for a fiction book that will pull at the full spectrum of emotions, Where the Crawdads Sing is the one. You’ll fall in love with the protagonist, Kya, as well as the Boy Next Door, a good ole blond country boy named Tate. You’ll feel pity, empathy, sympathy. If you’re a crier – I am personally not – then you’ll likely cry. You’ll feel anger at the racism on display, and you’ll feel a tingly suspicion for most every character, including Kya herself.

You’ll appreciate Owens’ deep knowledge of marshes, swamps, animal and plant life. You’ll learn quite a bit, and be glad you did.

You’ll be intrigued by the murder-mystery element until the final few pages, and I do not believe you’ll be disappointed by the ending.

In fact, I think you’ll quite love it.

I think you’ll love everything about Where the Crawdads Sing.   

You can buy Where the Crawdads Sing on Amazon below.