Having just recently finished a massive re-read of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series in advance of his (and Brandon Sanderson's) ultimate book, I was craving something new and more challenging to read. This is a mighty task for me - the search for a new author. I get overwhelmed by all that's available and I can be very timid in making a selection. This is probably due to my stubborn insistence that I complete my reading of a book once I've started it regardless of whether I like it or not. I think I've only ever put one or two books down unfinished, and one of those was Pet Cemetery by Stephen King when I was 12 years old. A lover of horror I am not.
For assistance I turned to well-known literary prizes to search for new material. After perusing the Man Booker awards site, I decided to read through recent 2012 shortlist contenders for the prize, starting with "A" for Alison Moore (my Kindle is set to arrange books by author!). If the remaining 5 books are as good as this one I'm in for a treat.
The Lighthouse bears no relation to the Virginia Woolf work of a similar title. It also has nothing to do with beaches, boats or seafaring. The work follows Futh, a painfully ordinary and saddening everyman approaching middle age. Recently separated from his wife, Futh is on his way to Germany from his home in Britain for a walking holiday. The novel stacks up memories in marching succession throughout his journey, expanding on crucial moments with each resurfacing reflection on his past. Smells conjure up painful emotions for him, transporting him to the defining moments of his life. He carries with him a small, silver lighthouse; an old perfume bottle that contains only a fragment of the violet scent of his mother.
In tandem, there is Ester: proprietress and maid of the inn, Hellhaus (light house, or house of light, in German) where Futh will both begin and end his walking circuit in Germany. Ester, married, with her brazen affairs in occupied rooms of the inn. With her dangerously jealous husband. With her failing youth that she clings to like the cellophane wrap she places on plates of cold cuts for her guests.
There is an ominous sense to the work from the very start. A sense that a storm is coming, and Futh will have to brave the tumultuous seas of his past and the rocky shore of his future. What mooring can there be for a man so recently cut loose from his own life?
Reflection on this work makes me like it even more. I finished it on my evening commute and went immediately to my Kindle home screen to select another book to start, opening one and reading the first sentence before pausing and putting the device away entirely. This is a book that demands rumination. Quiet reveries descended on me for days after I completed The Lighthouse. Peeling an orange still makes me think back to poor, sad Futh. What a remarkable gift a good book is to invoke such peaceful contemplation.
For assistance I turned to well-known literary prizes to search for new material. After perusing the Man Booker awards site, I decided to read through recent 2012 shortlist contenders for the prize, starting with "A" for Alison Moore (my Kindle is set to arrange books by author!). If the remaining 5 books are as good as this one I'm in for a treat.
The Lighthouse bears no relation to the Virginia Woolf work of a similar title. It also has nothing to do with beaches, boats or seafaring. The work follows Futh, a painfully ordinary and saddening everyman approaching middle age. Recently separated from his wife, Futh is on his way to Germany from his home in Britain for a walking holiday. The novel stacks up memories in marching succession throughout his journey, expanding on crucial moments with each resurfacing reflection on his past. Smells conjure up painful emotions for him, transporting him to the defining moments of his life. He carries with him a small, silver lighthouse; an old perfume bottle that contains only a fragment of the violet scent of his mother.
In tandem, there is Ester: proprietress and maid of the inn, Hellhaus (light house, or house of light, in German) where Futh will both begin and end his walking circuit in Germany. Ester, married, with her brazen affairs in occupied rooms of the inn. With her dangerously jealous husband. With her failing youth that she clings to like the cellophane wrap she places on plates of cold cuts for her guests.
There is an ominous sense to the work from the very start. A sense that a storm is coming, and Futh will have to brave the tumultuous seas of his past and the rocky shore of his future. What mooring can there be for a man so recently cut loose from his own life?
Reflection on this work makes me like it even more. I finished it on my evening commute and went immediately to my Kindle home screen to select another book to start, opening one and reading the first sentence before pausing and putting the device away entirely. This is a book that demands rumination. Quiet reveries descended on me for days after I completed The Lighthouse. Peeling an orange still makes me think back to poor, sad Futh. What a remarkable gift a good book is to invoke such peaceful contemplation.
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