On a rainy afternoon on Killiney Hill, a man out walking without his overcoat happens upon a woman gazing out into Dublin Bay, standing perilously close to the edge. From this chance encounter develops a remarkable friendship which will enable each to face afresh their very different, damaged pasts, and look towards the future.
Jennifer Johnston was an Irish novelist. She won a number of awards, including the Whitbread Book Award for The Old Jest in 1979 and a Lifetime Achievement from the Irish Book Awards (2012). The Old Jest, a novel about the Irish War of Independence, was later made into a film called The Dawning, starring Anthony Hopkins, produced by Sarah Lawson and directed by Robert Knights.
Have you ever found yourself reading a story that is so boring, you start hoping someone's going to die?
Or, maybe a bad guy will jump out of the bushes with a long, shiny knife and a menacing sneer?
These are not things that we want to happen, ever, in real life, but, in a novel. . . well, in a novel, things need to happen, y'all.
Wait, I take that back. Not that much ever happens in Anne Tyler's or Larry McMurtry's novels, but I want to read them all.
This story, The Gingerbread Woman was so boring to me, I am convinced that Jennifer Johnston was bored as she was writing it.
I could go on and on here. . . the title? It means nothing. Absolutely nothing. In what way was she a gingerbread woman? Run, run, run as fast as you can. . . you can't catch me. . . ??? There was no running, and anyone could have caught her. She wasn't delicious, either.
The shift from two alternating first-person viewpoints? Sloppy and awkward. It took me a full paragraph, each time, before I could figure out who was “talking.”
The shifts in present tense and past tense? Didn't work for me, and it's the reason I can't embrace The Hunger Games either. Please don't tell me a story in first-person, in “real time,” as it's happening to the protagonists; it's a serious pet-peeve of mine.
And, using the vehicle of the protagonist “writing a novel” as a way of conveying her backstory to the reader. . . why? Why would this work for anyone? A novel is not a memoir. Why would writing down the details of her failed love affair be considered “novel writing?”
This is a slap-dash, hot mess (with an alarming number of typos, by the way), and the protagonist was an unlikeable character whose name I've already forgotten, even though I finished the book less than an hour ago.
I'm going to go bite down hard on a gluten-free ginger snap now. It just feels right.
Were it not for the kind recommendation of GR friends, I would not have discovered writers and books unknown to me. The Gingerbread Woman is one such book with a truly engaging story by a prominent Irish writer, Jennifer Johnston, whom I have ashamedly never read. Antoinette, if you’re reading this review, thank you so much for putting this talented writer and wonderful story on my radar.
Published in 2000, The Gingerbread Woman takes place in Dublin. Two people made broken by significant losses met on Killiney Hill and befriended each other with a solicitude that only those who had suffered pain knew instinctively to offer to others.
In alternating fashion, we learn about Clara Barry, a 35-year-old woman recuperating from surgery who has gone home to live in a cottage near her mother, and Laurence (Lar) McGrane, a 36-year-old man who fled Glens of Antrim in Northern Ireland to Dublin, to cope with the sudden loss of his wife and daughter. Lar and his dog stay in a crummy hotel by the sea and Clara invites them to stay at her cottage for a few days. It is somewhat touching to see how they struggle to find the right words to say to each other and how often the words come out all wrong because words are a poor salve for pain that has become second nature.
Whereas Lar wants to cling onto his pain and hate in peace, Clara wishes to forget her pain. She recalls Prospero’s words to Ariel, “To the elements be free, and fare thou well.”, an injunction that Lar cannot abide.
Clara, a teacher of modern Irish literature, goes about her healing by writing the story of her life – the three months in New York that has brought her to physical and emotional ruin. After sustaining a post-operative scar in her belly, she is unable to type the upper case ‘i’ when referring to herself. She recalls the gingerbread man her mother used to bake for her and the verse associated with it. Clara puts her grief into words: ‘... I kept running like the Gingerbread Man, away, away. You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man. You will never catch me. I, upper case, am the Gingerbread Woman.’ Interesting meta-fiction.
One senses the tension and political turmoil in North Ireland and if I had knowledge about the history of Ireland, my reading would be that much richer. As it is, I was content simply to be riveted by the backstories of Clara and Lar, and hoped they would see brighter days.
