The Year of Magical Thinking has embarrassingly been on my TBR list since it came out in 2005. So it's only fitting that my review was also so long in being finalized. It finally made it on my TBR shelf thanks to my local library used book sale and I picked it up for a solid $1. As soon as I started reading I remembered why I had been so interested in reading in the first place. To say that Joan Didion is an exceptional writer should really not have to be said, but for the uninitiated, Joan Didion and her husband John Dunne are basically literary royalty. That a personal tragedy would occur and the best way Joan could process it was to write it all out as a touching memoir is the least surprising thing that could happen. And it's fortunate for us that she decided to do this. Because there is something so poignant in the way she has shared her sorrow. She's able to put words to experiences that others can only feel. And she has access, in her brain, from all this writing to the writing of others that can succinctly say what she needs said, and there's only honor in turning to these sources when they're required. I read: "'one has only learnt to get the better of words / For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which / One is no longer disposed to say it'". YES!! My heart sang as I LITERALLY leapt out of my seat. Yes! I've felt so many things in my life that I was unable, at the time, to explain or comprehend, only later to find I could put words to the thoughts when they were no longer relevant, or no longer urgent and the time had past for saying them.Joan is able to spell out the pain and confusion and just plain heartache that comes when losing a spouse. The fog she wandered in for months afterwards feels so real and so damn relate-able, even if I can't imagine myself in a NY apartment, having the connections she had. That she was also dealing with her daughter's serious illness just compounds my deep sympathy and admiration of her courage in sharing it all on the page.
5/5 Stars.
It's been two days since I finished Blindness. And I thought two days would be enough time to really process what I thought of this one. But here I sit, two days of thinking of what to say, and I'm still not really sure.
That I even decided to pick up this book and start it is a real accomplishment. I tried so hard to read Saramago's History of the Siege of Lisbon last year. But once the dog started narrating I was just done. And I couldn't get past Saramago's lack of paragraph breaks for dialogue. I guess the story just wasn't interesting enough for me to do so much work to figure out what was talking.
But in this case, Blindness was interesting enough, and horrifying enough, and realistic enough. (No dogs narrate in this one). The book starts with a man suddenly going blind at an intersection. Despite the honking cars, he's paralyzed by indecision and cannot find a way to get out of his car. He's disoriented. A "good samaritan" helps him home and into his house (and then steals his car -but don't worry that guy goes blind too, so Karma).
The blindness begins to spread. The government, also paralyzed by fear, decides to stick the blind and those they've come in contact with in an unused former mental asylum. They deliver food three times a day. Otherwise the blind are left to fend for themselves. More and more afflicted begin to arrive. The conditions are deplorable. No working toilets, no clean water.
And then, one group of the blind begin to terrorize the others. Until, well, I don't want to give too much away. But it's actually painful to read, but again not totally foreign because sometimes epidemics do not bring out the best in people. And just because people are afflicted does not mean that they are honorable or even worthy of assistance. Being blind brings out the worst in people in some cases.
The interesting parts are how Saramago really nails all those things we rely on sight for. The blind don't even recognize each other. People they've known or been intimate with are strangers. It's altogether pretty fascinating.
Again, I'm not a big fan of how Saramago constructs his dialogue. It's confusing and irritating, but in this case, I didn't mind a little extra work to get it done. So, I can see why he's a nobel laureate, and I kind of forgive him for that Lisbon thing.
4/5 Stars.
Lovely from beginning to end.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. The narrative follows two teenagers during World War II, blind Marie-Laure of Paris, France and Werner Pfennig of Germany. Both characters overcome obstacles and deal with their own limitations (Marie's physical, Werner's one of character) where time and the machinery of war eventually lead them to meet.
The chapters dealing with Werner's schooling at an elite political school and the brutal treatment of the students by the instructors were exceptionally well written and devastating at the same time. In particular, the school sections of Werner's narrative focus on his friendship with Frederick, a boy who "sees things that others do not." Ultimately Frederick's ability to stand outside of the events and refuse to be a part of the cruel system make him a target. I won't get into specifics of what Werner does or does not do, but I will say that at this point in the story, he's not a hero.
I held out hope for the ultimate happy ending but was not disappointed when it did not happen.
The chapters are incredibly short, giving this book a fast reading feel despite the 500+ page length. Intricately woven, the short chapters bounce through time and location but surprisingly it was not difficult to follow and was well laid out developing the characters even as we knew how their worlds would ultimately collide.
I don't want to give away too much of the plot but both the main two characters and the minor characters are so well written and developed that it's an astounding feat. I can't wait to read more from this author.
5/5 Stars.
