i feel ill equipped to review “housekeeping.” honestly, i wasn’t sure i would enjoy it, especially after trying robinson’s pulitzer prize winning “gilead” and only managing to stomach a few pages. and even more so after attending a reading of robinson’s a few years ago: i found her arrogant and self-satisfied. i could hardly stand to hear her talk about herself and how utterly amazing she is.
well, ms. robinson, i have to say that after reading “housekeeping,” i’m inclined to agree with your generous summation of yourself. “housekeeping” is perfectly rendered. at the same time that i wanted to fly through the novel to see how everything would ravel together, i wanted to read each sentence again and again and again.
i have certain images inside me still. that bridge. the sound of the water and the train. the stacks of newspapers and tin cans. the coat. the twenty dollar bill pinned to sylvie’s lapel. the man waving and yelling after his rowboat. the children and the marshmallows stuck on the end of bare tree limbs.
i don’t even know how to categorize the narrator, ruthie. i love her. i am repulsed by her. i find her completely other. i find pieces of myself in her.
it seemed to me then that lucille would busy herself forever, nudging, pushing, coaxing, as if she could supply the will i lacked, to pull myself into some seemly shape and slip across the wide frontiers into that other world, where it seemed to me then i could never wish to go. for it seemed to me that nothing i had lost, or might lose, could be found there.
i am fascinated by ruthie slipping away. by her and sylvie trying to set fire to their house, and failing.
so, what did you think? what stuck in your mind?
and, as an addendum, “housekeeping” is on the list of 100 best English-language novels from 1923 to present. do you think it deserves its place on the list? should it share space with hemingway and fitzgerald, tolkein and orwell? will it be added to the canon of 20th century american texts?
Allow me to break the ice and set the bar low enough that everyone can feel comfortable contributing to this discussion.
I only read the first four pages of “Housekeeping.” I stopped reading not because of any fault I found in the book, but because life is busy. I hope someday soon to read this book.
That is all.
First of all I did manage to get through all of Gilead, which I actually enjoyed on some levels….although I did always wonder how it won the Pulitzer prize as it seemed like a meandering path that led back to the beginning rather than a destination….. so my opinnion of Robinson was non-committal coming into Housekeeping…..and yes she has definitely risen in my esteem as I was very very interested in finding out what the end of Housekeeping would hold. Primarily I enjoyed the words. The language was perfect, not contrived, not underdone simply perfect. I don’t have the book with me here, but I want to post my favorite lines later. Next, I loved the theme of choices… Ruthie doesn’t make any concrete choices she merely adopts other people’s choices & then deals with them as best as she can. For example, Lucille chooses to ditch school rather than turn in the note that Sylvie has penned and Ruthie goes along….. Lucille decides to sleep out when its too late to turn home in the woods & Ruthie goes along…..later Sylvie decides to steal a boat to take Ruthie to the secret place and Ruthie doesn’t put up too much of a squawk when she realizes whats going on, its easier to adopt Sylvie’s delusion. I think Robinson is subtley reaffirming the notion that when you decide to let other people’s choices govern your life… that is still a choice; however small & unconsequential it seems. Ruthie embodies coping….she seems to cope with situations that other people would not because able to deal with….decisions paralyze her, but once a decision has been made “for” her, she manages to cope with what would seem as the most contrary of situations to her personal demeanor.
I still have 40 pages (*blush* - the library just coughed it up on Monday), but will have my review posted Saturday or Sunday at the latest. I have much to say, to say the least, which is what I am doing, but it will be said a touch late. Apologies.
I, like Jessie, started reading Housekeeping with a little doubt in my heart. It’s always been hailed as such a wonder book that I wanted to be the one who cried “You’re all wrong! This book stinks!”
Unfortunately (or perhaps not) I can’t do that.
I wasn’t so sure about that, though, as I was reading the book. The prose was lovely and insightful and ripe and juicy, but at times I would get annoyed at all of the plot stalling. I would start skimming paragraphs to find the end of the musing and get back to the action. It wasn’t until the last chapter, when Ruthie reveals that she and Sylvie are now drifters, that I understood the method to the madness–the plot stallings, the urges to crawl into the sunken houses, the afternoons spent aimlessly sitting on the edge of the lake ARE Ruthie. During it all, I was trying to find fault with Marilynne Robinson’s plotting–I was ignoring the fact that the gentle meandering descriptions are the perfect representations of Ruthie’s, well, being. The descriptions are Ruthie. I couldn’t see that until I looked the book as a whole.
