Here’s my confession: When I first picked up Carla Stewart’s Chasing Lilacs, I fully expected to put it down again a few pages later. I’d heard it was garnering favorable reviews, and because I try to stay current on the latest and greatest in Christian fiction, I thought I’d give it a whirl. Set in the ‘50s and told from the vantage point of a preteen girl, it’s not my usual fare, and I assumed it would be too tame for my tastes.
I was wrong.
It’s the summer of 1958, and life in small-town Texas should be simple and carefree. For twelve-year-old Sammie Tucker, however, it’s anything but. Her mother who has “nerve problems” is sent away to a place where she can receive shock treatments that are supposed to heal her. To Sammie – who blames herself for being unable to help her mother – this sounds frightening, and she questions her father for allowing it to happen. As she wades her way through a complicated swirl of emotions, she clings to a know-it-all friend, her bird-loving neighbor, and the intriguing new boy in town. She also befriends an elderly widower with a dark past and surprising connections to Sammie’s small world.
Though the uplifting tone of Stewart’s novel reflects her “passion for times gone by,” her themes and issues are timely ones – relevant and real. And although a few of her secondary characters lack the subtlety to make them truly believable, most are drawn with deft, clean lines. Emotions are rendered authentically, and the main characters reveal an unusual amount of depth for a coming-of-age novel. Stewart also manages to nail a great opening line and a satisfying concluding one.
Though I can’t say it’s one of my all-time faves, Chasing Lilacs blew my misguided preconceptions out of the water. All in all, I found it an impressive debut.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Body Surfing, book review
In her 2007 novel, Body Surfing, Anita Shreve returns to her trademark setting, the New Hampshire beach house featured in The Pilot’s Wife (Oprah Book Club pick, which I liked), The Weight of Water (Orange Prize finalist, which I did not), Fortune’s Rocks and Sea Glass.
At 29, Sydney (a woman with no last name) has been married twice – once divorced, now widowed. In an effort to regain her equilibrium, she accepts a position as tutor to the daughter of a wealthy couple. At their historic, sprawling beach house, Sydney meets the family’s two grown sons, who vie for her attention. When she becomes engaged to one, it threatens fragile family relationships and, in a disastrous explosion of events, exposes the true character of both the brother she chose and the one she did not.
Typical of Shreve’s novels, Body Surfing is a literary piece, a character study in which she offers keen insights into human nature. Her observations are sharp, often cutting. Atypical, however is the feel of this novel. Instead of a smooth narrative flow, Shreve employs bursts of almost random streams of consciousness. Though some might find this disjointed and (perhaps) jarring, I found it to be a testament to Shreve’s skill that it works, somehow flowing together to form a cohesive whole. When I attempt to figure out her genius, I conclude it’s as much in what Shreve does not say as what she does. She trusts her readers’ intelligence; she doesn’t feel the need to connect every dot, believing we can make the necessary connections ourselves.
That said, I didn’t care much for this novel. It was dark-ish, not one I wanted to savor. Some plot-turns veered into the unbelievable, and one subplot in particular seemed a gratuitous airing of Shreve’s morality. She did, however, leave room for hope at the end, which somewhat redeemed the novel as a whole.
At 29, Sydney (a woman with no last name) has been married twice – once divorced, now widowed. In an effort to regain her equilibrium, she accepts a position as tutor to the daughter of a wealthy couple. At their historic, sprawling beach house, Sydney meets the family’s two grown sons, who vie for her attention. When she becomes engaged to one, it threatens fragile family relationships and, in a disastrous explosion of events, exposes the true character of both the brother she chose and the one she did not.
Typical of Shreve’s novels, Body Surfing is a literary piece, a character study in which she offers keen insights into human nature. Her observations are sharp, often cutting. Atypical, however is the feel of this novel. Instead of a smooth narrative flow, Shreve employs bursts of almost random streams of consciousness. Though some might find this disjointed and (perhaps) jarring, I found it to be a testament to Shreve’s skill that it works, somehow flowing together to form a cohesive whole. When I attempt to figure out her genius, I conclude it’s as much in what Shreve does not say as what she does. She trusts her readers’ intelligence; she doesn’t feel the need to connect every dot, believing we can make the necessary connections ourselves.
That said, I didn’t care much for this novel. It was dark-ish, not one I wanted to savor. Some plot-turns veered into the unbelievable, and one subplot in particular seemed a gratuitous airing of Shreve’s morality. She did, however, leave room for hope at the end, which somewhat redeemed the novel as a whole.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Walking with Her Daughter, book review
I will read just about anything by Jessica Barksdale Inclan, for two reasons: one, because she writes beautifully; two, because the first time I read an Inclan novel, it mesmerized me. One Small Thing captured the heartache of infertility, a subject I know intimately, in a way I’ve never encountered before or since. It makes me hope that every novel she writes will likewise resonate within my soul.
Walking with Her Daughter was Inclan’s 2005 offering. In it, we find Jenna Thomas reeling with grief after the life of her 20-year-old daughter is tragically cut short by a terrorist’s bomb in Bali. As Jenna comes to terms with her shattering loss, she also struggles to make sense of her relationship with her ex-husband, as well as with her younger colleague with whom she has a budding romance. In the midst of this, Jenna makes a discovery that tips everything up on end, and forces her to confront what it means to embrace new life.
