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Goldengrove
“With a dazzling mix of directness and metaphor, Prose captures the centrifugal and isolating force of grief. . . . “[ Goldengrove is] a moving meditation on how, out of the painful passing of innocence and youth, sexuality and identity can miraculously emerge.” — Los Angeles Times An emotionally powerful novel about adolescent love and loss from Francine Prose, the New York Times bestselling author of Reading Like a Writer and A Changed Man . After the sudden death of her beloved older sister, thirteen-year-old Nico finds her life on New England's idyllic Mirror Lake irrevocably altered. Left alone to grope toward understanding, she falls into a seductive, dangerous relationship with her sister's boyfriend. Over one haunted summer, Nico faces that life-changing moment when children realize their parents can no longer help them as she experiences the mystery of loss and recovery. Still, for all the darkness at its heart, Goldengrove is radiant with the lightness of summer and charged by the restless sexual tension of adolescence.
275 pages, Paperback
First published September 16, 2008
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1476 people want to read
About the author
Francine Prose
155 books863 followersFrancine Prose is the author of twenty works of fiction. Her novel A Changed Man won the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, and Blue Angel was a finalist for the National Book Award. Her most recent works of nonfiction include the highly acclaimed Anne Frank: The Book, The Life, The Afterlife, and the New York Times bestseller Reading Like a Writer. The recipient of numerous grants and honors, including a Guggenheim and a Fulbright, a Director's Fellow at the Dorothy and Lewis B. Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers at the New York Public Library, Prose is a former president of PEN American Center, and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Her most recent book is Lovers at the Chameleon Club, Paris 1932. She lives in New York City.
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April 10, 2019
and here is a perfect example of why readers' advisory is so, so tricky, and why i am devoting my life to perfecting the process.
i first came across this book when i was doing an assignment for my readers' advisory class a couple of years ago. my goal was to find a read-alike for The God of Animals, which i had just read and unexpectedly loved.
for the assignment, i used many different readers' advisory resources in order to come up with suitable read-alikes. after using NYPL's "fiction connection" resource, this book was suggested to me as a read-alike based on the following matching terms:
fiction
domestic
coming of age
family relationships
adolescence
lost loves
drownings
obsessions
loner
and after reading reviews and publisher information,i noted other similarities between the two titles: distracted parents,and a secret and potentially inappropriate romance.
not bad, right? i should have enjoyed this book just as much as i enjoyed The God of Animals
but i didn't. far from it.
here's the problem - this book was completely perfunctory. there is nothing new in this book, nothing that makes the reader go "aha! how interesting!!" it is so commonplace. 17-year-old girl dies, father immerses himself in his work, mother turns to pills, 13-year-old sister is left to her own devices, and ends up hanging around with her dead sister's boyfriend, while he superimposes his memories of his lost beloved upon this way-too-young girl, and she has to manage both her grief and her confusing feelings about this "friendship."
there is nothing wrong with these elements, but the telling of them is just bland and well-worn. there is nothing new here - there is no real risk in the writing. with The God of Animals, there was this ineffable "rightness" that captured the spirit of that age so well, and the character's blunderings towards adulthood were heartbreaking and had more emotional appeal than a tapioca lifetime movie, which is what this book most closely resembles. plus,The God of Animals had horsies.
on the surface, the computer did its job in making this match. all the nouns and verbs are there, except for that one tiny little thing: style. skill. writing. it would be frustrating, if it weren't so exciting to think of all the ways readers' advisory services could be modified for improvement. don't worry, this is something i am going to be working on - you don't have to lift a finger.
but as for this book. shrug. it's fine, but there are much better books out there that handle their themes better than this one does. do what you want, i am only here to advise.
come to my blog!
i first came across this book when i was doing an assignment for my readers' advisory class a couple of years ago. my goal was to find a read-alike for The God of Animals, which i had just read and unexpectedly loved.
for the assignment, i used many different readers' advisory resources in order to come up with suitable read-alikes. after using NYPL's "fiction connection" resource, this book was suggested to me as a read-alike based on the following matching terms:
fiction
domestic
coming of age
family relationships
adolescence
lost loves
drownings
obsessions
loner
and after reading reviews and publisher information,i noted other similarities between the two titles: distracted parents,and a secret and potentially inappropriate romance.
not bad, right? i should have enjoyed this book just as much as i enjoyed The God of Animals
but i didn't. far from it.
here's the problem - this book was completely perfunctory. there is nothing new in this book, nothing that makes the reader go "aha! how interesting!!" it is so commonplace. 17-year-old girl dies, father immerses himself in his work, mother turns to pills, 13-year-old sister is left to her own devices, and ends up hanging around with her dead sister's boyfriend, while he superimposes his memories of his lost beloved upon this way-too-young girl, and she has to manage both her grief and her confusing feelings about this "friendship."
there is nothing wrong with these elements, but the telling of them is just bland and well-worn. there is nothing new here - there is no real risk in the writing. with The God of Animals, there was this ineffable "rightness" that captured the spirit of that age so well, and the character's blunderings towards adulthood were heartbreaking and had more emotional appeal than a tapioca lifetime movie, which is what this book most closely resembles. plus,The God of Animals had horsies.
on the surface, the computer did its job in making this match. all the nouns and verbs are there, except for that one tiny little thing: style. skill. writing. it would be frustrating, if it weren't so exciting to think of all the ways readers' advisory services could be modified for improvement. don't worry, this is something i am going to be working on - you don't have to lift a finger.
but as for this book. shrug. it's fine, but there are much better books out there that handle their themes better than this one does. do what you want, i am only here to advise.
come to my blog!December 4, 2013
After reading two other reviews on Goldengrove, one a five star review, the other a two star review, I was surprised to find both reviews shared much of the same sentiments and echoed many of my opinions regarding the book. I really had mixed feelings about the novel. On one hand, I felt a bit disappointed that the book's storyline did nothing to distance itself from the countless other novels about death and tragedy. On the other hand, Francine Prose's powerful writing style was able to draw in my interest and effectively compensated for her painstakingly slow plot development. It seems that the other two reviews also agreed with my ideas.
To start off on a positive note, I felt that Goldengrove was truly exquisitely written. The author had an uncanny ability to evoke emotions and create dazzling descriptions. An example of this is:
“Margaret’s death had shaken us, like three dice in a cup, and spilled us out with new faces in unrecognizable combinations...We could have been sea creatures stranded on the beach, puzzling over an empty shell that reminded us of the ocean.”
Another aspect of the novel I particularly enjoyed was the fact that even though the book does center around how the main character Nico, deals with her sister’s death, it wasn’t thoroughly depressing and dark in any sense. In fact, Francine Prose seems to have a knack for incorporating hilarious dry humor into otherwise bland or sorrowful topics. For instance:
“Every Middle Eastern country we invade, the cost of oil skyrockets, which jacks up the price of your pecans and whatever carcinogenic shit they put in that pistachio. Plus every bomb we drop shortens the time until the next dirty-bomb attack. I figure the human race has got about another fifteen minutes, max. That’s why I like selling frozen dessert. Enjoy it before it melts-along with the polar ice caps. Ha ha.”
Despite being very well written, one gaping flaw in the novel is the plot development. Throughout the book, and in the beginning especially, there is a huge whole where excitement or build up to the climax usually lie. It seemed as if the author took the introduction in most books and pulled at it until the descriptions of nothing but character and setting filled up half the book. Thankfully, she was able to redeem herself through her writing style.