But what I liked best was that in those descriptions that at first annoyed me are Lear-like observations on life. Ruthie had to get a little kooky, a little frightening, a little beyond society to see those truths that everyone should know, but no one really notices.
I’m feeling the urge now to be a gypsy–to cross the long bridge in the middle of the night and enter the world as a stranger, an observer, a sage that’s on to the panopticon that is society. Yeah. It probably won’t happen. But I’ll pin a $20 bill to the inside of my jacket, just in case.
(And can I just give a quick little plug for “Becoming Naomi Leon”? The cover is a little silly, but the book is quite nice. And if you’re worried about it getting in the way of your holiday celebrations, don’t worry…it has Christmas in it! And carved radishes! And a trailer park! It’s a pretty fast read and I’m looking forward to talking with you all about it. Here’s a cool slide show to get you excited. http://www.flickr.com/photos/planeta/sets/1401300
Okay. End of plug.)
I have to admit that I just couldn’t do it. Maybe I don’t get the sentences, I’m not sure. I got almost through the first chapter…after several days trying over and over again. Then I skipped to the second chapter, read the first page to page and a half and then skipped to the 6th chapter. From there I just put it down and decided that maybe Ms. Robinson’s writing isn’t “my style” of reading material. Better luck next time, I guess. Maybe as I grow it’ll grow on me, but for now, I just couldn’t do it.
My first mistake was that I did not purchase my own copy of Housekeeping. How does one read such a book and not put pen to paper and underline and scribble in the margins? This book deserves a place on the shelf. If acuminating things means good housekeeping then I suppose I am a fine housekeeper. My small rooms are full; books, dolls, shoes, pictures, coats, boxes and bags with Christmas décor galore. What is all this stuff for anyway? Does it show me that I can keep a house by keeping it full? Do I collect these things to remind me, to inspire me, to satisfy me and / or others? Why these things and not newspapers (although I do have a collection of those at my door) and tin cans. Is there purpose in collecting, hording? Will these things fill the space in my rooms, space that should be filled with more meaningful things- laughter, love, bedtime stories that last much longer then they should. In ‘Housekeeping,’ Robinson captures the essence of belonging to something, someone and the realization that the pain from loneliness is as real as the oatmeal I had for breakfast.
I love this book, I hate this book. It seems that most things that stay with you have a way of being a comfort and a nuisance.
Robinson writes, “having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house. Those outside can watch you if they want, but you need not see them. You simply say, “Here are the perimeters of our attention. If you prowl around under the windows till the crickets go silent, we will pull the shades. If you wish us to suffer your envious curiosity, you must permit us not to notice it.” Anyone with one solid human bond is that smug, and it is the smugness as much as the comfort and safety that lonely people covet and admire.”(p.154) Is that all a person needs is one ‘solid human bond?’ What if that human is Sylvie and not solid?
Oh Ruthie I too sometimes feel that, “there was neither threshold nor sill between me and these cold, solitary children who almost breathed against my cheek and almost touched my hair.” Are you really like Sylvie Ruthie? Am I? Do we sometimes keep the lights off on purpose, wear our shoes and coat, and not live in the light? Are we afraid of failing at the life inside a house full of light or afraid of enjoying it too much? If we don’t have something we can’t lose it. Fear can be a strong motivator. Fear of loosing things and people. We know too well that tragedy follows a too peaceful plot line in a movie and in life. Does tragedy form us or unfold us? Was their future set in stone the moment Ruthie and Lucille were left with their graham crackers? Robinson leaves me with questions.
Was it Ruthie who embraced light and life by treasuring her grandfather’s red roses pressed between ‘Repetition and Result’ or was it Lucille in her pursuit of ‘Pinking shears,’ was she the one on the right path? Who are these charters? Are there no normal people in this book? According to a newspaper quote, “the only normal people in this world are the ones you don’t know well.” I believe it. I also believe that we need someone maybe lots of someones.
