While everyone is entitled to her own story, as a writer as well as an avid reader, I was amazed at how poorly written and executed this novel was. First and foremost, Stockett’s attempt at “dialect” was woefully inauthentic, and just came across as “bad black English.” (Further, I found it interesting that she choose not write in white Mississipian dialect as well, perhaps wanting us to believe that these counterparts somehow spoke proper, standard Engish.) Thematically, the bathroom motif was overused and became downright boring, as well as Hilly’s, the main antagonist’s, strange and ineradicable rottenness. In this regard, I think Stockett went too much for shock rather than a much needed nuance. I did not feel the urgency at the end of the novel, the fact that if the secret was let out about the book, all hell was going to break loose in Jackson, the likes of which had never been experienced.
If anything, what is minutely redeeming about the novel is the like you develop for the main characters: Aibeleen, Skeeter and Minny. I liken this novel to a sitcom where you may not like every episode, but you nevertheless like the actors. However, since this is obviously not one, the novel, in the end, fails.