What I learned from evaluating both reviews is how much one enjoys reading Goldengrove will be greatly dependent on how much they value quality of writing versus plot development that contains a lot of action and excitement. I would say Goldengrove is suitable for those who like luscious insightful descriptions of simple situations, elegant writing styles, and a little bit of dry humor. Though the storyline of the novel is very typical, for people looking for a slightly different take on grief, I would recommend them to Goldengrove a try.
To start off on a positive note, I felt that Goldengrove was truly exquisitely written. The author had an uncanny ability to evoke emotions and create dazzling descriptions. An example of this is:
“Margaret’s death had shaken us, like three dice in a cup, and spilled us out with new faces in unrecognizable combinations...We could have been sea creatures stranded on the beach, puzzling over an empty shell that reminded us of the ocean.”
Another aspect of the novel I particularly enjoyed was the fact that even though the book does center around how the main character Nico, deals with her sister’s death, it wasn’t thoroughly depressing and dark in any sense. In fact, Francine Prose seems to have a knack for incorporating hilarious dry humor into otherwise bland or sorrowful topics. For instance:
“Every Middle Eastern country we invade, the cost of oil skyrockets, which jacks up the price of your pecans and whatever carcinogenic shit they put in that pistachio. Plus every bomb we drop shortens the time until the next dirty-bomb attack. I figure the human race has got about another fifteen minutes, max. That’s why I like selling frozen dessert. Enjoy it before it melts-along with the polar ice caps. Ha ha.”
Despite being very well written, one gaping flaw in the novel is the plot development. Throughout the book, and in the beginning especially, there is a huge whole where excitement or build up to the climax usually lie. It seemed as if the author took the introduction in most books and pulled at it until the descriptions of nothing but character and setting filled up half the book. Thankfully, she was able to redeem herself through her writing style.
What I learned from evaluating both reviews is how much one enjoys reading Goldengrove will be greatly dependent on how much they value quality of writing versus plot development that contains a lot of action and excitement. I would say Goldengrove is suitable for those who like luscious insightful descriptions of simple situations, elegant writing styles, and a little bit of dry humor. Though the storyline of the novel is very typical, for people looking for a slightly different take on grief, I would recommend them to Goldengrove a try.
November 22, 2009
In a word, meh - by the way, is "meh" a word? The prose is beautiful and haunting - Goldengrove is an extremely well-written novel. Why then the meh? Well, I just couldn't manage to get involved with any of the characters. Consequently in the end, I was completely unmoved by their story. The plot is bland and just plain disappointing, and the characters were flat as pancakes. Goldengrove completely failed to hit the mark with me.
Don't get me wrong, it's not a terrible book. Gracefully and elegantly worded though it may be, it just didn't work for me. Sometimes well-formed sentences and paragraphs cannot save a novel. It took another week out of my life to slog through Goldengrove - and without anything to show for it. I am a very disappointed reader.
Don't get me wrong, it's not a terrible book. Gracefully and elegantly worded though it may be, it just didn't work for me. Sometimes well-formed sentences and paragraphs cannot save a novel. It took another week out of my life to slog through Goldengrove - and without anything to show for it. I am a very disappointed reader.
July 25, 2011
Really powerful, well-written book. Just when I thought this book would be another coming-of-age/family deals with grief novel, Francine Prose had some great tricks up her sleeve. Terrific characters and the whole story was very compelling, plus the backdrop of Mirror Lake and the small town they lived in were really evocative.
February 10, 2010
Sometimes I read books with really poetic language and it irritates me, because I feel like the author's trying too hard (example: Echo by Francesca Lia Block). Although Prose's language in this book was indeed poetic, it wasn't overly so, and that's what pulled me in.
I liked this, although it was quite different from the satire I'm used to from Prose. Didn't know what I'd think of it; picked this up on sale at a bookstore that was going out of business. It had this creepy effect on me. It made me think about my relationship with my own sister. I don't think about her much usually; we're not especially close. This irritates our parents, who have an odd thing in common: they've both lost an older sibling.
Some people have criticized this book for its lack of plot. But grief lacks plot. The days pass and things happen and those things catch you off-guard because you're forced to realize that the world doesn't stop with you.
So high five, Francine Prose, for capturing that.
I liked this, although it was quite different from the satire I'm used to from Prose. Didn't know what I'd think of it; picked this up on sale at a bookstore that was going out of business. It had this creepy effect on me. It made me think about my relationship with my own sister. I don't think about her much usually; we're not especially close. This irritates our parents, who have an odd thing in common: they've both lost an older sibling.
Some people have criticized this book for its lack of plot. But grief lacks plot. The days pass and things happen and those things catch you off-guard because you're forced to realize that the world doesn't stop with you.
So high five, Francine Prose, for capturing that.
May 24, 2014
It is interesting the effect of books such as 'Gone girl', 'Lovely Bones' etc have had in that when a book features a death in the early pages, you begin to immediately look for the angle, the secret killer, the mysterious element that will gradually be revealed. In 'Goldengrove' Francine Prose has simply written a book about a death, its effects on a family and on those closest to the one who died. Towards the end of the novel a more sinister element does creep in but this is no whodunnit, there is no dramatic revelation. The gradual realization of this early on in the book made me wonder if the author could maintain such an apparently simple narrative without losing the reader, however this soon comes to be moot. Prose manages to keep us involved in the experience of this grief-stricken family, in each members reaction and coping mechanisms. The thirteen year old narrative voice of Nico comes across as authentic and empathetic as she deals with other's reactions and behavior and I was pleased that the family didn't automatically self-implode as so often in such novels. When cracks began to show there was some disappointment particularly in Nico's mother's actions yet the drama is contained and the emphasis is on the fact that this is a loving family who are broken by what has happened.
It is Nico's experience, however that makes this such a good read both in her desire for messages from her sister, for a continued connection or explanation and her gradual metamorphosis into a Margaret clone which evolves her relationship with Aaron. How this plays out provides the suspense in the novel but it is not suspense that the pacing of the novel requires, it is simply caused by our interest in how this one death affects this one girl.
It is Nico's experience, however that makes this such a good read both in her desire for messages from her sister, for a continued connection or explanation and her gradual metamorphosis into a Margaret clone which evolves her relationship with Aaron. How this plays out provides the suspense in the novel but it is not suspense that the pacing of the novel requires, it is simply caused by our interest in how this one death affects this one girl.
June 6, 2010
This was a waste of my time. I feel that all books bring a memory or a thought that is worth digging up from your past. This brought nothing. It was completely a disappointment at the end of the book.
The book is about a young girl named Margaret that goes through the horrible experience of having her older sister die. Her older sister was apparently the favorite. Her sister dies around page 20 and for the next 250 pages (luckily its a short read) Margaret is grieving and getting through it basically on her own due to her parents being consumed with their own grief. It has no plot or climax. It just ends.
I closed the book, sighed heavily and walked it down to the book shelf where I shoved it in the back in hopes to never think of it again.
Shame.
The book is about a young girl named Margaret that goes through the horrible experience of having her older sister die. Her older sister was apparently the favorite. Her sister dies around page 20 and for the next 250 pages (luckily its a short read) Margaret is grieving and getting through it basically on her own due to her parents being consumed with their own grief. It has no plot or climax. It just ends.
I closed the book, sighed heavily and walked it down to the book shelf where I shoved it in the back in hopes to never think of it again.
Shame.
April 30, 2023
I read this in two days and enjoyed it. It's fast paced and well written.
Goldengrove centres around the accidental death of Margaret and the effect upon her family and boyfriend. When Nico, Margaret's sister starts meeting Aaron her sister's boyfriend they become 'dangerously' but understandably close. That Nico is only thirteen and Aaron seventeen made me a little squeamish but I suppose it was meant to.