Though as flawlessly written as anything she’s done, I did not like this novel. I did admire Inclan’s unparalleled skill as a writer – subtly twisting the plot, drawing unique characters in infinite detail, getting beneath their skins and inside their heads. But about halfway through, I found myself skimming pages (not a good sign) in a hurry to reach the end, not because I was eager to reach the conclusion, but because I wanted to be done with Jenna. As a protagonist, I didn’t enjoy her. Not because her story began with horrific, unimaginable tragedy; so did the heroine of Blue Water by A. Manette Ansay, which I loved. No, the reason I didn’t want to spend time with Jenna was because her choices were repellent to me: habitually sleeping with her ex, drowning her grief in sex with her colleague, debating abortion until she’s assured by extensive prenatal testing that she carries a healthy child… I’m sorry, but yuck. Jenna's unpalatable moral character colored everything she did. And because of this, though the story ended on a hopeful note, it still left me with a bad taste in my mouth.
Walking with Her Daughter was Inclan’s 2005 offering. In it, we find Jenna Thomas reeling with grief after the life of her 20-year-old daughter is tragically cut short by a terrorist’s bomb in Bali. As Jenna comes to terms with her shattering loss, she also struggles to make sense of her relationship with her ex-husband, as well as with her younger colleague with whom she has a budding romance. In the midst of this, Jenna makes a discovery that tips everything up on end, and forces her to confront what it means to embrace new life.
Though as flawlessly written as anything she’s done, I did not like this novel. I did admire Inclan’s unparalleled skill as a writer – subtly twisting the plot, drawing unique characters in infinite detail, getting beneath their skins and inside their heads. But about halfway through, I found myself skimming pages (not a good sign) in a hurry to reach the end, not because I was eager to reach the conclusion, but because I wanted to be done with Jenna. As a protagonist, I didn’t enjoy her. Not because her story began with horrific, unimaginable tragedy; so did the heroine of Blue Water by A. Manette Ansay, which I loved. No, the reason I didn’t want to spend time with Jenna was because her choices were repellent to me: habitually sleeping with her ex, drowning her grief in sex with her colleague, debating abortion until she’s assured by extensive prenatal testing that she carries a healthy child… I’m sorry, but yuck. Jenna's unpalatable moral character colored everything she did. And because of this, though the story ended on a hopeful note, it still left me with a bad taste in my mouth.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Crossing Oceans, book review
If you know anything about Christian fiction, you’ve heard about this debut novel, which has made quite a splash in the Christian publishing industry. When I picked it up, I was prepared to enjoy it because I like edgy fiction, and what’s edgier than death? That’s the topic at the heart of Gina Holmes’ Crossing Oceans.
Jenny Lucas swore she’d never return to the home she abandoned as a willful, pregnant young woman. But life – or, in this case, imminent death – has a way of toppling even the best-laid plans. Six years after she left, she and her young daughter return to her serene, North Carolina hometown, forcing Jenny to confront all that she hoped she’d left behind for good – including her grudge-toting father and her self-absorbed lover, the man who fathered her child. While Jenny struggles to mend what must be mended before it’s too late, she finds herself succumbing the impossible – falling in love. And amidst it all, she’s forced to overcome her own hurts and prejudices in order to do what’s best for the child she loves more than life itself.
I liked Holmes’ multi-faceted characters – how her Christian characters could be flawed, while non-Christian characters could serve as role models. I liked that, despite the heavy themes, Holmes didn’t get bogged down in religiosity – there was no overblown emotion or grandiose philosophizing. Just simple, straightforward storytelling, the way it should be. The characters and plot unfolded naturally, like flowers blooming beneath the sun. Holmes seasoned her prose with delights and surprises, such as, she was by my side faster than I could say, “I’ll be right back,” and Sometimes a picture was worth a thousand lies. I especially savored the artful opening lines and the masterful full-circle effect Holmes achieved with her final one.
But probably Holmes’ greatest achievement was her ability to imbue hope and joy into what could have been a sad story. At the risk of damning with faint praise, I’ll say that I liked this novel a lot. In fact, I recommend it.
Jenny Lucas swore she’d never return to the home she abandoned as a willful, pregnant young woman. But life – or, in this case, imminent death – has a way of toppling even the best-laid plans. Six years after she left, she and her young daughter return to her serene, North Carolina hometown, forcing Jenny to confront all that she hoped she’d left behind for good – including her grudge-toting father and her self-absorbed lover, the man who fathered her child. While Jenny struggles to mend what must be mended before it’s too late, she finds herself succumbing the impossible – falling in love. And amidst it all, she’s forced to overcome her own hurts and prejudices in order to do what’s best for the child she loves more than life itself.
I liked Holmes’ multi-faceted characters – how her Christian characters could be flawed, while non-Christian characters could serve as role models. I liked that, despite the heavy themes, Holmes didn’t get bogged down in religiosity – there was no overblown emotion or grandiose philosophizing. Just simple, straightforward storytelling, the way it should be. The characters and plot unfolded naturally, like flowers blooming beneath the sun. Holmes seasoned her prose with delights and surprises, such as, she was by my side faster than I could say, “I’ll be right back,” and Sometimes a picture was worth a thousand lies. I especially savored the artful opening lines and the masterful full-circle effect Holmes achieved with her final one.
But probably Holmes’ greatest achievement was her ability to imbue hope and joy into what could have been a sad story. At the risk of damning with faint praise, I’ll say that I liked this novel a lot. In fact, I recommend it.
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