Reviews Archive: BIG Novels - "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt and "The Luminaries" by Eleanor Catton

Having just finished A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara with its 700+ pages, I got to thinking about the other two novels of that length I read in the last two years.  Here are my reviews of those tomes:  The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, which won the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for fiction, and The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton, which won the 2013 Man Booker Prize and the Governor-General’s Award for Fiction.  Does this bode well for A Little Life?

Review of The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt   2 Stars

  

I finished this book with regret – regret that I had invested so much of my time reading this 771-page tome. It has received many rave reviews and was chosen as a Best Book of 2013 by the New York Times. Last week it was at the top of the best seller list in Maclean’s. I am obviously in the minority, but I found it wordy and pretentious.

Thirteen-year-old Theo Decker survives a bombing at an art museum, but his mother is killed. He escapes without anyone noticing him and takes with him The Goldfinch, a painting by a 17th-century Dutch painter. He is provided a home by the family of a schoolmate before being taken to Las Vegas by his father, a man whose personality is dominated by the addiction gene. Later he moves in with Hobie, the business partner of a man who spoke his dying words to Theo after the museum explosion and who (Theo believes) told him to take the painting with him. As he drifts into adulthood, he keeps the painting despite experiencing tremendous guilt about having it in his possession. Eventually he is drawn into the criminal underworld which uses stolen masterpieces as currency.

I was expecting the novel to examine the power of art on our lives, and I was not disappointed in this regard. There are several discussions of the impact of art. Hobie tells Theo, “’And isn’t the whole point of things – beautiful things – that they connect you to some larger beauty’” (757)? Hobie insists that a painting can change “’the way you see, and think, and feel’” (758). For Theo, The Goldfinch is a thing of beauty but it also connects him to his mother who loved the painting. At one point, he says that “The painting had made me feel less mortal, less ordinary” (559). At the end, he summarizes that “Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time” (771).

Theo, the narrator, is not a likeable person. At the beginning one would have to be totally heartless not to sympathize with a child who loses a parent he desperately loves after having been abandoned by a selfish, unfaithful father. The Barbour family takes him in and provides him with a home, but it is a temporary arrangement and Mrs. Barbour is not the maternal type. When Theo’s father reappears, he proves to be anything but a model parent. It becomes difficult to sympathize however, as Theo continues to make one poor decision after another, well into adulthood. Even when provided with a stable home and support and affection, Theo comes across as an ingrate as he behaves in ways that put all that in jeopardy. One could make a plausible argument that Theo suffers from post-traumatic stress, but from the very beginning he wallows in self-pity and behaves in ways that are self-destructive and hurtful to others; for example, after his father left, Theo engaged in petty criminality even though the staff at his school was very supportive and even though he understood the consequences for him and the hurt his beloved mother would experience.

Then, in the end, he makes an appraisal of his role in preserving art; arguing that love follows art through time, he decides that he played a “bright, immutable part in that Immortality.” And he concludes with a lofty statement: “And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next” (771). His mother once said to him that “’anything we manage to save from history is a miracle’” (28) and he implies that he has helped perform a miracle?! Oh please!

As a teen in Las Vegas, Theo meets Boris who has a tremendous impact on Theo’s life. I found Boris unbelievable. He is fluent in multiple languages and reads Dostoevsky even though he is drunk or high most of the time? Hobie is another unbelievable character; in his case, he is just too good to be true. When Theo finally admits to Hobie of an illegal scheme that could have dire consequences for both him and Hobie, Hobie isn’t angry; instead, he blames himself: “’I’m as much to blame for this as you’” (497). When he later learns of Theo’s further criminality, he says, “’It does all swing around strangely sometimes, doesn’t it? . . . How funny time is. How many tricks and surprises’” (753).