Just read for the second time and liked it even more.
Goldengrove centres around the accidental death of Margaret and the effect upon her family and boyfriend. When Nico, Margaret's sister starts meeting Aaron her sister's boyfriend they become 'dangerously' but understandably close. That Nico is only thirteen and Aaron seventeen made me a little squeamish but I suppose it was meant to.
Just read for the second time and liked it even more.
December 31, 2016
I just couldn't finish this book. I didn't care about any of the characters and after over 100 pages the words became meaningless. Life is too short to read books you just don't like. Moving on.
November 5, 2008
If you've looked at this book (or the picture of it), you will likely agree with me that this is a book that begs you to read it. That is, if you’re the type (as I am) to judge a book by its cover. It’s fascinating to me how intriguing a picture of a boat and a lake can be.
I’m sure you’re wondering, then, if it lives up to its cover. After a bit of internal debate, I think it does. Why the debate? Because the book is so damn sad, it’s hard to admit that it was a lovely read.
Goldengrove is the story of a happy family of four - a mom, dad, and two sisters - which becomes a family of three when the oldest daughter tragically and unexpectedly dies. It is the story of grief and of how each person grieves in his or her own way and of how survivors struggle to continue living without their daughter or sister or girlfriend. Part of what makes the book so bewitching is the fact that the story is told from the perspective of the surviving 13-year-old sister.
Did any of you read Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, or at least read some of the reviews touting it as work of “surpassing clarity and honesty” with regards to grief? I feel cruel in saying this because clearly the book was a cathartic way for Didion to express her grief, but to me, that book was self-indulgent and more than a bit dull. I know comparing a fiction book like Goldengrove to a memoir like Magical Thinking is a bit like comparing apples to oranges (or maybe…apples to pears?), but to me, Goldengrove provided a much more visceral illustration of grief and mourning while keeping me interested enough that I didn’t want to put the book down.
Of course, there’s more to the story than I’m revealing here, which helped with the whole “keeping me interested” part but also contributed to the problem of admitting that the book was lovely. How’s that for bringing a little mystery into a book review, huh?
I’m sure you’re wondering, then, if it lives up to its cover. After a bit of internal debate, I think it does. Why the debate? Because the book is so damn sad, it’s hard to admit that it was a lovely read.
Goldengrove is the story of a happy family of four - a mom, dad, and two sisters - which becomes a family of three when the oldest daughter tragically and unexpectedly dies. It is the story of grief and of how each person grieves in his or her own way and of how survivors struggle to continue living without their daughter or sister or girlfriend. Part of what makes the book so bewitching is the fact that the story is told from the perspective of the surviving 13-year-old sister.
Did any of you read Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, or at least read some of the reviews touting it as work of “surpassing clarity and honesty” with regards to grief? I feel cruel in saying this because clearly the book was a cathartic way for Didion to express her grief, but to me, that book was self-indulgent and more than a bit dull. I know comparing a fiction book like Goldengrove to a memoir like Magical Thinking is a bit like comparing apples to oranges (or maybe…apples to pears?), but to me, Goldengrove provided a much more visceral illustration of grief and mourning while keeping me interested enough that I didn’t want to put the book down.
Of course, there’s more to the story than I’m revealing here, which helped with the whole “keeping me interested” part but also contributed to the problem of admitting that the book was lovely. How’s that for bringing a little mystery into a book review, huh?
November 8, 2008
I had a similar reaction to this novel as I did for Gossip of the Starlings. It's incredibly readable and draws you in, but it's not very satisfying.
I had a hard time reconciling the voice of the main character, Nico. She sounded infinitely older and more mature than the 13 years old she was supposed to be. It's not clear until the end that these are memories that she's recalling as an adult--that subsequent passing of years really warps the tone and treatment of her story. I think it could have been more powerful if it had an immediate setting, being told in the present tense of the teen's perspective.
The author's insistence on explaining scenes that were explicit enough to begin with gets annoying. One particularly desperate and intense scene involving Nico and Aaron (her deceased sister's boyfriend) eating ice cream would resonate well enough without Prose then going on to have Nico sum up what just happened.
Despite my qualms with the book, I did like it. Scenes like the aforementioned one were gut-wrenchingly vivid and tragic for me. I liked Nico as a lost soul teenager haunted by the spirit in the staircase voice and her confidant Elaine, who led an different but equally realistic, harried life. Overall this was an interesting, quick read.
I had a hard time reconciling the voice of the main character, Nico. She sounded infinitely older and more mature than the 13 years old she was supposed to be. It's not clear until the end that these are memories that she's recalling as an adult--that subsequent passing of years really warps the tone and treatment of her story. I think it could have been more powerful if it had an immediate setting, being told in the present tense of the teen's perspective.
The author's insistence on explaining scenes that were explicit enough to begin with gets annoying. One particularly desperate and intense scene involving Nico and Aaron (her deceased sister's boyfriend) eating ice cream would resonate well enough without Prose then going on to have Nico sum up what just happened.
Despite my qualms with the book, I did like it. Scenes like the aforementioned one were gut-wrenchingly vivid and tragic for me. I liked Nico as a lost soul teenager haunted by the spirit in the staircase voice and her confidant Elaine, who led an different but equally realistic, harried life. Overall this was an interesting, quick read.
January 29, 2009
This is a novel of coming to terms with grief told by a thirteen year old named Nico. One afternoon her older sister and she were floating in their boat on the lake which they did often. Her sister dove in and due to a congenital heart failure drowned. Her parents were so grief stricken as was Aaron, her sister’s boyfriend that she had to navigate through her mourning alone.
Her struggles, decisions, indecisions, hopes, and fears are all explicitly told in this touching and healing story. I would recommend this book for anyone, especially a teenager who has gone through a recent death. It explores all the phases of mourning in such a real and uncompromising way that her plight is your plight.
Goldengrove is the book store her father owns. It plays an important role in the healing process for the whole family
Her struggles, decisions, indecisions, hopes, and fears are all explicitly told in this touching and healing story. I would recommend this book for anyone, especially a teenager who has gone through a recent death. It explores all the phases of mourning in such a real and uncompromising way that her plight is your plight.
Goldengrove is the book store her father owns. It plays an important role in the healing process for the whole family
March 29, 2010
I recommended this for book club, and I am fairly certain most people did not like it. I have always read sad books and I am quite fond of them. There were really great random quotes that made me stop and think.
I'm glad the narrator established firmly at the end that she is an adult looking back at the event, it makes the language and beautiful writing seem more plausible, instead of the statements of a 13 year old. The audio narrator's voice is lovely and soothing and perfectly suited for the novel.
I started reading this book and then switched to the audio the week before my grandmother died. When I returned to work a week later I listened mostly to music unable to focus on anything else, but eventually I continued listening to the story. I may not have liked it as much if this event did not take place, but reading this recovering from a very long week was perfect.
It was a lovely book. Lovely language. Lovely content. Wonderfully suited for my mood.
Wonderful quotes:
"Little by little we surfaced from the dark gluey depths of that summer, bobbing into the blinding light we had to relearn how to breathe"
"Her death was an entity that would rip me apart if it could."
I'm glad the narrator established firmly at the end that she is an adult looking back at the event, it makes the language and beautiful writing seem more plausible, instead of the statements of a 13 year old. The audio narrator's voice is lovely and soothing and perfectly suited for the novel.
I started reading this book and then switched to the audio the week before my grandmother died. When I returned to work a week later I listened mostly to music unable to focus on anything else, but eventually I continued listening to the story. I may not have liked it as much if this event did not take place, but reading this recovering from a very long week was perfect.
