This story might start with a case of love at first sight, a coup de foudre, but this novel does not belong to the Romance genre. It is a moving tale of love and loss, but more than that it is a tale of three women (of three generations) who dare to make their own choices; who dare to go against what is expected of them, who dare to seek their independence. But some of the men are interesting too - unconventional, loving, lovable and perhaps even loved. I could wax lyrical about the characters, but I’ll refrain from doing so. And did I mention that the writing is excellent? With wit and compassion Penelope Lively explores love and happiness, the meaning of happiness, possibilities for happiness, paths chosen or not, chance, change and memory. So many interesting thoughts... Throw in books and art - yes, I’m hooked!
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“And in another year everything will be different yet again. It is always like that, and always will be; you are forever standing on the brink, in a place where you cannot see ahead; there is nothing of which to be certain except what lies behind. This should be terrifying, but somehow it is not.”
“The mind is cluttered with images, he thought – everything we see refers us to something else. Perhaps only children see with absolute purity of vision; they see things for what they are and nothing else. The rest of us see signals from elsewhere, and always have done, ever since people began to think.”
“‘The thing is,’ she said, high on sunshine and Campari, ‘that surely as you get older you shed skins, rather like a snake, and each time you end up slightly different. You leave your other selves behind. So you are also various people I have never known.’”
“Years after, she would think that you do not so much make decisions, as stumble in a certain direction because something tells you that that is the way you must go. You are impelled, by some confusion of instinct, will and blind faith. Reason does not much come into it. If reason ruled, you would not leave home in the morning, lest you stepped under a bus; you would not try, for fear of failure; you would not love, in case it hurt.”
“More provocative was the erratic process whereby you went in one direction rather than another, did this, not that, lived here, not there, found yourself with this person and not someone else quite unknown, quite inconceivable. How did this come about? Oh, you made choices, but in a way that was sometimes almost subliminal, at others so confused that, in recollection, the area of choice is obscured entirely: what was it that was not chosen? And, sometimes, choice is not an option.”
“They are never alone, and yet entirely alone; they are surrounded by other people, but no one else signifies. When they manage to speak to one another, what is said is inconsequential, but they are in tacit alliance; they are a secret unit.”
“Ruth said, ‘The last time I saw him – a month or so ago – we had this weird conversation about whether life is a switchback or a maze. I said switchback – hurtling from a down to an up. He said no, no, it’s a maze – there’s a secret correct route, but one always picks the dead ends.’”
“As she reads – the letter, the books – time is collapsed. Past and present seem to run concurrently: what happened, what is thought to have happened.”
“And three days isn’t long.
Except that it is, she thinks. These three days have had their own dimension – time out, time suspended, time confused.”
“Things went on as they had before, except that they were different.”
“I have no idea where I am going, she thought, but I have begun.”