I usually don't give half stars, but I feel that it was almost good enough to be a 4, but not quite.
Elizabeth Berg can always be counted on to discuss the deeper issues in life, and describe them in a way, that makes you want to drink in her writing. She touches on alleged abuse, the makeup of families, and even death in this story. Her books are always quick, I can usually finish them off in no more than 3 or 4 sittings.
It starts out with a memory of three siblings: Steve, Laura, and Caroline. The year is 1960, and they are going to the fair. This short chapter was describing how Laura and her sister were not really close, no one is really close to Caroline. She is too hard to understand. She is a "brownnoser," someone who is always giving their mother gifts.
Fast forward forty years. Out of nowhere, Caroline wants to talk to Laura and Steve, about some things that have happened in the past, things that have been bothering her. These are things that their mother may have done. Both Laura and Steve are dumbfounded, because they weren't aware of anything in the past that was less than pleasant.
As the story unfolds, we realize that there may have been abuse that went on with Caroline and their mom. Even though they start remembering things that do not fit perfectly with their sugar-coated memories, Caroline is still Caroline. Who do you believe? The woman who loved and cared for you all of these years, or your dramatic and difficult sister? As the secrets unfold, you realize who is telling the truth, and who wants to hide from the past.
Even though I wasn't that satisfied with the way the book ended, I am always pleased with Berg's style. Though others have described her as "too wordy," I feel that, that is the most beautiful part of her works. The pieces that pull you into the story and these character's lives. I recall one paragraph,
"...Maybe it was the tender irony of the way that we, blind ourselves, offer our arm to others, hoping to ease the crossing. Maybe it was the odd surges of love one can feel for an absolute stranger. Or maybe it was the way we give so little when it's in us always to give so much more. Thomas Merton wrote about feeling a sudden awareness of a profound connection to others, understanding that 'they were mine and I theirs.' I loved reading things like that, things that pointed to our oneness and, by extension, our responsibility to others."
It's the fact that she is my magnifying glass to the beauty in life, the armchair philosopher, full of wisdom, that keeps me coming back.
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