It was a lovely book. Lovely language. Lovely content. Wonderfully suited for my mood.
Wonderful quotes:
"Little by little we surfaced from the dark gluey depths of that summer, bobbing into the blinding light we had to relearn how to breathe"
"Her death was an entity that would rip me apart if it could."
April 15, 2013
Goldengrove was a strange little book. It is about Margaret, a 17 year old girl who dies one day of a heart condition as she is swimming. She leaves her family and boyfriend to deal with her death. Throughout the book, we see the way people seem to drift through death and grief and deal with (or not deal with) it in their own ways. The book is sad and real, that is, until the weird relationship between Aaron, Margaret's boyfriend and Nico, her younger (13 year old) sister begins to develop.
I've said many times before, I can understand how relationships develop between siblings of the dead and their mates, because it only seems natural to want to confide in the people that knew them the best and could understand your pain. However, Aaron was verging on perversion with his 18 year old self going after a 13 year old and pretending that she was Margaret. Elaine saved the story for me, thank goodness someone had a sense of humor in all of this. Overall, it was a very quick read, and not a bad story, but just a bit strange. Thank goodness what I thought was going to happen all along did not!
I've said many times before, I can understand how relationships develop between siblings of the dead and their mates, because it only seems natural to want to confide in the people that knew them the best and could understand your pain. However, Aaron was verging on perversion with his 18 year old self going after a 13 year old and pretending that she was Margaret. Elaine saved the story for me, thank goodness someone had a sense of humor in all of this. Overall, it was a very quick read, and not a bad story, but just a bit strange. Thank goodness what I thought was going to happen all along did not!
April 3, 2019
This book covers the waterfront of grief. For those of us who have lost someone it can be difficult to read. The death of a character provides the catalyst for the often self destructive behavior of those in her life. Having lost my brothers I could commiserate with several of the surviving family members actions. Prose did a convincing end to the story as well.
January 13, 2023
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
- Gerard Manley Hopkins
I wasn't expecting much from this book and was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed the fine prose of Francine Prose. This small work of fiction contains several complimentary themes: death, trauma, relationships, finding oneself, history, art, literature, film, music, hauntings etc. Nothing seems overdone or forced.
I bought this Goldengrove novel during the Borders Bookstore Liquidation Sale of 2011 and finally got around to reading it during the COVID -19 Pandemic. Read for the second time in January 2023.
Favorite Passages:
I leaned over and felt the water. It knew that summer wasn't here.
______
My mother and father expanded into larger versions of themselves.
______
I used to be scared of the house at night, not of killers or ghosts, but of my own power to imagine something watching me from the shadows. Those fears were gone completely. What could the shadows be hiding? Now I wished I could meet a ghost with a message from my sister. I loved the mysterious creaks and groans. I hurried toward them on the chance that the mouse in the wall might be Margaret's spirit. Margaret had always loved ghost stories, and now our lives had become one. But it was a ghost story in reverse, a ghost story in which the living were praying to be haunted.
_______
It didn't matter how much noise I made. I knew that no one was sleeping. Insomnia was our language.
_______
Margaret's death had shaken us, like three dice in a cup, and spilled us out with new faces in unrecognizable combinations. We forgot how we used to live in our house, how we passed the time when we lived there. We could have been sea creatures stranded on the beach, puzzling over an empty shell that reminded us of the ocean.
Occasionally, I'd find my parents in unexpected places: Dad in the middle of the stairs, Mom in the garage, as if she'd gone out with a purpose that got vaporized by the paint fumes. She took on massive housecleaning projects that she left half done. She ordered a paper shredder, and on Sundays, instead of music, I'd hear the hum of Mom making confetti from ancient tax returns she'd found in the attic.
________
I liked the idea of time on my own. What scared me was the thought of sitting through a boring movie. Boredom was dangerous now that every empty second was an invitation to gaze into the abyss and think how sweet it would feel to jump. Dangerous, because in those days, there was only boredom and grief, like two visitors, dressed in black, refusing to go home, no matter how we yawned and squirmed and kept looking at our watches.
_______
I felt as if they were kidnappers who'd been holding me hostage, and now I could chew through the duct tape. But where would I escape to? Solitude and silence.
_______
Sometimes, when the silence thickened, my father would ask me what I was reading.
Living with Heart Disease. Surviving Loss. The Tibetan Book of the Dead.
"Nothing much," I'd say.
________
I should have been rereading the Narnia stories I'd loved as a kid who longed to enter another dimension through a wardrobe or a snow globe. I should have stuck with the books on botany or marine biology, the ones that described how all of history and world culture had converged to produce the pepper in your shaker.
________
I had to be careful what I said, lest all my lies come true. My experiments in the poetry aisle had been an accidental success. Something lodged in my mind, so that for the rest of the day, that line "It is Margaret you mourn for," bashed around inside my brain like a bird trapped in a house. I knew it was insane to think that naming my sister after a morbid poem meant that she would die young. But the line stayed with me, and I wanted to get rid of it, the way you can pass along a tune that's driving you crazy by singing it so that it leaves your head and enters someone else's.
________
"I figure the human race has got about another fifteen minutes, max. That's why I like selling frozen dessert. Enjoy it before it melts - along with the polar ice caps. Ha ha."
________
"We could go there and walk around see if we can . . . I know this sounds crazy, Nico, but maybe we'd feel something. Some leftover . . . vibration."
_______
Suddenly jealous of the families of the rescued children, I turned to the painting I loved most and saved for last, Saint Nicholas of Tolentino Saving a Shipwreck. Shining through the furry black sky, a celestial searchlight had picked out a boat with notched walls and towers as if a fortified town had slipped offshore and floated onto the ocean. A storm had ripped the sails from the ship and swept them into the sky, where they whirled and snapped like laundry blown off a clothesline. From the edge of the painting, the saint flew down to save the drenched passengers and sailors huddled, praying, on deck.
Staring at the picture, I found what I'd wanted when I'd gazed into Margaret's snow globe. I left my body and entered the painting. I felt the sting of salt on my face, I heard the wind moan and the sailors' shouts, I saw the saint approaching. I focused on the heavenly laser piercing the spiraling wind, and as I cowered along with the shivering crew, waiting for Saint Nicholas to steady the boat and gather me in his arms, I imagined - no, I heard - the tolling of the ship's bell.
In fact, it was the doorbell. Someone had walked in.
_______
"It can't hurt to check it out. Let's see how it feels to be there."
"How what feels?"
"Who knows?" said Dad, "Some leftover remnant of all that hope and disappointment. Some aura that attached itself to the place and is still hovering in the air."
"Aura?" I said. "Really, Dad, why not just get out the ouija board?"
My father stared at me, confused. Perhaps my saying ouija board had reminded him of Margaret, or maybe my thinking about Margaret had made him think of Margaret. All the excitement leached out of his face and left him staring at the milky tracks on his coffee glass as if they were tea leaves he was trying to read.
I said, "Actually, that sounds like fun. It's a fantastic idea."
_______
Before his death, Williams Miller wrote, "Were I to live my life over again, with the same evidence that I then had, to be honest with God and man, I should have to do as I have done. I confess my error and acknowledge my disappointment."
_______
"Are you sure this is right?"
"A lot happens in a hundred and fifty years," Dad said.
"I think the apocalypse blew through here, and we missed it," I said.
"Too bad," said Dad. "Certain longitudes and latitudes have a certain hard-luck karma."
_______
It was in our interests to let the others hide, lest, in the flood of confession, our own secrets might spill out. It was terrible, how Margaret's death had put everything in perspective and trumped everything that might seem huge to a normal person.