The plotting is very slow and occasionally stretches credibility. The description of the explosion’s aftermath made me wonder if Theo would ever find his way out of the museum. And when he does, he manages to get out without anyone seeing him? The drinking and drug use sessions in Las Vegas go on and on. The descriptions of the effects of drugs become tedious in their repetitiveness. The extensive tangents are unnecessary; for example, if I were interested in furniture restoration, I’d consult non-fiction books written by an expert in the field. Horst, “a bad junkie” (572) goes on for pages about the technical skill of various artists. And the number of coincidences is problematic. Boris, for instance, makes an appearance just when he is expected to do so. There are so many coincidences that it seems the author feels she has to justify them: “’Who was it said that coincidence was just God’s way of remaining anonymous’” (758). Characters are always exchanging meaningful glances: “A glance was exchanged – the heft of which I recognized instantly” (531) and “They looked at each other and some unspoken something seemed to pass between them” (570). The scenes in Amsterdam, those outside Theo’s hotel room, are perfect for an action film but are not in the same genre as the rest of the novel.

Much has been made of the style of the book. There is no doubt that the author is intelligent and educated, but at times I sensed some pretension. The number of literary and artistic allusions is impressive. German, Russian, Polish, French and Dutch phrases are used. But is a sentence of over 200 words really necessary (715)?

There were several times when I considered abandoning the book; however, I kept hoping I would encounter something that would change my largely negative opinion and that somehow the book, unlike the tethered goldfinch in the painting, would be able to soar. It did not. At one point, Theo describes the finch in the painting as “fluttering briefly, forced always to land in the same hopeless place” (306). The book does the same.


Review of The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton   3 Stars

    I picked up this tome with some trepidation; its length of 832 pages is daunting. What swayed me was its winning of both the 2013 Man Booker Prize and the 2013 Governor-General’s Award for Fiction. After finishing it, I would not have chosen it for these literary awards, but it is interesting enough and will especially appeal to lovers of 19th-century novels.

This historical suspense is set in the 1860s during the gold rush in New Zealand in a mining town on the South Island’s west coast. Twelve men gather secretly to discuss three events that occurred two weeks earlier: the death of a hermit, the disappearance of a young man, and a prostitute’s near death due to drug overdose. Their meeting is interrupted by the arrival of Walter Moody, a newcomer to the goldfields. In Part I of the novel, 360 pages, they reveal what they know; each man has at least one piece of information the others don’t; “No one man could really be called ‘guilty’, just as no one man could really be called ‘innocent’” (350). In the rest of the novel, the men seek out each other and tidbits of information emerge in their conversations. Flashbacks help to give the back stories so that in the end the reader can piece together a fairly complete picture of what transpired and why.

The variety of characters presented is wide: a whoremonger, a Maori greenstone hunter, a Jewish newspaperman, a Chinese prospector, a chaplain, a prostitute, a hotelier, a ship’s captain, a politician, a magistrate, an opium dealer, a brothel owner, a gaoler, among others. In keeping with the style of a 19th-century novel, straightforward character appraisals and physical descriptions are given whenever a new person is introduced. At times it was difficult to keep all the characters straight in my mind, but the character chart at the beginning was helpful.

The book has all the accoutrements of a Dickensian plot: long-lost siblings, murder, conspiracies, phantoms, assignations, secrets, purloined letters, shipwrecks, lost treasure, eavesdropping, betrayals, a séance, power plays, sex, opium, and love affairs. Of course there are numerous chance encounters and coincidences. Moody even refers to the number of coincidences: “’A string of coincidences is not a coincidence’? And what was a coincidence . . . but a stilled moment in a sequence that had yet to be explained” (350).

Because the plot is non-linear, the reader might find him/herself becoming confused: “What a convoluted picture it was – and how difficult to see, in its entirety” (343). Fortunately, the author assists a great deal by occasionally offering recaps to make certain the reader has all the details.

The style of the book is very much 19th-century. Besides the blunt character descriptions and old-fashioned plot elements, the syntax is that of the time period. Chapters are prefaced with synopses, expletives are concealed with dashes, chapters end with cliff hangers, the narrator is omniscient and intrusive, and the book even has a dark and stormy night opening.

