Smallish, hardback books are just too tempting for words, especially when they are written by an author that I truly revere. So, finding this book displayed face up on the front table of Waterstones, well, I just knew I was going to buy it.
This is planets away from lengthy, family stories such as Brooklyn and Long Island and, I have to say it is not a jolly, happy tale. However, it is definitely worth reading and it has left me thinking quite deeply about many issues raised in the book.
We are in a village, maybe hamlet really, on the edge of the Pyrenees. An alcoholic mother walks out of her home despite being loved by her family, albeit rather undemonstrably. It snows and she is lost, as are her husband and son left behind. They flounder, both emotionally and in a practical sense. What should they do without her and will they ever find her, even if it is frozen to death in the snow and ice?
The father brings a teenage boy into the household, an orphan who has been passed around from relative to relative and who is adept at keeping house. From then on the narrative brings to mind (very strangely) Kazuo Ishiguro’s ‘The Remains of the Day.’ What I mean by this is that very little seems to happen but you become aware that beneath the surface emotions are in a turmoil, sealed up, buttoned down.
This book is cloth bound in red with a snowy picture on the dust jacket, all bringing to mind Christmas, sorry! It would though make a lovely gift for a committed reader, maybe not for someone who would be hoping for a cosy Christmassy ending. I imagine it being read in one long afternoon, or two evenings, by the fire, with a drink of your choice and a blanket or quilt for extra comfort. The writing is as skilled as you would expect from Colm Toibin and the stories offer much to think about.