White Oleander
1999 • 446 pages
Ratings45
Average rating3.8
15
Ratings45
Average rating3.8
Everywhere hailed as a novel of rare beauty and power, White Oleander tells the unforgettable story of Ingrid, a brilliant poet imprisoned for murder, and her daughter, Astrid, whose odyssey through a series of Los Angeles foster homes-each its own universe, with its own laws, its own dangers, its own hard lessons to be learned-becomes a redeeming and surprising journey of self-discovery.
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I loved this book and didn't want it to end. This might seem odd because terrible things kept happening to Astrid and certainly I didn't want to continue to see her suffer. It's just that I was so wrapped up in her thoughts and her world.
The story explores Astrid's search for her identity and her quest is projected onto the need for a mother figure. Her mother Ingrid has a massive ego and she revolves her world and Astrid's world completely around herself. Astrid is totally wrapped up in Ingrid and has very little will of her own. Her mother goes to prison for murdering her lover, leaving Astrid to fend for herself.
Once her mother is taken away, Astrid is forced to live in various foster homes. Sometimes she is abused and suffering. Other times she projects her need for a mother figure on whoever is available. The consequences of this are disastrous. Towards the end of her teenage years, she decides to cut off her emotions, her needs and becomes self-sufficient in a way, but cold.
Throughout the book, Astrid does terrible things and terrible things are done to her. The author is not afraid to take risks. She makes the character sympathetic but doesn't feel the need to have the reader perceive her as flawless. This is a story for and about women. Most of the men are objects and obstacles, side-pieces. The only man the readers will care about is Paul, because he's the only man Astrid trusts or cares about. But even that is left somewhat open-ended as to whether she will want to stay with him.
The scene in the book that brings the story home is when Astrid is in the hospital and her friend is having a baby. Astrid breaks down the necessity of motherhood:
“They wanted the real mother, the blood mother, the great womb, mother of fierce compassion, a woman large enough to hold all the pain, to carry it away. What we needed was someone who bled...mothers big enough, wide enough for us to hide in...mothers who would breathe for us when we could not breathe anymore, who would fight for us, who would kill for us, die for us.”
the language is from time to time excessively baroque, yet fascinating. I disagree with those who insist the story isn't feasible. Astrid is very authentic, and I was very sympathetic with her deep rage.