The structure of the narrative is complex. It is based on the astrological calendar. There are twelve parts, and each part is half the length of the previous. The first part has twelve chapters, and each part thereafter has one less chapter so the last part has only one. All of this suggests a waning moon, as further emphasized by the cover art. Also, the various characters fade into the background as others ascend in influence. The traits of the characters seem to be determined by their sun signs. The related influence of the planetary figures (as mentioned in the character chart) is particularly telling. I know little about astrology so there is probably much that missed my notice. I will admit to some discomfort with the inclusion of astral soul-mates (716).

This is a novel of plot, not a novel of character (since all characters are static) or a novel of theme. There are, however, some observations, mostly made by Moody – whose influence, appropriately, is Reason – which serve as commentary on the human condition. The one topic on which he repeatedly comments is the unknowability of the complete truth. He tells the group of twelve that, “’one should never take another man’s truth for one’s own’” and “’there are no whole truths, there are only pertinent truths – and pertinence . . . is always a matter of perspective. . . . But your perspectives are very many, and you will forgive me if I do not take your tale for something whole’” (282). Later, he cautions himself that “a man ought never to trust another man’s evaluation of a third man’s disposition” (392). The chaplain agrees: “’If I have learned anything from experience, it is this: never underestimate how extraordinarily difficult it is to understand a situation from another person’s point of view’” (620 – 621). It is appropriate, therefore, that in the end, there are some unanswered questions. The reader has enough information to make a good guess as to who did what, but some assumptions have to be made: “How opaque, the minds of absent men and women! And how elusive, motivation.”

Having read other of the nominations for both the Man Booker and the Governor-General’s Award, I do disagree with the final choices of the judges. The Luminaries is an interesting read with a complex plot and structure, and the author can be commended for her research (e.g. elements of 19th-century fiction, astrology, New Zealand gold rush) but, for me, it does not have the luminary quality I expect of a book chosen to receive these prestigious awards.

Review of "A Little Life" by Hanya Yanagihara

4.5 Stars

Every year I seem to read one 700+-page novel.  This is the one for 2015.  I just finished it and feel as if I’ve been on an emotional roller-coaster ride for the last few days.  Whew!  I won’t soon forget this one.

The book is about the lives of four young men who became friends in university and moved to New York to begin their careers.  They are Willem Ragnarsson, a waiter and wanna-be actor whose family ranched in Wyoming; Malcolm Irvine, a biracial man from a wealthy family who is beginning his career as an architect; J.B. Marion, the son of Haitian immigrants whose goal is to become a renowned artist; and Jude St. Francis, a lawyer about whose past virtually nothing is known.  We see how they maintain their friendships as they become established in their professions.  Gradually, though, the focus turns to Willem and Jude’s friendship and the revelation of Jude’s traumatic childhood. 

Though the book covers about 40 years, there is a timelessness to it.  There are no references to specific years or historical events, though it is clearly set in contemporary times.  For example, 9/11 receives no mention.  This sense of things happening in an eternal present gives the book a fable-like quality.

This is not an easy book to read.  There are graphic depictions of suffering.  Abandonment,  physical and sexual abuse, sexual exploitation, rape, prostitution, addiction, self-harm, domestic violence, suicide, and grief are detailed, so readers need to be prepared for an emotionally harrowing experience.  Most of these miseries are revealed in flashbacks to Jude’s early life, “the snake- and centipede-squirming muck of Jude’s past.”  The relentlessness of Jude’s traumas reminded me of Sisyphus, though Jude has committed no great sin.  The novel can be seen as an examination of the effects of trauma.  Jude emerges from his upbringing physically and emotionally damaged:  “those fifteen years whose half-life have been so long and so resonant . . . have determined everything he has become and done.”  Chronic pain, shame, insecurity, and self-hatred are just some of the effects.  Because of what happened to him, Jude can think of his life only in terms of “its smallness, its worthlessness.”

On the other hand, the book is also an examination of friendship.  Willem thinks about friendship:  “Why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship?  Why wasn’t it even better?  It was two people who remained together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.  Friendship was witnessing another’s slow drip of miseries, and long bouts of boredom, and occasional triumphs.  It was feeling honored by the privilege of getting to be present for another person’s most dismal  moments, and knowing that you could be dismal around him in return.”  Later, he tells Jude, “’I know my life’s meaningful because . . . I’m a good friend.  I love my friends, and I care about them, and I think I make them happy.’”