_______
There would have been more room for us if not for the hundreds, maybe thousands, of knickknack owls that covered the doctor's desk and filled their own glass case.
My father said, "I guess you like owls."
The doctor's twitch of a smile was pure effort, but somewhere in mid-smile she finally saw my dad, and I watched my father's handsome face work its magic even on her. She said, "Thanks. I've been collecting them since I was a little girl."
What sadistic relative first gave her one of those birds? To an owlish girl, it must have felt like being ripped by claws. I guessed she'd gotten over it and embraced her inner owl.
_______
"I see," said Dr. Nevins. And then, all science, "How is that being managed?"
"Was being managed," said my mother.
"It wasn't," said my father. "She went swimming. She drowned."
"She died," my mother said.
Mom, I thought. That's what drowned means.
_______
I thought, People see everything through the lens of their obsessions.
_______
Still, the driveway had never seemed to steep, and the house loomed above me like the motel where Norman Bates keeps his dead mom in Psycho.
I said, "I'll be out in a flash."
I heard Elaine's car choking as I fought with the swollen back door. Was Margaret jamming the lock? I pushed as hard as I could and stumbled into the silent house. The quiet was peaceful. Neutral. It was if we had all died ages ago, and I was an archeologist come to catalog our artifacts. The house was no longer a danger zone but a site where a civilization had disappeared, leaving behind a ruin that was better off without the humans. A piano shawl, a mirror, framed photos of a happy family on the shore of a lake. A father, a mother, two daughters. The females doing yoga.
The house was so silent I could hear the ticking of a clock. I'd never noticed before, the groans of the refrigerator. I moved swiftly, like a burglar. Then the energy drained out of me, and I longed to go to my room and lie down. But I couldn't afford to be suffocated by the thick melancholy seeping from the dusty, airless rooms. I needed to stay attentive to the health of Elaine's car and to the price I would pay if I let the house win.
Margaret's room was sweltering. I walked over to the closet. The glitter comet winked at me. Margaret wanted me to find it.
I said, "I know you're not angry. I know you understand." Nothing stirred. Not a breeze. I said, "I'll take that as a yes."
I carefully folded Margaret's blue shirt and slipped it into my backpack. Then I tracked back through the house, searching for telltale signs of my presence. There were none. I hadn't been there.
"That's it?" Elaine nodded at my backpack.
"A shirt," I said, "I told you."
________
. . . everything exploded at once, so fast that if you blinked, you missed whole galaxies, Milky Ways, flaming planets, and shooting stars. It was like having a ringside seat at Armageddon.
A new volley of pops and booms signaled that the end was approaching. I tried to memorize every light, to hold on to it longer, but each flash erased the one before it, until the explosions stopped. We waited for more. There was no more. The last Roman candles had left a bright green smudge on the blackboard of the sky. We stared at it, without talking, until it disappeared.
________
Astonishment fractured me. I split off from myself.
________
Light streamed in from the glassed-in porch where, from the doorway, I could see an easel and a table with brushes in coffee cans and tubes of paint lined up in rows like bright, exotic candy.
________
The silence was like a conversation.
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
- Gerard Manley Hopkins
I wasn't expecting much from this book and was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed the fine prose of Francine Prose. This small work of fiction contains several complimentary themes: death, trauma, relationships, finding oneself, history, art, literature, film, music, hauntings etc. Nothing seems overdone or forced.
I bought this Goldengrove novel during the Borders Bookstore Liquidation Sale of 2011 and finally got around to reading it during the COVID -19 Pandemic. Read for the second time in January 2023.
Favorite Passages:
I leaned over and felt the water. It knew that summer wasn't here.
______
My mother and father expanded into larger versions of themselves.
______
I used to be scared of the house at night, not of killers or ghosts, but of my own power to imagine something watching me from the shadows. Those fears were gone completely. What could the shadows be hiding? Now I wished I could meet a ghost with a message from my sister. I loved the mysterious creaks and groans. I hurried toward them on the chance that the mouse in the wall might be Margaret's spirit. Margaret had always loved ghost stories, and now our lives had become one. But it was a ghost story in reverse, a ghost story in which the living were praying to be haunted.
_______
It didn't matter how much noise I made. I knew that no one was sleeping. Insomnia was our language.
_______
Margaret's death had shaken us, like three dice in a cup, and spilled us out with new faces in unrecognizable combinations. We forgot how we used to live in our house, how we passed the time when we lived there. We could have been sea creatures stranded on the beach, puzzling over an empty shell that reminded us of the ocean.
Occasionally, I'd find my parents in unexpected places: Dad in the middle of the stairs, Mom in the garage, as if she'd gone out with a purpose that got vaporized by the paint fumes. She took on massive housecleaning projects that she left half done. She ordered a paper shredder, and on Sundays, instead of music, I'd hear the hum of Mom making confetti from ancient tax returns she'd found in the attic.
________
I liked the idea of time on my own. What scared me was the thought of sitting through a boring movie. Boredom was dangerous now that every empty second was an invitation to gaze into the abyss and think how sweet it would feel to jump. Dangerous, because in those days, there was only boredom and grief, like two visitors, dressed in black, refusing to go home, no matter how we yawned and squirmed and kept looking at our watches.
_______
I felt as if they were kidnappers who'd been holding me hostage, and now I could chew through the duct tape. But where would I escape to? Solitude and silence.
_______
Sometimes, when the silence thickened, my father would ask me what I was reading.
Living with Heart Disease. Surviving Loss. The Tibetan Book of the Dead.
"Nothing much," I'd say.
________
I should have been rereading the Narnia stories I'd loved as a kid who longed to enter another dimension through a wardrobe or a snow globe. I should have stuck with the books on botany or marine biology, the ones that described how all of history and world culture had converged to produce the pepper in your shaker.
________
I had to be careful what I said, lest all my lies come true. My experiments in the poetry aisle had been an accidental success. Something lodged in my mind, so that for the rest of the day, that line "It is Margaret you mourn for," bashed around inside my brain like a bird trapped in a house. I knew it was insane to think that naming my sister after a morbid poem meant that she would die young. But the line stayed with me, and I wanted to get rid of it, the way you can pass along a tune that's driving you crazy by singing it so that it leaves your head and enters someone else's.
________
"I figure the human race has got about another fifteen minutes, max. That's why I like selling frozen dessert. Enjoy it before it melts - along with the polar ice caps. Ha ha."
________
"We could go there and walk around see if we can . . . I know this sounds crazy, Nico, but maybe we'd feel something. Some leftover . . . vibration."
_______
Suddenly jealous of the families of the rescued children, I turned to the painting I loved most and saved for last, Saint Nicholas of Tolentino Saving a Shipwreck. Shining through the furry black sky, a celestial searchlight had picked out a boat with notched walls and towers as if a fortified town had slipped offshore and floated onto the ocean. A storm had ripped the sails from the ship and swept them into the sky, where they whirled and snapped like laundry blown off a clothesline. From the edge of the painting, the saint flew down to save the drenched passengers and sailors huddled, praying, on deck.
Staring at the picture, I found what I'd wanted when I'd gazed into Margaret's snow globe. I left my body and entered the painting. I felt the sting of salt on my face, I heard the wind moan and the sailors' shouts, I saw the saint approaching. I focused on the heavenly laser piercing the spiraling wind, and as I cowered along with the shivering crew, waiting for Saint Nicholas to steady the boat and gather me in his arms, I imagined - no, I heard - the tolling of the ship's bell.
In fact, it was the doorbell. Someone had walked in.
_______
"It can't hurt to check it out. Let's see how it feels to be there."
"How what feels?"
