4.5 Stars
Mary and O’Neil is Justin Cronin’s debut a novel, a book that many of my friends here at Goodreads have recommended to me. I read Cronin’s The Passage, a novel that I should have loved, but just never really connected with. This book like many others is simply a quiet piece of life. It has its focus on the love between a Parent and Child, Love between two very different siblings, and even love between man and woman. It also is heavily weighed down with loss and tragedy. Yet amazingly, this real to life piece of fiction seemed to me to be mostly about the beauty of life itself, tragedy and loss aside. We are treated to many quiet scenes where life details are colored out for us and made three dimensional. We quickly empathize and bond with all the characters each having a unique outlook and point of view that adds to the depth of this book.
The writing in this book is a true standout. You have heard it all before, poetic, lyrical, and magical too. Many of the scenes seemed to be so real to life that you could actually feel like you were there too. Quiet beauty is the best way to describe it.
I have for you two rather long quotes that to me capture the essence of this wonderful read:
“Later, when O’Neil imagines the accident—in the days and weeks that follow, and then for years to come—he imagines that it occurs in silence, and that his parents’ eyes are closed. Their eyes are closed like children asleep in a car at night, their faces and bodies in perfect, trusting repose, his father at the wheel, his mother beside him, and though it makes no sense to think it, he sees them holding hands—as O’Neil will one day hold his daughter’s hand when a nightmare has awakened her, to tell her that he is there beside her, that in sleep we have nothing to fear. Silence, and his parents, and the snow: he inhabits this moment as if it were not imagined but remembered, with a vividness that seems to lodge in his bones, just as he feels, with his body, the moment when the car lifts on the ice and begins its long, languid arc toward the embankment. There is no guardrail, nothing for the car’s front end to strike, to impede its progress or in any way change the nature of the scene, its dreamlike silence. The total, parabolic energy of their vehicle—thirty-five hundred pounds of diesel-powered French station wagon, traveling at or about the legal speed limit of fifty miles per hour—is suddenly, amazingly, tractionless. It is unbounded, set loose from the earth, and though jealous gravity will soon assert itself, whisking his parents to the valley floor at a velocity sufficient to snap the chassis in two, for this moment they are free; they are as free as ghosts, as comets, they are streaking across the heavens; Arthur and Miriam, together at last.”
“Though some might have thought this a morbid scene, a pair of orphans moping around the house, in fact the weeks following their parents’ death passed quickly and became, for O’Neil, a time of strange and unexpected contentment. Unhappiness, he discovered, was an emotion distinct from grief, and he found it was possible both to miss his parents terribly—a loss so overwhelming he simply couldn’t take it all in, like looking at a skyscraper up close—while also finding in the job of settling their affairs a satisfying orderliness. Accounts to be closed, bills to be paid, letters to be read and discarded, clothing to be boxed and carted off: he knew what he and Kay were doing—they were erasing their parents, removing the last evidence of their lives from the earth. It was, O’Neil knew, a way of saying good-bye, and yet with each trip to the Goodwill box behind the Price Chopper, each final phone call to a bank or loan company, he felt his parents becoming real to him in a way that they had never been in life. More than real: he felt them move inside him. Jack had returned to New Haven a few days after the funeral, and alone in the house, O’Neil and Kay slipped into a pattern that was, he realized, the same one his parents had kept, or nearly. The hours they ate and worked and slept, their habit of meeting in the living room in the evenings for a cup of tea—these were all things their parents had done, and on a night close to the end of their time together, O’Neil dreamed that he and Kay were married. It was a dream in which they were both the same and also different—they were at once their parents and themselves—and when he awoke in his old bedroom under the eaves, he felt not revulsion or shame but a fleeting certainty that he had been touched by the world of the spirits.”
Cronin works his magic by penning these stories in such a way that nothing is ever rushed yet at the same time things are never too slow. There is just the right amount of pacing and plot movement to keep us turning the pages. By the time I reached the end of this book I was physically tired due to the emotional toll brought on by the story. Like the book itself, I was left quietly very satisfied and full. I highly recommend this book to fiction lovers and will now have to queue up a reread of The Passage.
Beautifully Sad!!!