Though friendship has its value, certainly giving Jude some solace, the book also suggests that it has its limitations.  The friendships Jude has cannot repair him.  As in All My Puny Sorrows by Miriam Toews, a character concludes, “how hard it is to keep alive someone who doesn’t want to stay alive.”

It is some of these friends who are a weakness in the novel.  For thematic development, it is necessary for Jude to have friends.  The difficulty is that he has so many who remain unstintingly loyal and concerned regardless of his behaviour.  It would be expected that some of those friends would fall away, tiring of his repeated actions, but that is not the case.  No one ever seems to outgrow a friendship.  Except for Willem, Malcolm and J.B., however, those friends are not differentiated.  Often, they are just listed:  “Citizen, or Rhodes, or Eli, or Phaedra, or the Henry Youngs” and “Andy, JB, Richard, Harold and Julia, Black Henry Young, Rhodes, Citizen, Andy again, Richard again, Lucien, Asian Henry Young, Phaedra, Elijah.”  Willem, when trying to explain to Jude who he is, says, “’You’re the friend of Malcolm Irvine, of Jean-Baptiste Marion, of Richard Goldfarb, of Andy Contractor, of Lucien Voigt, of Citizen van Straaten, of Rhodes Arrowsmith, of Elijah Kozma, of Phaedra de los Santos, of the Henry Youngs.’”

But the characterization of Jude can only be called amazing.  His inner turmoil is detailed so specifically that there is a vividness to his character that will remain with the reader for a long time.  We may not approve of his behaviour and we may want to shake him and yell at him, but we will certainly understand his motivation. 

This dark and disturbing novel will leave the reader almost overwhelmed.  It is a totally immersive read.  Though it may seem implausible in parts, it will nevertheless leave a lasting impression.  I’m in awe that all that was accomplished in only 700+ pages.

Review of "Dark Places" by Gillian Flynn

  The film version of Gillian Flynn's second novel is being released today.  Here's my review of that book.

4 Stars

Libby Day, 31, is encouraged  to examine whether her brother Ben is guilty of killing their mother Patty and two of their sisters.  She testified that she saw her 15-year-old brother commit the crimes but she was only 7 years old when the murders occurred.  She goes to visit her brother in prison, after refusing any previous contact with him since 1985, and comes away not convinced of his innocence but open at least to considering it.  She sets out to visit everyone involved in the case who might have information.

The book has alternating narration.  Libby’s story is set in the present and is narrated in the first-person; Ben and Patty’s stories are flashbacks to the day of the murder and are narrated in the third-person.  

Libby is not a likeable person; on the first page she admits, “I was not a lovable child, and I’d grown into a deeply unlovable adult.  Draw a picture of my soul, and it’d be a scribble with fangs” (1).  She describes herself as feral and begins her narration by stating, “I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ” (1).  She is lazy, angry, and manipulative and an obsessive thief – clearly a damaged person.   In the end the reader comes to at least understand why she is as she is, and may even admire her knowledge of self.

There is a great deal of suspense.  Some is created by Libby getting closer to learning the truth; more is created in reading about Patty and Ben’s activities as the time of the killings approaches.  Often a chapter ends with a cliff-hanging revelation.  

The ending is a surprise, but clues are given early on, so the reader does not feel cheated.  The problem I have is with the motivation of some of the characters.   There is a very unique motive for murder – which I didn’t find convincing because it is unlikely the Day family would possess the necessary pre-requisite.  The motivation of one minor character who serves as a catalyst for some of the events is not satisfactorily explained.  Also, Ben’s girlfriend remains an enigma and her relationship with Ben left me puzzled.  What was in it for her?  In fact, most of her relationships are strange.  

