The Teahouse Fire

Of all the remarkable things about THE TEAHOUSE FIRE, I'll highlight this one: there are precious few novels that educate the reader without talking down to her, that feed the heart without soppy romanticism, that accomplish poetry without pretention, and that evoke effortlessly the true strangeness of being cast adrift in a world of others' making. This is one such novel. Avery unfolds the life of Aurelia/Urako with such delicacy and precision that her intoxicated reader is moved to terror by the appearance of the wrong tea bowl, to panic by the counting-out of a bow, to unalloyed joy at the eventual gift of love so hard-won. Avery's world is a world of people signalling to each other, as best they can, through gesture and object and the language of ritual, the awful fact that desire rests on the impossibility of making itself known. "One moment, one meeting" is the mantra of tea ceremony, and this book is a sequence of such moments: in which all mistakes are swept away by the understanding that there is no such thing as a mistake. Avery's lucid and exacting prose will be appreciated by fans of Louise Erdrich or Annie Proulx; her eye for historical detail is comparable to Emma Donoghue's or Sarah Waters'. The grace with which she brings these talents together is uniquely her own.

Many historical novels feel all too "set" in a distant time and place, and reading them is like having to walk gingerly through poorly constructed scenery. The Tea House Fire grows out of its setting with the grace and sureness of an organic process that we watch unfold with wonder. The extraordinary details on every page mean that the research for this novel must have been massive, yet it reads as though the author simply grew up in ninteenth-century Japan and assimilated the knowledge of the world she describes as she has her American narrator asssimilate it: as the adoptive daughter/sister in a family that has been teaching the art of tea for centuries. The Tea House Fire creates a world you will want to spend time in. The prose is delicate and original; the characters are unfamiliar and getting to know them slowly is an unusual pleasure, as is making acquaintace with the world that is drawn for us by Ellis Avery in such fine strokes.

The Teahouse Fire, Ellis Avery's first novel, is an epic of late 19th century Japan, as seen through the eyes of an American orphan--Aurelia Bernard. After a teahouse fire, Aurelia escapes the torment of her Uncle Charles, and is adopted by the Shin family, who change her name to Urako. Guided by the daughter of a famous Kyoto tea master, Urako learns--among other things--that "a teahouse is a net to catch the sky." Urako falls in love more than once, and is loved more than once. The sensuality of her inner world and the formality of Japanese tea ceremony (and the hierarchy from which, in part, the ceremony arises) lend this book both tension and grace. In the end, Urako must leave Japan and return to America. She strips away all that is unessential and basks in that which remains--love. Avery's prose is hypnotic and precise. One hears in the cadence of sentences, and in the attention to detail, a lover of beauty. "Sharp. Sweet. Grass. Green. That bowl of tea was all things in all places. A pivot between the living and the dead." Read this book. You will enjoy every sentence.

"The Teahouse Fire" is a fabulous read for many reasons: Author Ellis Avery's poetic and richly detailed prose; her ability to weave a compelling plot (and plot twists), as well as create unforgettable characters whose loyalties both linger and shift across the decades; her passion for tea ceremony and personal knowledge of the ritual; and her extensive research on the Meji period in Japan. Avery writes with authority and deep understanding of the human condition. I loved this book and hope it's the first of many from a gifted writer who deserves to become a household name. "The Teahouse Fire" would be an excellent selection for book clubs!