It's a book you'll want to read slowly - for me, a rare, five-star read. There are so many wisdoms, so many glimpses of human nature to contemplate, so many twists and dialogue that rings with the deepest truth. If there's a third, noticeable character in the book, it's probably Nature. The island consists of rocky coastline and the forested interior, and the weather can cause drought or near-swamp conditions. Sophia and her grandmother are in constant contact with their environment - exploring, playing, noticing, building. Both are angry about certain things. The grandmother, near the end of her life, resents the loss of some of her autonomy. Sophia is angry about things she's unable to voice in her young age. Of this novel, a friend of mine said that the grandmother is the best untrained psychologist she's seen. And certainly, there's a nurturing wisdom in the way she handles Sophia's meltdowns, questions, and sometimes, personal attacks.
Written in deceptively simple prose, this novel encompasses depths and depths. Each story lingers, as layers of meaning continue to rise to the surface long after reading. I could choose from many excerpts in this wonderful novel, but here's one.
The sun came up. The fog glowed for an instant and then simply vanished. Out on a flat rock in the water lay a scolder. It was wet and dead and looked like a wrung-out plastic bag. Sophia declared that it was an old crow, but Grandmother didn't believe her.
"But it's spring!" Sophia said. "They don't die now; they're brand new and just married - that's what you said!"
"Well," Grandmother said, "it did die now, all the same."
"How did it die?" Sophia yelled. She was very angry.
"Of unrequited love," her grandmother explained. "He sang and scolded all night for his scolder hen and then along came another and stole her away, so he put his head under the water and floated away."
"That's not true," Sophia screamed. She started to cry. "Long-tails can't drown. Tell it right!"
So Grandmother told her he had simply hit his head on a rock. He was singing and scolding so hard that he didn't look where he was going, and so it just happened, right when he was happier than he'd ever been before.
"That's better," Sophia said. "Shall we bury him?"
"It's not necessary," Grandmother said. "The tide will come in and he'll bury himself. Seabirds are supposed to be buried at sea, like sailors."
I highly recommend this wonderful book for your summer pile. Next up in my summer reading project, Maggie Shipstead's Seating Arrangements.
