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Feb 13, 2016talltimt rated this title 2 out of 5 stars
“The elaborate search for a word, like the turning of a chain handle on a well. Dropping the bucket down the mineshaft of the mind. Taking up empty bucket after empty bucket until finally, at an unexpected moment, it caught hard and had a sudden weight and she raised the word, then delved down into the emptiness once more.” McCann may be describing part of the writing process of one of his characters; but surely he is also revealing his own practice, because he does, indeed, find some very nice and surprising words, not uncommon words but common words uncommonly used. Some examples: --“She ached her way into bed.” --“Perhaps the reason for her trip was to unhem herself from routine.” --“The branches of the trees knit the wind.” --Early on an overcast day, “the rumor of morning hangs faint on the sky.” --During a storm, “The wind was demented.” --A flock of geese descend and “blanket onto the water.” --In a vacant lot, “the wrapper of a chocolate bar sparred against the wind.” There are also wonderful phrases and images that make one admire his writing, but gradually his “artfulness” begins to pall, to feel false, a little too self-consciously clever, and we become to aware of the writer, which draws us away from the writing and what is being said. For example: The geese “soared in . . . [looking] as if they were pulling the color out of the sky.” Or here: A toaster pops. “Out hop the slices, like pole-vaulters or prison escapees.” At times McCann writes with an intensity, a ferocity of words and brilliance of depiction, that often swept me along under a rush of speed, energy, and implacability like one of those massive waves that must threaten and thrill a Pacific surfer. Readers who liked his “Let the Great World Spin” will find a similar use of intertwined but separate “stories” here and will probably approve of this device (with which I have no objection); but this novel, for all the power of its language, the vividness of its descriptions, the poignancy of its subject, still adds up to less than the sum of its parts. And it left me regretful, somewhat melancholy, and surprisingly unmoved.