"Who knows?" said Dad, "Some leftover remnant of all that hope and disappointment. Some aura that attached itself to the place and is still hovering in the air."
"Aura?" I said. "Really, Dad, why not just get out the ouija board?"
My father stared at me, confused. Perhaps my saying ouija board had reminded him of Margaret, or maybe my thinking about Margaret had made him think of Margaret. All the excitement leached out of his face and left him staring at the milky tracks on his coffee glass as if they were tea leaves he was trying to read.
I said, "Actually, that sounds like fun. It's a fantastic idea."
_______
Before his death, Williams Miller wrote, "Were I to live my life over again, with the same evidence that I then had, to be honest with God and man, I should have to do as I have done. I confess my error and acknowledge my disappointment."
_______
"Are you sure this is right?"
"A lot happens in a hundred and fifty years," Dad said.
"I think the apocalypse blew through here, and we missed it," I said.
"Too bad," said Dad. "Certain longitudes and latitudes have a certain hard-luck karma."
_______
It was in our interests to let the others hide, lest, in the flood of confession, our own secrets might spill out. It was terrible, how Margaret's death had put everything in perspective and trumped everything that might seem huge to a normal person.
_______
There would have been more room for us if not for the hundreds, maybe thousands, of knickknack owls that covered the doctor's desk and filled their own glass case.
My father said, "I guess you like owls."
The doctor's twitch of a smile was pure effort, but somewhere in mid-smile she finally saw my dad, and I watched my father's handsome face work its magic even on her. She said, "Thanks. I've been collecting them since I was a little girl."
What sadistic relative first gave her one of those birds? To an owlish girl, it must have felt like being ripped by claws. I guessed she'd gotten over it and embraced her inner owl.
_______
"I see," said Dr. Nevins. And then, all science, "How is that being managed?"
"Was being managed," said my mother.
"It wasn't," said my father. "She went swimming. She drowned."
"She died," my mother said.
Mom, I thought. That's what drowned means.
_______
I thought, People see everything through the lens of their obsessions.
_______
Still, the driveway had never seemed to steep, and the house loomed above me like the motel where Norman Bates keeps his dead mom in Psycho.
I said, "I'll be out in a flash."
I heard Elaine's car choking as I fought with the swollen back door. Was Margaret jamming the lock? I pushed as hard as I could and stumbled into the silent house. The quiet was peaceful. Neutral. It was if we had all died ages ago, and I was an archeologist come to catalog our artifacts. The house was no longer a danger zone but a site where a civilization had disappeared, leaving behind a ruin that was better off without the humans. A piano shawl, a mirror, framed photos of a happy family on the shore of a lake. A father, a mother, two daughters. The females doing yoga.
The house was so silent I could hear the ticking of a clock. I'd never noticed before, the groans of the refrigerator. I moved swiftly, like a burglar. Then the energy drained out of me, and I longed to go to my room and lie down. But I couldn't afford to be suffocated by the thick melancholy seeping from the dusty, airless rooms. I needed to stay attentive to the health of Elaine's car and to the price I would pay if I let the house win.
Margaret's room was sweltering. I walked over to the closet. The glitter comet winked at me. Margaret wanted me to find it.
I said, "I know you're not angry. I know you understand." Nothing stirred. Not a breeze. I said, "I'll take that as a yes."
I carefully folded Margaret's blue shirt and slipped it into my backpack. Then I tracked back through the house, searching for telltale signs of my presence. There were none. I hadn't been there.
"That's it?" Elaine nodded at my backpack.
"A shirt," I said, "I told you."
________
. . . everything exploded at once, so fast that if you blinked, you missed whole galaxies, Milky Ways, flaming planets, and shooting stars. It was like having a ringside seat at Armageddon.
A new volley of pops and booms signaled that the end was approaching. I tried to memorize every light, to hold on to it longer, but each flash erased the one before it, until the explosions stopped. We waited for more. There was no more. The last Roman candles had left a bright green smudge on the blackboard of the sky. We stared at it, without talking, until it disappeared.
________
Astonishment fractured me. I split off from myself.
________
Light streamed in from the glassed-in porch where, from the doorway, I could see an easel and a table with brushes in coffee cans and tubes of paint lined up in rows like bright, exotic candy.
________
The silence was like a conversation.
December 6, 2010
Goldengrove by Francine Prose is a story set amid the landscape of immeasurable loss and grief. Its thirteen year old protagonist, Nico, attempts to comes to terms with the loss of her older sister, Margaret, as her parents fold into themselves as they, too, seek solace from the pain.
I had never heard of Francine Prose before. But she’s written something like 15 books. I have no idea why she has eluded me. Especially because she is quite simply, amazing. Her prose is so fluid and haunting with a subtle poeticism about it. Just thoughtful. With stunning and beautiful metaphors, with lovely details passages. In fact, the opening lines give you a good idea of the quality of the writing:
We lived on the shore of Mirror Lake, and for many years our lives were as calm and transparent as its waters. Our old house followed the curve of the bank, in segments, like a train, each room and screened porch added on, one by one, decade by decade.
When I think of that time, I picture the four of us wading in the shallows, admiring our reflections in the glassy, motionless lake. Then something–a pebble, a raindrop–breaks the surface and shatters the mirror. A ripple reaches the distant bank. Our years of bad luck begin.
Most of the novel is spent on the introspective musings of Nico. There is action and dialogue, certainly, but the bulk of the story is Nico thinking. She has a wisdom about her and an uncanny ability to understand those around her, despite the confusion she feels. Her desperation–or more appropriately, her desire–to reclaim a piece of her sister is what drives this book. She falls into a peculiar and somewhat perverse relationship with her dead sister’s boyfriend. And these sessions with Aaron are one of the driving forces of the novel. For me, at least. The two of them share only one commonality and that is that they miss Margaret. In each other they find a way to remember her as they recount conversations and songs and films they shared with her when she was alive. It is because of these scenes that we, as readers, discover who Margaret is as a character. Ironically, she comes alive in spite of her death. In fact, Margaret is almost a ghost throughout this book. I don’t mean that literally, it’s just that her memory lingers over every moment. You sense her–and her absence–all the time.
If you want to get technical, I love Prose’s use of grammar and punctuation. She inserts commas and em dashes at all the right beats and sometimes uses short sentences, so the prose flows out as if you were reciting a poem. It’s just lovely, lovely, lovely. Anyway, once again, this is a lovely piece of work. I soared right through this book in little more than a day. There’s a crisp and deliberate quality to the language and you can sense that the author thought carefully about her words. So, I recommend!
I had never heard of Francine Prose before. But she’s written something like 15 books. I have no idea why she has eluded me. Especially because she is quite simply, amazing. Her prose is so fluid and haunting with a subtle poeticism about it. Just thoughtful. With stunning and beautiful metaphors, with lovely details passages. In fact, the opening lines give you a good idea of the quality of the writing:
We lived on the shore of Mirror Lake, and for many years our lives were as calm and transparent as its waters. Our old house followed the curve of the bank, in segments, like a train, each room and screened porch added on, one by one, decade by decade.
When I think of that time, I picture the four of us wading in the shallows, admiring our reflections in the glassy, motionless lake. Then something–a pebble, a raindrop–breaks the surface and shatters the mirror. A ripple reaches the distant bank. Our years of bad luck begin.
