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Bursting with wonder and delicate despair, Serrie Sullivan longs for the world, but she's trapped, just like Dorothy in Oz. Serrie's got a nasty secret. It's festering inside her, because in the gothic Annapolis Valley, hey, that's what you do -- you never show and you never, ever tell. As she dashes from her wedding altar on the run of her life, ardently wanting to understand what has brought her to this moment, Serrie sweeps us up in an exhilarating and poignant journey from rural Nova Scotia to London bars, to strip clubs by the docks, through mental hospital wards and rehab centres, back to quiet verandahs and porch swings in serene Lupin Cove. Along the way we meet a delightful array of off-beat characters including Serrie's best friends, Dearie and Elizabeth: Dearie, the anglicized Acadian who wants to go to New Orleans to find her Cajun relatives, and Elizabeth, who would like nothing better than to spend the rest of her life picking strawberries. Heave explores the joys and agonies of family, of what one generation inherits from the next, and of how past and present are inexorably linked. Memories weave through the book as Serrie searches for equanimity in a life that intoxicates her with its beauty as it knocks her to her knees.… (altro)
This book made me homesick for Nova Scotia so badly. Conlin captures the valley and Halifax so well, the characters using just the right amount of Nova Scotia vernacular to make it believable without becoming caricatured. The story is slow to start off and quite dense for the first few pages. Characters are sometimes thrown in with formal introductions being made a hundred pages later (like Gordie). But the story really starts to take off somewhere around page forty, where if the reader has persevered through what seems to be impenetrable stream-of-consciousness drunken ramblings, you are treated to an engaging picture of life on the east coast.
The ending, however, much like the beginning, is unsatisfying. The last ten pages or so feel rushed and so much happens so quickly that it is disappointing to get so far only to have so much fall apart with what it seems to be a mad dash to the finish, leaving as much emotional carnage in its wake as possible. ( )
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After a while Haze got up and started walking back to town. It took him three hours to get inside the city again. He stopped at a supply store and bought a tin bucket and a sack of quicklime and then he went on to where he lived, carrying these. When he reached the house, he stopped outside on the sidewalk and opened the sack of lime and poured the bucket half full of it. Then he went to a water spigot by the front steps and filled the rest of the bucket with water and started up the steps. His landlady was sitting on the porch, rocking a cat. "What you going to do with that, Mr. Motes?" she asked. "Blind myself," he said, and went into the house.
—FLANNERY O'CONNER, WISE BLOOD
Wild animals run from the dangers they actually see, and once they have escaped them worry no more. We however are tormented alike by what it past and what is to come.
—SENECA, LETTERS FROM A STOIC: EPISTULAE MORALES AD LUCILIUM. FROM "LETTER V.", TRANSLATED BY ROBIN CAMPBELL.
Dedica
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To Heather Morse
and to
Valerie Thompson and Marie Cameron
Incipit
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Dearie always said, "Go tits to the wind."
Citazioni
Ultime parole
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The green grass is cool on the soles of my feet as I step from the outhouse and look out to the Lupin Cove Road, then down over the Mountain and into the Valley below, everything old and familiar, everything mine.
Bursting with wonder and delicate despair, Serrie Sullivan longs for the world, but she's trapped, just like Dorothy in Oz. Serrie's got a nasty secret. It's festering inside her, because in the gothic Annapolis Valley, hey, that's what you do -- you never show and you never, ever tell. As she dashes from her wedding altar on the run of her life, ardently wanting to understand what has brought her to this moment, Serrie sweeps us up in an exhilarating and poignant journey from rural Nova Scotia to London bars, to strip clubs by the docks, through mental hospital wards and rehab centres, back to quiet verandahs and porch swings in serene Lupin Cove. Along the way we meet a delightful array of off-beat characters including Serrie's best friends, Dearie and Elizabeth: Dearie, the anglicized Acadian who wants to go to New Orleans to find her Cajun relatives, and Elizabeth, who would like nothing better than to spend the rest of her life picking strawberries. Heave explores the joys and agonies of family, of what one generation inherits from the next, and of how past and present are inexorably linked. Memories weave through the book as Serrie searches for equanimity in a life that intoxicates her with its beauty as it knocks her to her knees.
)
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(3.63)
1
The ending, however, much like the beginning, is unsatisfying. The last ten pages or so feel rushed and so much happens so quickly that it is disappointing to get so far only to have so much fall apart with what it seems to be a mad dash to the finish, leaving as much emotional carnage in its wake as possible. (