I finished it in the middle of the night, then listened again to a Diane Rehm interview with the author.
The book follows a woman throughout her life, from childhood (between WWI and II) to living in an assisted living facility. It doesn't have a big plot that makes it a page-turner. What is has--what I love--are quiet portraits of the people who make up the Brooklyn neighborhood of Marie and her family.
It occurs to me that most of us, writing and talking, use larger brush strokes to describe people. "So and so is like thus and so" or "He was an arrogant sort of guy." Or we rely on cliches: "It wasn't anything to write home about" or "She was bright as a tack."
McDermott's writing reminds me to be more precise as an observer of people and interactions, without using those broad strokes. Her talent as a writer is precision, the use of details that set people apart with their unique gestures and idiosyncratic speech patterns. She does what Joseph Conrad claims to do in his writing: "To make you see."
Here is part of the conversation between Marie and the undertaker--who is hiring her for a job:
He placed his elbows on the desk and held his hands before him. They were large, well-padded hands that nevertheless, perhaps because they were so pale, looked weightless. "Two things you'll do for this establishment," he said, "as i see it," and moved his hands up and down as if measuring one against the other. "The first I'll try and put"--he searched for the word--"delicately." And raised his eyebrows again....
When the novel ends, you take with you all these characters. You take them home. You know them up close. Each character--particularly the narrator--is someone you feel you know.
It occurs to me that most of us, writing and talking, use larger brush strokes to describe people. "So and so is like thus and so" or "He was an arrogant sort of guy." Or we rely on cliches: "It wasn't anything to write home about" or "She was bright as a tack."
McDermott's writing reminds me to be more precise as an observer of people and interactions, without using those broad strokes. Her talent as a writer is precision, the use of details that set people apart with their unique gestures and idiosyncratic speech patterns. She does what Joseph Conrad claims to do in his writing: "To make you see."
Here is part of the conversation between Marie and the undertaker--who is hiring her for a job:
He placed his elbows on the desk and held his hands before him. They were large, well-padded hands that nevertheless, perhaps because they were so pale, looked weightless. "Two things you'll do for this establishment," he said, "as i see it," and moved his hands up and down as if measuring one against the other. "The first I'll try and put"--he searched for the word--"delicately." And raised his eyebrows again....
When the novel ends, you take with you all these characters. You take them home. You know them up close. Each character--particularly the narrator--is someone you feel you know.
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