“Once alone it is impossible to believe that one could ever have been otherwise. Loneliness is an absolute discovery. When one looks from inside at a lighted window, or looks from above at the lake, one sees the image of oneself in a lighted room, the image of oneself among trees and sky- the deception is obvious, but flattering all the same. When one looks from the darkness into the light, however, one sees all the difference between here and there, this and that. Perhaps all unsheltered people are angry in their hearts, and would like to break the roof, spin, and ribs, and smash the windows and flood the floor and spindle the curtains and bloat the couch.”(p.157-58) Robinson has a way of stating things. Do I love her story lines- no. I feel like I got cheated when it comes to plot. I always love a good plot line. Do I love her ability to form words and sentences around ideas and thoughts- Yes. Her characters although full of honesty, leave me wanting to know them better.
For me ‘Housekeeping’ is about relationships. What Ruthie says of her relationship with Sylvie leaves me wondering if I too fall into complacent relationships. Do I feel too comfortable and give no thought to the people with whom I should give the most thought? In Ruthie’s words, “She could speak to herself, or to someone in her thoughts, with pleasure and animation, even while I sat beside her- this was the measure of our intimacy, that she gave almost no thought to me at all. But if she lost me I would become extraordinary by my vanishing.” (p.195) People do became extraordinary by vanishing, why must our most loving praises come for someone at their funeral when it is too late. A martyr is never forgotten. The Helens will always be remembered for their tragic exit from the stage. Isn’t that what we all want after all? To be noticed, to be missed to be loved and remembered. I will remember Ruthie for her inability to move on, Lucille for her ability to forget and Sylvie because she would not disappear despite her effort to do so. Yes I believe these words deserve to be read.
Sarajane told me about your book club, so I hope you don’t mind if I jump on your book trail.
I think something that is interesting about Housekeeping are the descriptions of Fingerbone. I think she did a great job of making the setting of the novel more than background. Rather, in this novel, setting becomes a main character. But for me, I think this is why I could never fully immerse myself into the novel. I also wanted more plot and story lines. I wanted to know more about Sylvie’s past. I wanted to hear Lucille’s thoughts. I wanted to know more of Helen. Perhaps if she had given the more that I desire then I would not have felt the “nothingness” and “sameness” as strongly. I love her characters but found myself skimming at the end because I needed more than just detailed descriptions.
oh, where do i start? i feel sorry for rebecca, i think she wasn’t the only one who found the first 100 pages dauntingly slow, and so very very different. i tried to read it in the bathroom while the girls bathed, and after the first few sentences realized this would take 100% of my brain power (which honestly, is quite weak to begin with).
i loved the sentences, the elaborate paragraphs that i had to read 5 times over. the insanity. the sanity. fingerbone was fascinating and repulsing and too familiar. i would have been one of those ladies ‘helping’ with their casseroles and small remarks and disdaining looks. and i definately am going to think twice before drinking lake water.
the bridge is what broke it for me, the understanding. no one had ever crossed it before, and sylvie and ruthie did. and i think that lake did take them.
my thoughts are random, but i think that what sylvie says about family is so funny. ‘families should stay together.” and yet, her father disappeared early in her life, and her mother was totally absent from their lives, except in housekeeping matters. there she was ever present. but all the daughters disperse and the house, without it’s housekeeping, falls apart, along with the last threads of the family.
i don’t know what to think about ruthie, i am much more like lucille, which is strange, because that is my daughter’s name. “she was of the common persuasion. time that had not come yet-an anomaly in itself-had the fiercest reality for her.”
that sentence is bored in my brain. thank you jessie for exposing me to a great american novel. wether classic or not, we’ll see in 200 years i guess.
what is our next book?
i’m so sorry little book clubbians–i meant to lead a thoughtful discussion … instead the past week and a half i feel like i’ve been staring doom itself in the face. it started with henry projectile vomiting for a few days which turned into a nasty nasty gross and green cold that lead to infections in both his ears, all while he was cutting his top molars. this would have been enough, but then i got the most terrible flu. my throat hurt so bad i would wake up choking on my swollen uvula. my whole body was in a roar of pain. eek. thank goodness for amoxicillan and for andrew fleming.
now that i have those whines out of my system, let’s keep talking about this book.
first out: a hearty congratulations to rebecca and camille for giving the book a chance. i hope this first choice didn’t scare anyone off permanently. we’re going to have a wide range of books and hopefully over the months everyone will find something that really speaks to them. our next read (find it under “ride the book trail” on the sidebar) is much less intimidating. i promise it has a plot. (read kt’s plug for the book in the comments section.)
