February

This book by Canadian novelist Lisa Moore is on the long list for the 2010 Man Booker Prize. It is a curious choice, because it is a quiet book, entirely domestic in scale, in which very little actually happens. I suppose that Anne Enright's THE GATHERING (the 2007 winner) would be the closest comparison. Lisa Moore's novel is similar in being centered around a single family in the aftermath of a death, and moving freely through several decades. But Moore does not have Enright's hysteria or obsessive sexuality, and I appreciate her for that. What she does have is sheer good writing, rich characters, and a sense of truth. At fifty-six, Helen O'Mara is the mother of four grown children and the grandmother of two. She had only just become pregnant with her last child when her husband Cal was drowned in the collapse of the Ocean Ranger oil rig off the coast of Newfoundland in 1982 (a real historical disaster). For more than a quarter-century, she has mastered her grief, seeing her children grow to adulthood, and building up a business for herself as a dressmaker. But she feels unfulfilled and lonely, and will remain so until she comes to terms with Cal's death. The book jacket suggests that there may be undisclosed secrets here, but that is not Moore's way. The facts are as they always were, but the unexpected homecoming of her son John (who also works in the oil industry) triggers a series of memories in Helen, jumping freely in meticulously-labeled short sections between 1972 and the present, which eventually lay out her entire adult life in some kind of a pattern, and enable her to think towards a future. When reading (and not especially liking) Ayelet Waldman's recent RED HOOK ROAD, another novel about a family in a coastal town dealing with grief, I put down my disenchantment to a personal dislike for novels that were small-scale and domestic, rather than dealing with large themes. But FEBRUARY is even smaller in scale, and I enjoyed it greatly. Mostly because Moore writes so well. Little descriptive touches such as "the scrudge-squeak of a naked foot on the royal blue gym mats" in a yoga class, or a tired woman sitting down in a coffee shop who "unzips her jacket and sighs so deeply she falls into herself like a cake." But more than that -- she writes the way people think and talk, in interrupted phrases and non-sequiturs, illuminated by sudden flashes of insight. Yes, there are flaws in the book: it tends to meander a little, some promising ideas go nowhere (such as the fact that John works for a company that perpetuates the same risks that killed his father), and the conclusion is perhaps too pat. But the sense of being inside the mind and heart of such a well-observed character counts for a great deal.

Grieving is such a personal process. I am going thru it now and this book helped me greatly. Ms. Moore has captured grieving without being cloying. How can this be? Has she dealt with the death of a husband? I marvel at her ability to express the thoughts and feelings that I am going through. It is truly a wonderful gift to be able to connect so thoroughly thru the written word. Thank you Ms. Moore for your gift.

This engaging novel emphasizes how grief is a difficult journey and everyone travels it differently. In order to raise her young children she puts aside her own grief issues for many years and just plows on. But eventually she does have to deal with it and it is a lovely healing to watch.