Many novels attempt to take the reader to uncharted lands with varying degrees of success. In Lydia Millet’s “Mermaids in Paradise,” the destination is a fictional Caribbean island that is home to mystical creatures, cynical narrators, and comical hijinks. This combination initially promises an amusing read with a pinch of thought. However, when a newlywed couple’s honeymoon becomes hindered by a marine biologist’s discovery of mermaids and her subsequent death, the couple tries to prevent corporate power from capitalizing on the mermaids. The results are surprising—both for the characters and the reader. For the characters, the tropical resort slowly morphs into a poor vacation choice, and similarly “Mermaids in Paradise” transports the reader away from the originally promised literary paradise to a confusing land of overdone antics and lost potential.

Originally the novel has the formula for a successful tropical escape that moves beyond most stories of its kind. A Pulitzer Prize finalist for her novel “Love in Infant Monkeys,” Millet is no amateur, and the set-up for her latest novel proves that much. While erring towards the typical honeymoon-romance genre at first, the plot quickly subverts initial expectations: marine biologist Nancy’s death spurs a murder mystery subplot, while the main characters’ work to save the mermaids’ habitat from becoming a theme park carries tinges of adventure and espionage. The novel’s lack of defined genre has the potential to feel disruptive, but Millet ensures continuity within the novel through her use of wit, which manifests in her narrator, Deb. Critical in a tongue-in-cheek manner, Deb provides the novel with a distinct voice. Rarely do novels describe weddings as “infantile or pedophile” or compare the bride and groom dolls on top of wedding cakes to “a serial killer’s dream of love,” but Millet manages to pack insuch descriptors and many other one-liners tinted by dark comedy.

The humor functions perfectly as a vehicle for Millet’s social commentary. It is caustic but also subtle enough to allow her words to fester in the reader’s mind long after she has moved onto another topic. During the first night of the honeymoon, Deb accidentally plays footsie with another resort guest. After the guest makes a move towards her, she begins wondering if she is at fault for the circumstances: “Are my toes sluts? Were my toes asking for it?” The situation, almost laughable because of its anatomic focus, mirrors that experienced by victimized females, and the episode becomes a profound comment on the absurdity of victim blaming. This scene represents one aspect of Millet’s philosophical and social critique that is carefully hidden behind her narrator’s and plot’s outlandish humor—an aspect of the novel that positions it for excellence.

The problem, however, is that this excellence is not actually achieved. While the portion of the novel leading up to the honeymoon is abrasive and attention grabbing, the novel starts to lose its momentum as soon as Deb and her husband Chip’s tropical honeymoon goes awry. The quickening plot development obscures the finer points of the writing, which once made the novel so compelling. The suggestive diction, the pointed jests, and the blithe social commentary become lost in paragraphs of exposition describing the characters’ actions and plans.

Most notably, the characters, initially promising, lack development and become mere puppets to the plot. Chief among these missed opportunities are Chip, the gamer always searching for adventure akin to the fantasy games he plays, and Gina, Deb’s best friend who loves to be ironic and judgmental. While these personalities could contribute to the novel in meaningful ways, such potential becomes forgotten in favor of the plot. Chip’s fantasy life, placed as a potential source of conflict between him and his wife, is immediately discarded for the conflict between the main characters and the resort. Gina remains only ironic and is never further developed; even a small hint about the past behind her personality does not contribute to fleshing out a fuller character. Furthermore, the number of themes within the novel becomes excessive, until one poignant point is lost in all the various critiques presented. Millet’s social analysis switches from a war between corporate power and environmentalism to a critique of religious fanatics. She employes dei ex machina to wrap up the denouement more easily, and while this at times results in hilarity, other instances, like the sudden appearance of a Japanese superstar on the protagonists’ side, seem too forced. In the end, the plot’s currents prove too strong to allow any other aspect of the novel to flourish.

Perhaps this is the main issue with “Mermaids in Paradise.” Millet attempts to present a work filled with thought, humor, a jam-packed plot, and quirky characters. In her move to put as much as possible into fewer than 300 pages, however, she ends up telling more than showing. Major ideas and revelations by the narrator are suddenly thrown into the reader’s face; this abruptness comes from the lack of advanced development in the ideas and from the overly explicit way the information is presented. Characters are unable to reveal their personalities through their decisions and mistakes; instead, the narrator states everything outright. “I’m not a screamer, never have been,” Deb says to justify why she does not put up a fight when placed in a difficult situation, instead of letting her silence speak volumes for her character—one of many examples where the explicit becomes too much.

Ultimately, “Mermaids in Paradise” is a potentially engaging work that becomes overshadowed by its deficiencies. Throughout the novel, Millet uses humor to capture the imagination and take the reader to an interesting place. “With the planet at seven billion people and counting...my concern is that extreme sports are maybe a red herring. If people want to put so much effort into testing their toughness.why not travel as Good Samaritans to famine-ridden or war-torn countries?” says Deb early in the novel. But in the end, the good within the novel is employed poorly. As a result, the book ends up being too intelligent to be some cliché romance novel, but too convoluted to make any grand commentaries. Instead the reader is transported to some sort of limbo between an intelligent read and an elaborate mess.