jandee, i was really interested by what you pointed out–that ruthie doesn’t seem to make any choices, she just copes with the choices that others make for her. i wonder if that’s a trait that makes it easier for her to drift. i wonder if it’s something she inherited from a long line of “copers.” but then, you have to wonder why helen drove off that cliff. is that coping? at what point does a person need to become responsible for themselves? (i think that’s the most frightening part of life–waking up and realizing that you’re the mom. no one is going to hold back your pony tail while you vomit. is that what really scared helen? is that why sylvie left here husband before it could happen to her? is this book ultimately about the fear to commit and to grow up?)
and kt, i like the connection to lear. ruthie had to be completely outside of society before she could see her place in it. interesting that she tries to set fire to the only thing that indicates her place in society and fails.
i agree with you too, sarajane. that the book is relatively plotless. i tend to have a high tolerance for that sort of thing, but i know that not everyone does. it seems like it would be easier to read a second time because you wouldn’t be expecting a plot: you could just enjoy watching this family completely unravel.
annie, another interesting point about families. i wonder what it means that their mother was only present in the housekeeping. i was just thinking last night that i don’t remember my mother housekeeping. i don’t think this means that she didn’t do it, but i do think it means that i knew other things were more of a priority for her. i wonder what my children will remember me doing? (pecking at my computer … ? making double chocolate crackle cookies … ?) what do our early memories of our mothers speak about us? about them?
in fact, the more i think about this book, the more i like it. i think it is going on the shelf.
and i know there are more of you out there who read the book. weigh in! let us know what you thought.
ok jess, how horrible do i feel? henry got sick??? oh, man, poor little guy. we should have stayed somewhere else, or not let them play together. i feel so guilty, we infected so many people with our puking disease. oh, crap, you’re never going to come see us again. did joe get sick too?
ok- and i have to tell you that i was telling sarah how much i relate to lucille and her to ruthie. me bossy-her complacent and docile. funny huh?
So I finally wrapped up my thoughts on the book here.
And I really enjoyed some of the comments above and how different readers see different themes: family, independence instead of going along, disappearance, etc. Although I also appreciated some of the above themes, for me, it was a “there are two kinds of people” story. OK, that’s a gross simplification, but I did see Robinson dividing types of people by their housekeeping, both literal cleaning and the ordering of their thoughts along conventional, societally correct lines. Dividing the lonely from the social, and how the former isn’t always the worse off. There was a different drummer beating in the background here, and those who can’t hear it wonder why others are marching, right?
Oh, and I also appreciate that all of us had at least minor difficulty in reading Robinson’s dense writing style. That makes me feel a bit better about myself.
I’ve read most of the comments and agree … so I’m not going to reiterate what has already been said.
I did like the book. I wrote down on a scrap of paper only one thing because it jumped off the page for me. That was … “my life seemed composed of expectation … and so the ordinary demanded unblinking attention.” This summarized the book for me. I think that Ruthie left everyone around her make all her decisions. She was a follower and she just happened to end up following a really bizarre person, her aunt. I also realize she could hardly do anything else … she was so young and inexperienced. What else could she do?
Now panopticon, there’s a word if I’ve ever heard one. Did that emerge naturally or from Foucault or from a thesaurus? If it came straight from you, I’m impressed.
It’s been four or five years since I’ve read housekeeping. I remember being captivated by the language early on in the description of the grandparents.
A novel places you up close to any individual. It’s easy to find yourself sympathizing with and admiring someone who in real life would be the object of your instant judgment and derision. Of course this often goes unnoticed, but it’s not to hard to see the contradiction in Sylvie. Wouldn’t you rush to rescue an innocent young girl from a neglectful, unpredictable and strange woman? And although her natural existence is magnetically poetic, in real life I could never live that way–I have to engage the human race, but maybe, maybe she’s hit on something important that I’m missing.
So who’s got it more right, the scoffing kids in the ice cream store or the self-absorbed woman eating dinner in the dark? Everything I read calls on me, challenges me with the question of how to respond existentially. A few times while reading this novel I went outside in late fall without a jacket and tried to let my chilled sensation dissipate, tried to be one with my surroundings. It’s like trying to be still, serene, unaffected while flies and mosquitoes buzz about and help themselves to your lifeblood. It’s a life for the very few but it doubtlessly holds hidden treasures for those who can break through.
Happy meandering.