Most of the novel is spent on the introspective musings of Nico. There is action and dialogue, certainly, but the bulk of the story is Nico thinking. She has a wisdom about her and an uncanny ability to understand those around her, despite the confusion she feels. Her desperation–or more appropriately, her desire–to reclaim a piece of her sister is what drives this book. She falls into a peculiar and somewhat perverse relationship with her dead sister’s boyfriend. And these sessions with Aaron are one of the driving forces of the novel. For me, at least. The two of them share only one commonality and that is that they miss Margaret. In each other they find a way to remember her as they recount conversations and songs and films they shared with her when she was alive. It is because of these scenes that we, as readers, discover who Margaret is as a character. Ironically, she comes alive in spite of her death. In fact, Margaret is almost a ghost throughout this book. I don’t mean that literally, it’s just that her memory lingers over every moment. You sense her–and her absence–all the time.
If you want to get technical, I love Prose’s use of grammar and punctuation. She inserts commas and em dashes at all the right beats and sometimes uses short sentences, so the prose flows out as if you were reciting a poem. It’s just lovely, lovely, lovely. Anyway, once again, this is a lovely piece of work. I soared right through this book in little more than a day. There’s a crisp and deliberate quality to the language and you can sense that the author thought carefully about her words. So, I recommend!
December 4, 2013
Here is a book that makes me wish Goodreads had a three-and-a-half-stars option, because although I don't think this book deserves four stars, it definitely deserves more than three.
"Goldengrove's" best quality is the writing. Francine Prose obviously understands what works in writing, and she manages to bring across a very powerful voice and unique style in this book. The imagery and descriptions are just gorgeous, quite frankly. It almost makes me feel like I'm in a half-real, half-mystical world even though the book is set completely in the real world. The story follows thirteen-year-old Nico, whose beautiful and talented older sister, Margaret, suddenly dies. The book follows Nico and her family's struggles with dealing with the death of Margaret, Nico entering into adolescence, and the questions that every person asks when faced with death.
So why didn't I give this book five or even four stars? I just didn't feel like it went anywhere. It had a very loosely episodic plot structure. Something different happened in every chapter, and all the events were somewhat related but easily stood out on their own as well. I also feel like we didn't get to know Margaret well enough; I would have liked her death to come a little later than it did. The last chapter of the book might as well have been a cliff note at the bottom of the page - wrapping up everything in a neat little bow much too quickly. I actually think the ending to the second-to-last chapter would have made a great ending to the book.
Even with its slight plot problems, "Goldengrove" is a deeply insightful and beautifully written novel. Be forewarned: it is very depressing and has very few funny moments. If you can stomach a very sad read, you should definitely check this one out.
"Goldengrove's" best quality is the writing. Francine Prose obviously understands what works in writing, and she manages to bring across a very powerful voice and unique style in this book. The imagery and descriptions are just gorgeous, quite frankly. It almost makes me feel like I'm in a half-real, half-mystical world even though the book is set completely in the real world. The story follows thirteen-year-old Nico, whose beautiful and talented older sister, Margaret, suddenly dies. The book follows Nico and her family's struggles with dealing with the death of Margaret, Nico entering into adolescence, and the questions that every person asks when faced with death.
So why didn't I give this book five or even four stars? I just didn't feel like it went anywhere. It had a very loosely episodic plot structure. Something different happened in every chapter, and all the events were somewhat related but easily stood out on their own as well. I also feel like we didn't get to know Margaret well enough; I would have liked her death to come a little later than it did. The last chapter of the book might as well have been a cliff note at the bottom of the page - wrapping up everything in a neat little bow much too quickly. I actually think the ending to the second-to-last chapter would have made a great ending to the book.
Even with its slight plot problems, "Goldengrove" is a deeply insightful and beautifully written novel. Be forewarned: it is very depressing and has very few funny moments. If you can stomach a very sad read, you should definitely check this one out.
January 10, 2009
I have to say this was one powerful book. Spanning the months after a beloved older sister's death, this novel focusses on the reactions of Nico and her parents to the unimaginable--life without Margaret. I found the characterization rich, the language and style sophisticated and I felt, quite palpably, the presentation and handling of grief. Having lost a parent less than a year ago, this book, and the characters' struggles to carry on, really moved me. For some reason, everything that happened in this book, and the characters' reactions, struck me as plausible.Yes the boyfriend thing was creepy, but it was explained in such a way that I can ssee it happening. There were so many good lines in this book-I actually slowed down to savour them. What I also admire about the story is that while it was about loss and grief, I didn't find it depressing. Maybe that's because so many of the thoughts and feelings expressed by the characters are ones I felt myself after the death of my dad...and so, ultimately there's reassurance here. The way people talk to you after a death, the way a family copes, the memories--reading about this fictional family's loss struck so many chords with me-so I wasn't mired in sadness but pulled forth, as they ultimately were, back into the present, looking to the future. The incident described on the last pages--when Nico is all grown up-- was absolutely stunning. I really loved this novel.
October 10, 2008
My favorite line: "Margaret's death had shaken us, like three dice in a cup, and spilled us out with new faces in unrecognizable combinations" (51). I love that. It's gorgeous.
The poetic language, though, is one of the issues I had with the book. It flows so well throughout but Nico says right out on the first page that Margaret was the poet (singer), Aaron was the painter, and she was the scientist, the one who took things one at a time. To me, the way the book is written, it seems like the POV of a writer or artist. But I'm not sure if that is a commment on Nico's personality and voice, because it does have the honesty of a very perceptive and sensitive pre-teen/teen, which I think Nico is.
The other thing was Aaron. I'm not quite sure I believed their relationship. On one hand it was the most natural thing in the world, and reading the description of it was what drew me to the book in the first place. I was ready to believe it and buy into it, but the way it was presented seemed off somehow. I also wasn't sure I liked the epilogue-ish ending. I seem to be reading a lot of those lately. I wish writers wouldn't do it so much.
Nevertheless, this is a beautiful story about the loss of a family member. It actually reminded me a little Alison Smith's memoir Name All the Animals, which is typically a good thing.
Grade: A-
The poetic language, though, is one of the issues I had with the book. It flows so well throughout but Nico says right out on the first page that Margaret was the poet (singer), Aaron was the painter, and she was the scientist, the one who took things one at a time. To me, the way the book is written, it seems like the POV of a writer or artist. But I'm not sure if that is a commment on Nico's personality and voice, because it does have the honesty of a very perceptive and sensitive pre-teen/teen, which I think Nico is.
The other thing was Aaron. I'm not quite sure I believed their relationship. On one hand it was the most natural thing in the world, and reading the description of it was what drew me to the book in the first place. I was ready to believe it and buy into it, but the way it was presented seemed off somehow. I also wasn't sure I liked the epilogue-ish ending. I seem to be reading a lot of those lately. I wish writers wouldn't do it so much.
Nevertheless, this is a beautiful story about the loss of a family member. It actually reminded me a little Alison Smith's memoir Name All the Animals, which is typically a good thing.
Grade: A-
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
February 5, 2009
I liked this in that it was informative. I kept reading because I genuinely wanted to know what happened. It did pull me along, but I felt that nearly every critical plot point was reached and then sort of passed over. There was no satisfaction from the story's climax. I was greatly disappointed repeatedly . . . But I couldn't not finish.
What I learned from this was how young people internalize loss, and how wrong things can go when they're left to deal with it on their own. I'm not going to put any spoilers in here. I think this book was realistic. I think it wasn't that well written. For Fiction, it was kind of blah. What I will say is that it could have been much, much better if things had gone more wrong. It's weird to me to type that out, but it's true. This book failed to go wrong enough.
I just kept thinking as I read it that it had been published because Prose's other work is good. Sort of like, once you're established, you get a free pass with the editors who point you in the right direction during the final stages of shaping your work. I will repeat that I did like it, but most of the scenes could have been exchanged/rewritten for/into better ones.
