Chance plopped this book on my grandmother’s kitchen counter while I was visiting for a few days in the spring. Chance appeared in the form of my aunt who had read it and was passing the goodness along. Grandma had a pile of her own books to read so I snagged this one along with innumerable helpings of her baked goods for fuel to keep my late night candle burning.
If a book can keep me, a mother of a two-year-old and a nursing infant, reading late into the night after both children are finally simultaneously asleep, well, that book is more than good, it’s got some straight up magic running through its pages.
Magical. Heartwrenching. Worth it.
The Snow Child, by Eowyn Ivey is worth picking up and finishing. Don’t just take my word for it. Those folks handing out Pulitzer Prizes were impressed enough to rank The Snow Child as one of two finalists in the 2013 fiction category. I do wonder at their decision-making process which resulted in another author receiving The Prize, but until I read the winning book, I guess I should withhold final judgment.
Set in early 1900’s Alaska, The Snow Child is a story about Mabel and Jack, a husband and wife who move to Alaska, but are unprepared for the harsh reality of homesteading. They are unprepared to face the struggle of life in a beautiful land that “ripped you open and scoured you clean so that you were left helpless and exposed.” This land of vast solitude refuses to let them avoid the pain of their childless marriage. Reader be warned, in just a few paragraphs the author vividly portrays her characters’ gut-wrenching grief. Over the course of the book she explores both their mistaken efforts to cope and the pain of living in the midst of sorrow.
Enter the magic of winter’s first snowfall. “Luminous and transcendent. A sharp-edged miracle.” A child called Faina transforms their “graying” existence into one of joy shadowed by mystery. “She moved through the forest with the grace of a wild creature. She knew the snow and it carried her gently … she knew this land by heart.”
Ivey effectively weaves gripping narrative with descriptions of the faceted Alaskan wilderness, both the lovely and frigid, nurturing and deadly. Her portrayal of the hard homesteading life could’ve used more grit, but the soul-crushing weight of winter darkness and Seasonal Affective Disorder are felt in “darkness so complete even the pale lit hours would be choked.”
Ivey effectively weaves gripping narrative with descriptions of the faceted Alaskan wilderness, both the lovely and frigid, nurturing and deadly.
Mabel and Jack are faced with the need to survive Alaska “by learning and taking into [their] heart this strange wilderness.” In a similar way they are faced with the choice of taking into their hearts the child Faina. Yet the ultimate question asked within these pages is whether “we can choose our own endings, joy over sorrow? Or does the cruel world just give and take, give and take, while we flounder through the wilderness.” You have to read through to the end to discover The Snow Child’s answer.
All quotes and excerpts are taken from The Snow Child © 2012 Eowyn Ivey
For more information about the 2013 Pulizter Prize winners and finalists see http://www.pulitzer.org/awards/2013
Chance plopped this book on my grandmother’s kitchen counter while I was visiting for a few days in the spring. Chance appeared in the form of my aunt who had read it and was passing the goodness along. Grandma had a pile of her own books to read so I snagged this one along with innumerable helpings of her baked goods for fuel to keep my late night candle burning.
If a book can keep me, a mother of a two-year-old and a nursing infant, reading late into the night after both children are finally simultaneously asleep, well, that book is more than good, it’s got some straight up magic running through its pages.
Magical. Heartwrenching. Worth it.
The Snow Child, by Eowyn Ivey is worth picking up and finishing. Don’t just take my word for it. Those folks handing out Pulitzer Prizes were impressed enough to rank The Snow Child as one of two finalists in the 2013 fiction category. I do wonder at their decision-making process which resulted in another author receiving The Prize, but until I read the winning book, I guess I should withhold final judgment.
Set in early 1900’s Alaska, The Snow Child is a story about Mabel and Jack, a husband and wife who move to Alaska, but are unprepared for the harsh reality of homesteading. They are unprepared to face the struggle of life in a beautiful land that “ripped you open and scoured you clean so that you were left helpless and exposed.” This land of vast solitude refuses to let them avoid the pain of their childless marriage. Reader be warned, in just a few paragraphs the author vividly portrays her characters’ gut-wrenching grief. Over the course of the book she explores both their mistaken efforts to cope and the pain of living in the midst of sorrow.
Enter the magic of winter’s first snowfall. “Luminous and transcendent. A sharp-edged miracle.” A child called Faina transforms their “graying” existence into one of joy shadowed by mystery. “She moved through the forest with the grace of a wild creature. She knew the snow and it carried her gently … she knew this land by heart.”
Ivey effectively weaves gripping narrative with descriptions of the faceted Alaskan wilderness, both the lovely and frigid, nurturing and deadly. Her portrayal of the hard homesteading life could’ve used more grit, but the soul-crushing weight of winter darkness and Seasonal Affective Disorder are felt in “darkness so complete even the pale lit hours would be choked.”
Ivey effectively weaves gripping narrative with descriptions of the faceted Alaskan wilderness, both the lovely and frigid, nurturing and deadly.
Mabel and Jack are faced with the need to survive Alaska “by learning and taking into [their] heart this strange wilderness.” In a similar way they are faced with the choice of taking into their hearts the child Faina. Yet the ultimate question asked within these pages is whether “we can choose our own endings, joy over sorrow? Or does the cruel world just give and take, give and take, while we flounder through the wilderness.” You have to read through to the end to discover The Snow Child’s answer.
All quotes and excerpts are taken from The Snow Child © 2012 Eowyn Ivey
For more information about the 2013 Pulizter Prize winners and finalists see http://www.pulitzer.org/awards/2013
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