The book is more than a mystery.  It examines how children can cause “something to happen, something that got bigger than they were.”   The portrayal of children and their motivations is very realistic.  Children do lie and exaggerate to please adults or to get attention and are subject to peer pressure – and this is not necessarily a description of Libby since the actions and statements of several children in the novel impact others as well as themselves.

The novel is a compelling read; the reader will find him/herself drawn in quickly.  Parts are reminiscent of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, but it is a thriller well worth reading.

Bookish Films - Most on Netflix

I love Book Riot (http://bookriot.com/); the site has interesting articles and lists.  They have come up with two lists of bookish films that can be watched on Netflix, one posted last year and one today.  I thought I’d share them.  A book is invariably better than its film version, but sometimes we just want to curl up on the couch with some popcorn to watch a movie. 

Last year’s list, “The Big Bookish Netflix Round-Up,” can be found at http://bookriot.com/2014/07/05/big-bookish-netflix-round-2/.  Its categories are Adaptations of Classics, Contemporary Adaptations, and Documentaries.

This year’s list, “60 Bookish Films Streaming on Netflix,” can be found at http://bookriot.com/2015/08/04/60-bookish-films-streaming-netflix/ and repeats only two films from the previous article.  The categories are Comedy, Romance, Maybe You Didn’t Know it was a Book, Suspense/Thriller/Horror, Television, Cult Classics, Based on Real People, For the Whole Family, Drama, and Best.

Not Yet on Netflix

Of course there are bookish films that are not yet available on Netflix.  These are two I recently viewed and would recommend, though perhaps not because of their faithfulness to the books:

The Woman in Gold which is based on The Lady in Gold: The Extraordinary Tale of Gustav Klimt's Masterpiece, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer written by Anne-Marie O'Connor.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is based on These Foolish Things by Deborah Moggach; if you liked this movie, there is a sequel, The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, which was released earlier this year.

Maybe that will be my next project:  compiling a list of bookish films not yet available on Netflix.  Suggestions?

Currently in Cinemas

In theatres right now are the following films based on books which I plan to see:

Paper Towns based on the book by John Green

Far from the Madding Crowd based on the book by Thomas Hardy

Suite Française based on the book by Irène Némirovsky – one of my favourite books

And this Friday sees the release of Dark Places based on Gillian Flynn’s book; this novel was written before Gone Girl but after Sharp Objects which is apparently being made into a tv-film.

Reviews Archive: "Above All Things" by Tanis Rideout - a Great Debut Novel by a Canadian Writer

   

5 Stars

This is a book I hesitated to pick up because it is about mountain climbing, a pursuit in which I have no interest. The many positive reviews it has received changed my mind, and I’m so happy I was persuaded. It’s not just about mountain climbing, and it is a wonderful read.

The book tells a fictionalized account of George Mallory’s third attempt to conquer Mount Everest, in 1924. The expedition is described from two points of view: that of George’s and that of the expedition’s least-experienced climber, Sandy Irvine. The Everest sections are alternated with one day in the life of Ruth, George’s wife, as she waits for word about her husband. The mountain climbing sections kept my attention because the focus is on the men and their thoughts and reactions and not just the physical obstacles
encountered. The other half, with its imaginative rendering of “what it would mean to be married
to a man like George Mallory” (352), was equally interesting.

Climbing Mount Everest has become an activity for almost anyone with sufficient funds; none of these tourists face the challenges of Mallory and his contemporaries who “willingly endured the discomfort and pain of freezing temperatures and the many dangers of extreme altitudes dressed in little more than Burberry tweeds” (352) at a time when some viewed the use of oxygen tanks as “unsporting” (254). And, unlike Ruth Mallory, the loved ones of modern-day tourists need not wait “for months at a time with nothing but long-delayed letters, delivered by steamer, to soothe [their] worries” (352). At one point Ruth comments, “’The letter. It is weeks old. Everything has already been decided and there’s nothing we can do to change it’” (299), as she copes with the possibility that her husband might not come home.

