Eduardo Santiago
So much heart. Beautiful flawed characters, running to or running from; some strong, some less so; some demonstrating kindnesses that left me stunned. And grief—so much grief, and bereavement (they’re different), and grit. Klagmann has a gift for depicting loss. Gently, calmly, corner-of-the-eye. The grief we live with every day; that forms us.
Not everything worked for me. Klagmann’s form of magical realism is a challenge: at each introduction of a magical element my first reaction is “no, no, it doesn’t work that way” before I remember to engage my Suspension of Disbelief Engine. (This Impossible Brightness had much the same effect on me. I find my response curious and wonder if others feel similarly.) And halfway through, the parts with the journal, felt a little clunky. Beautiful language, but clearly an exposition tool.
No matter. I am overwhelmingly glad to have kept going, just like with Impossible Brightness. These are characters I wanted to talk to. To listen to. Near the end, thirty pages left to go, I felt myself tensing up: in part wondering how she was going to wind everything up, but then realizing that I was dreading that possibility. I didn’t want the book wrapped up; wanted to live in it a while longer. Still do.
[ Tangent: At the book launch two weeks ago Klagmann remarked on how surprised she felt about the novel's progression, how it went in directions she never imagined when she started writing. After hearing that, it was impossible for me not to read the novel with that in mind: every development had me wondering about paths not taken. It added a thoughtful, but not overly distracting, dimension to my reading. I recommend it. ]
So much heart. Beautiful flawed characters, running to or running from; some strong, some less so; some demonstrating kindnesses that left me stunned. And grief—so much grief, and bereavement (they’re different), and grit. Klagmann has a gift for depicting loss. Gently, calmly, corner-of-the-eye. The grief we live with every day; that forms us.
Not everything worked for me. Klagmann’s form of magical realism is a challenge: at each introduction of a magical element my first reaction is “no, no, it doesn’t work that way” before I remember to engage my Suspension of Disbelief Engine. (This Impossible Brightness had much the same effect on me. I find my response curious and wonder if others feel similarly.) And halfway through, the parts with the journal, felt a little clunky. Beautiful language, but clearly an exposition tool.
No matter. I am overwhelmingly glad to have kept going, just like with Impossible Brightness. These are characters I wanted to talk to. To listen to. Near the end, thirty pages left to go, I felt myself tensing up: in part wondering how she was going to wind everything up, but then realizing that I was dreading that possibility. I didn’t want the book wrapped up; wanted to live in it a while longer. Still do.
[ Tangent: At the book launch two weeks ago Klagmann remarked on how surprised she felt about the novel's progression, how it went in directions she never imagined when she started writing. After hearing that, it was impossible for me not to read the novel with that in mind: every development had me wondering about paths not taken. It added a thoughtful, but not overly distracting, dimension to my reading. I recommend it. ]