There are some novels that have such a powerful voice that you can hear the words as they appear on the page; a voice that sticks in the crevices of your mind and you find your own thoughts taking on the rhythm for hours after you’ve stopped reading. Girl, Woman, Other is a novel with voice.
The Dutch House is another of Ann Patchett’s lifetime novels, following Danny Conroy from childhood to adulthood. The main event happens early on – Danny’s father remarries and then dies, and step-mother Andrea ejects Danny and sister Maeve from their spectacular family home. The plot line may appear a fairy tale, but the realism ofContinue reading “The Dutch House Review”
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Toni Jordan creates the world of The Fragments so perfectly that I began to believe that Inga Karlson and her lost second novel really did exist. This novel moves between New York in the thirties to nineteen-eighties Australia, with a mystery built in that kept me turning the pages for hours.
The novel’s opening lines are poignant: ‘history has failed us, but no matter’.
I love a sweeping novel, and Commonwealth takes us from the christening of Franny Keating to her middle age, dipping into the lives of her parents, step-parents and step-siblings along the way. While a lot of time is covered, Patchett doesn’t get bogged down explaining how characters reach points in life, putting faith in theContinue reading “Commonwealth Review”
The following pieces cannot be read in isolation, one after the other. No story is complete without another; no piece acts as a beginning or end point. Readers, like space travellers, must move forward in loops.
I woke up in the morning when my Bernese Mountain dog, Humphrey, jumped on my side of the bed. His warm weight pressed against my back and I reached a hand out sleepily to stroke his ears. Harry stirred beside me, rolling onto his back, the filtered light through the thin curtains covering our bedroom window drifting over his bare chest. He smiled as I nestled my head into his shoulder and felt his lips brush my forehead.
I dreamt once that I was Lavinia, or Philomela. I had no hands and no tongue, so really I was Lavinia, but somehow I was Philomela. The Blade had cut my tongue sheer off, close to the trembling Root. The mangled Part still quiver’d on the Ground.