One aspect of the summit attempt about which I was curious was the question of why the obsession to climb Everest. Mallory once gave the enigmatic response, “’Because it’s there’” (107), but other motivations are suggested. At one point Rideout has Mallory talking about climbing as an escape (130) and the ultimate adrenaline rush: “’Isn’t that part of why we go out there? The fear, the possibility of it all ending? To really feel alive’” (155). As he tries to explain to a doubtful Ruth that the sacrifices involved are worth it, George argues that “’It’s for something greater, Ruth’” (222) and “’A chance to make it up to all of those in the war’” (271). And then there’s the beauty that Irvine describes: “He was enjoying this – the sweep of the mountains around them, the brilliance of the sky. The total silence . . . There was only the sound of his breath. The swish of his boots through the new snow, the crunch of ice below. He thought he understood why George loved mountains. . . . Everything seemed impossibly perfect . . . “ (166). In the end I still didn’t understand why the great desire, but the author’s speculations gave food for thought.

The role of Everest in the relationship between George and Ruth is fascinating. From the opening page it is obvious that Ruth sees herself as competing with the mountain for her husband’s affections as she asks: “’Tell me about this mountain that’s stealing you away from me’” (1). Clearly Ruth’s views of love change because of her husband’s obsession; she observes, “When I was small I imagined love as something safe, something without sharp edges, only the sweeping, enveloping curves of romance and happiness. But it isn’t . . . There are edges and they cut” (177). She even tells George, “’It feels as though we’ve spent more time apart than together . . . That’s not a marriage’” (222). George realizes that his efforts to reach the summit of Everest have had an impact on his relationship, and he thinks that succeeding at his goal will make things right between him and Ruth: “If he came home empty-handed, all the sacrifice would have been for nothing. . . . Ruth had lived for the past five years on the promise that he would reach the summit and then everything would change for them. Disappointing her would break his heart. And Everest would still be there, between them. The great mass of it and the years it had consumed. For nothing. Only claiming the summit could make things right between them” (222 – 223). Was this his ultimate motivation? Yet I found it impossible to imagine that if he had returned, he would have kept his promise never “’to go away again’” (222).

It is George’s character, of course, that is most interesting. He is not an ordinary man; the book jacket describes him as “a man of uncommon athleticism, passion, and ambition” and that is an apt description. He argues that “’Moderation has never led to greatness . . . No, give me a wild temperament’” (153), although others tell him, “’You’re always so damned rash’” (317). Was he selfish and self-centered and a glory hound: “’As long as everything works out in your favour, . . . it doesn’t much matter what happens to anyone else. As long as we’re still there to play the audience to your adventures’” (313)? There is certainly something both admirable and repulsive about someone so single-mindedly determined to achieve a goal.

The book gives one pause to ponder the idea of sacrifice in the pursuit of a goal. Mallory argues that it is “important to risk something if you believed in the end goal” (30), and Sandy’s father tells his son, “’There’s a cost to pay for something worth doing. Anything worth doing. . . . Sacrifice is the watchword’” (64 – 65). Sandy is, however, also given further advice by another expedition member: “’But you have to decide for yourself what price is too high’” (232). At the end of the novel I wondered whether the price paid by Mallory and Irvine was too high. What about the price paid by Ruth and her three children? Mallory thinks that coming home after a failed attempt would mean that “all the sacrifice would have been for nothing” (222), yet he never contemplates what not coming home would mean? And then there’s the question of whether he reached the summit!

I highly recommend this book. It is an indication of the writer’s skill that she kept me entranced throughout, even about a subject in which I had minimal interest and even though I knew the outcome from the very beginning.

(from October 2012)

Review of "A Spool of Blue Thread" by Anne Tyler

4 Stars    

This, Anne Tyler's 20th novel, is one of the books on the 2015 Man Booker Prize longlist.

Like Tyler’s other novels, this is a chronicle of family life.  This time it is the Whitshank family of Baltimore that is under the spotlight.  The first part focuses on Red and Abby, the septuagenarians who are still living in the family home built by Red’s father, and their four adult children and families.   The second half looks back in time to show how Red and Abby and Red’s parents (Junior and Linnie Mae) met and married.

