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by John Banville
In a word (or two or three): you'd think a writer this good could
think up a more original title
From Mr. Hipster:
There's something about the way that Banville
writes that just kind of casts a pall over everything. I guess the
best adjective I can come up with is somber. The Sea fits right in
that cubby; it's as if even when something upsetting or life-changing
or even plot-defining is happening nothing's happening. Some authors
feel like they're drawing giant arrows on the page pointing to a passage
in order to say "this is important!" Banville lets his storylines
just kind of unfurl and, like the sea, ebb and flow in a very realistic
manner, never cresting and causing waves, but just rolling along from
beginning to end as one large, cohesive body. This, a story of loss,
discovery and reconciliation, has no discernable agenda other than
to economically (the novel is only 208 pages) tell the tale of one
man's reclaiming his past in light of his present--or is it the other
way around? Whatever the case, our protagonist, Max Morden, is a man
who thinks that after the death of his wife he can escape himself
by retreating to a past that he only discovers isn't the past he recalls
when faced with his adult perceptions. Wow, for a simple book I'm
making this seriously confusing. The point is that Banville is both
a subtle and beautiful writer who can craft a tale that is both gothic
and modern, as light as air and as heavy as a life unfulfilled.
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Christine
Falls |
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