What I learned from this was how young people internalize loss, and how wrong things can go when they're left to deal with it on their own. I'm not going to put any spoilers in here. I think this book was realistic. I think it wasn't that well written. For Fiction, it was kind of blah. What I will say is that it could have been much, much better if things had gone more wrong. It's weird to me to type that out, but it's true. This book failed to go wrong enough.
I just kept thinking as I read it that it had been published because Prose's other work is good. Sort of like, once you're established, you get a free pass with the editors who point you in the right direction during the final stages of shaping your work. I will repeat that I did like it, but most of the scenes could have been exchanged/rewritten for/into better ones.
October 9, 2008
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
For those of you familiar with the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, you know that this novel is not going to be a happy one. But please don’t let that stop you from reading Prose’s latest; it is certainly worth your time.
Thirteen-year-old Nico is devastated when her older sister, Margaret, drowns in the lake by their home. Margaret was her best friend; Margaret was her world.
Like many others in the same situation, Nico struggles with her grief. Her problems are compounded by her parents, who seem so absorbed by their own pain that they cannot help Nico with her grief. Who does Nico turn to in her time of need? Aaron, Margaret’s boyfriend. And then the trouble really begins. . .
This is a quiet and brief story of one young woman’s struggle to deal with loss. Her pain is real, and the situations are real. Additionally, the writing is beautiful.
Highly recommended.
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
For those of you familiar with the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, you know that this novel is not going to be a happy one. But please don’t let that stop you from reading Prose’s latest; it is certainly worth your time.
Thirteen-year-old Nico is devastated when her older sister, Margaret, drowns in the lake by their home. Margaret was her best friend; Margaret was her world.
Like many others in the same situation, Nico struggles with her grief. Her problems are compounded by her parents, who seem so absorbed by their own pain that they cannot help Nico with her grief. Who does Nico turn to in her time of need? Aaron, Margaret’s boyfriend. And then the trouble really begins. . .
This is a quiet and brief story of one young woman’s struggle to deal with loss. Her pain is real, and the situations are real. Additionally, the writing is beautiful.
Highly recommended.
March 16, 2010
The first two or three chapters were incredibly beautiful. The imagery dazzled, the plot staging complemented those images, and the characters and their relationships were real and believable. This part of the story could stand as a five-star short story.
Then the novel enters a sort of murkiness that takes over for the rest of the story. The depictions of the parents, Aaron, Elaine, cease to be startling fresh characters but rather lapse into typecasts. The plot loses momentum, some details and events are nonsensical, the language loses its pique.
Some things Prose does quite well, like conveying the jarring effect of a too-close slip/mention of death: references to any number of trivial passing things and how they trigger a memory of the deceased. The Nico/Aaron relationship is disturbingly good (that is, believable and absorbing), but the strength of that narrative thread falls apart, too.
Also I can no longer say the words "my sister" without a strange taste in my mouth.
Then the novel enters a sort of murkiness that takes over for the rest of the story. The depictions of the parents, Aaron, Elaine, cease to be startling fresh characters but rather lapse into typecasts. The plot loses momentum, some details and events are nonsensical, the language loses its pique.
Some things Prose does quite well, like conveying the jarring effect of a too-close slip/mention of death: references to any number of trivial passing things and how they trigger a memory of the deceased. The Nico/Aaron relationship is disturbingly good (that is, believable and absorbing), but the strength of that narrative thread falls apart, too.
Also I can no longer say the words "my sister" without a strange taste in my mouth.
June 4, 2011
A coming-of-age story about 13-year-old Nico, who spends the summer grieving after her older sister drowns while taking a leisurely swim in the lake. Nico must cope mostly on her own, as her parents are caught up in their own grief. The only person who she feels can understand is her sister's boyfriend, and they thus begin a risky, complicated "friendship". The author did a great job of getting inside Nico's head, and I felt as if I were seeing the world through her eyes. This is one of those books that make you feel like you're losing a friend when you close it at the end.
The only other Francise Prose that I've read was Blue Angel, which I absolutely LOVED, although completely different in tone from Goldengrove.
The only other Francise Prose that I've read was Blue Angel, which I absolutely LOVED, although completely different in tone from Goldengrove.
February 4, 2009
The story of thirteen year old Nico, who loses her older sister Margaret to drowning dragged me in and wouldn't let me go. How Margaret's death affects their parents and Margaret's boyfriend Aaron is the backdrop for Nico's story of personal exploration, growing maturity and the eventual conquering of the will to live over the pull of wanting to follow your loved one into the dark.
I was moved by Prose's, well, prose, and couldn't put this story down. Each character was vital and well-drawn, and Nico was not only a girl that I would have liked to have known, but a rare literary soul that truly earned her tale. If you've ever lost a loved one, or even contemplated that eventual horror, this story will mesmerize you. I really liked Nico, and I really liked this story.
I was moved by Prose's, well, prose, and couldn't put this story down. Each character was vital and well-drawn, and Nico was not only a girl that I would have liked to have known, but a rare literary soul that truly earned her tale. If you've ever lost a loved one, or even contemplated that eventual horror, this story will mesmerize you. I really liked Nico, and I really liked this story.
November 11, 2008
For some readers, the saddest part of this tale would be the parents & 13yr old sister floating along in grief after the accidental death of their 17yr old daughter/sister. And yes, the details of how survivors manage to get through each day following a stunning loss were sometimes excruciating to read. The book concludes years later when the impact of Margaret's death is long diminished -- life DOES goes on. As it should, but it was still very poignant that her impact on her loved ones' lives had faded to just fleeting moments of memory. I especially liked the perspective & voice of the 13-yr old Nico both before & after her sister is gone.
December 1, 2008
I really liked this book until the end. It's the story of a girl named Nico whose sister drowns (this happens at the very beginning), and the grief that consumes her and her parents afterward. She begins spending time with her sister's boyfriend with unfortunate results.
Beautiful writing, wonderful portrait of grief, and then the end . . . without giving anything away, I'll just say that the author absolves everyone of their sins of grief except the boyfriend, and it feels gross and unfair, and there was a pat and happy (or at least as pat and happy as there can be in a book about a teenager's death) ending that didn't feel right.
Beautiful writing, wonderful portrait of grief, and then the end . . . without giving anything away, I'll just say that the author absolves everyone of their sins of grief except the boyfriend, and it feels gross and unfair, and there was a pat and happy (or at least as pat and happy as there can be in a book about a teenager's death) ending that didn't feel right.
June 26, 2008
There were lots of good things about this book, in which (mostly) a 13-14 year old girl has to come to grips with the loss of her older sister and the boyfriend she left behind. I even copied out one passage--about how omnipresent someone can be, even when he/she is absent, how we carry on an internal dialogue with that person. But somehow the dead sister's boyfriend's weirdness--even though he was *supposed) to be weird--came across as a not-so-compelling weirdness.
My first book by her. I want to read Prose's (hmm, great name for a writer of narrative) book about reading as a writer.
My first book by her. I want to read Prose's (hmm, great name for a writer of narrative) book about reading as a writer.
Read
August 9, 2009Really, really sad but really good, too. Francine Prose writes with vivid clarity about grief and her prose is more like poetry with intense feeling and startling sensuality. The story is about how a pre-teen girl deals after her older sister dies in a boating accident. It transports you back to the age of 13, hauntingly, creepily and somehow comfortingly, too.
December 12, 2008
I was disappointed. This book just didn't seem to take me anywhere and the ending was too tidy. I really didn't see the point of this story. Sure it's about surviving grief and family but honestly it did not reach me. It wasn't horrible, just nothing to recommend.
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