The book examines family dynamics in such a way that every reader will find some similarities with his/her own family.  There are jealousies, resentments, and secrets.  Each family member has a role, such as the prodigal son or the nurturer or the peacekeeper or the bossy sibling, and everyone has emotional needs that come into play. 

Like a spool which keeps spinning out its thread, things are handed down through the generations.  The house and business, for example, came to the family because of Junior’s industriousness.  There are similarities in physical appearance:  “their leanness was the rawboned kind.”  Talents and traits have also been inherited:  Red and Jeannie, his second daughter, are all talented with their hands like Junior, whereas Merrick, Red’s sister, and Amanda, Red’s oldest child, share Junior’s concern for social status. 

The Whitshank family is described as “one of those enviable families that radiate clannishness and togetherness and just . . . specialness.”  Indeed “they imagined they were special,” but one of their quirks is “they had a talent for pretending that everything was fine.”  These descriptions suggest one of the major themes in the book:  the stories we tell ourselves and others may not be accurate reflections of reality.  So many of the characters have romanticized memories, but it turns out that the truth is less glamorous and more complex.  Abby, for example, repeatedly tells the story of falling in love with Red on “a beautiful, breezy, yellow-and-green afternoon,” yet she fails to mention that she was dating another guy at the time.  Linnie talks about her love of Junior being “’Just like Romeo and Juliet,’” but the truth is much darker. 

The Whitshanks have created a family mythology around two stories.  One is about how Junior came to build the family home and the second is about Merrick’s marriage to a man who was once her best friend’s fiancé.  The narrator comments, “Patience. . . was what the Whitshanks imagined to be the theme of their two stories – patiently lying in wait for what they believed should come to them.”  Outsiders, however, might have a more objective view:  “But someone more critical might say that the theme was envy . . . [and] both stories had led to disappointment.”  The Whitshanks choose to have a partial view of the truth.

Controlling the family story is of importance to Abby; at one point, she complains, “’The trouble with dying . . . is that you don’t get to see how everything turns out.  You won’t know the ending.’”  Another example concerns their summer neighbours for 36 years.  Amanda realizes that they might have “noticed a hidden crack somewhere – a sharp exchange or an edgy silence or some sign of strain” and so the Whitshanks choose never to talk to the next-door cottagers.  Exchanging greetings with someone new might involve acknowledging their lack of specialness:  “’we’d have to give our boring names, and our boring occupations.’”

Tyler is not judgmental, however.  The point is that the Whitshanks are no different than any other family:  “There was nothing remarkable about the Whitshanks.  None of them was famous.  None of them could claim exceptional intelligence.  And in looks, they were no more than average.”  They, “like anybody else, . . . [are] Insufferable and likeable.  Bad and good.’”  They might have a bad sheep, sibling rivalry, buried resentments, and hidden secrets, but what family doesn’t? 

This is certainly not a novel of plot.  It is, however, a wonderful portrait of a family, a family which in its ordinariness is like most families.  And perhaps that is what makes them so special and this book special as well.  

95 Days Until the New John Irving Novel!

  One of my favourite authors has written a new novel.  John Irving’s Avenue of Mysteries will become available November 3, 2015. 

Here’s the book’s description from amazon.ca: 

As we grow older--most of all, in what we remember and what we dream--we live in the past. Sometimes, we live more vividly in the past than in the present.

As an older man, Juan Diego will take a trip to the Philippines, but what travels with him are his dreams and memories; he is most alive in his childhood and early adolescence in Mexico. "An aura of fate had marked him," John Irving writes, of Juan Diego. "The chain of events, the links in our lives--what leads us where we're going, the courses we follow to our ends, what we don't see coming, and what we do--all this can be mysterious, or simply unseen, or even obvious."

Avenue of Mysteries is the story of what happens to Juan Diego in the Philippines, where what happened to him in the past--in Mexico--collides with his future.

A Prayer for Owen Meany is one of my all-time favourite novels, and I’ve read virtually all of Irving’s other books, so Avenue of Mysteries has already been pre-ordered.