There were no chapter divisions. There was also no demarcation where Clara’s story segued into Lar’s, and vice versa, which threw me off and irritated me the first time it happened. But once I became used to the structure of the novel, I was fully absorbed and the pages flew by.
Why hadn’t I heard of Jennifer Johnston? I looked her up and learned that this elderly writer (born 1930) has won a number of awards, including the Whitbread Book Award for The Old Jest in 1979 and a Lifetime Achievement from the Irish Book Awards (2012). Impressive! I am immeasurably pleased to have read The Gingerbread Woman and know I will be reading more of her writing.
This was a phenomenal book about 2 lost souls who are dealing with their grief in totally different ways but it is their mutual feelings of loss that have united them. I love this author's writing. Such a simple story that i could not put down. Loved it!!!
Two stars, for me, does not mean a book is bad; for me, this rating means it is OK.
On closing a book, if you must stop and ask yourself if it is good or not, there is something wrong! One’s response should be automatic. There should be no hesitation. With this book, I hesitated, I wasn’t sure, and so have given it two stars!
Here is the gist of the story in a few lines: boy meets girl in the present—Dublin at the turn of the 21st century. Both are dealing with problems in their past. Their relationship with each other, as well as their troubled pasts, are recounted. The telling flips between the three. It isn’t always crystal clear which story is at a given moment being discussed. I found the telling disjointed and unnecessarily confusing. The story also jumps between very different settings—Dublin and NYC. She is a writer. What is story and what is fact must also be kept straight.
On the other hand, there are lines that interested me. Different cultures and their respective languages have a different sense, a different tone to them. Italian is happy, carefree. There is romance in Russian prose. So states the author, and I agree.
At the start, I was intrigued. I wanted to know, needed to figure out, what was the respective “problem” of each.
I observed the differences in behavior of the female versus male figures, giving me more food for thought which I like. He says, “Shhhhh, be quiet. Don’t make such a scene.” She says, “I don’t care who hears.”
Do even “well intentioned lies” irritate you, as they do me and her? A lie is a lie!
I got a kick out of this: She washed her face, but looked terrible both before and after!
There is a puzzling use of anagrams, the significance of which I couldn’t figure out.
I wouldn’t say the story is in anyway exceptional. It has been done before.
I think the covers and the titles of Johnston’s books are misleading! They should be improved.
The reading of the audiobook by Nicola Barber is good. The Irish brogue is not too difficult to follow. Three stars for the narration.
One last point, the conflict between the Republicans and the Unionists in the Irish Civil War plays into the storyline, but the emphasis is on the personal rather than the political level.
Jennifer Johnston is this month's choice by the Irish Times Book Club, and this is the first of her books I've read. Well written account of a chance meeting between two damaged people, and original in that their relationship develops into a friendship that breaks the mold. Set in Dublin, their backstories have originality, but Clara's bears a very strong resemblance to a memoir I just read. I'll definitely read more by this author.
Giusto un paio di cosucce per fare il punto della situazione.
Se nel mondo, le relazioni pubbliche si svolgessero solo per metà come in quelle del libro, tre quarti dell’umanità avrebbe la faccia gonfia di schiaffi.
12 ore di diretta di un uomo in stato comatoso con la voce fuori campo di Luciano Onder mi avrebbero annoiato di meno.
Devo ammettere che il libro è scritto benissimo, se si considera il calibro qualitativo richiesto da una classe di quinta elementare.
La mia vicina di casa ipocondriaca riesce a lagnarsi meno dei protagonisti. Ricordarmi di regalarle questo libro per dimostrarle che c’è gente messa molto peggio.
Il marzapane lo tollero solo in Shrek. E solo in versione maschile.
Un amico di mio cugino ha detto che se leggete questo libro, dopo sette giorni MUORITE.
P.S. Ma perché questo libro ce l’avevo in wishlist?
Kat and Clara are two broken characters who've both suffered their own personal tragedies and are dealing with that in their own ways. A poignant and engaging story, well told.
The Gingerbread woman is the story of an unlikely friendship between two strangers. A man walking on Killiney Hill in Ireland comes across a woman standing perilously close to the edge and warns her, but she claims she is in no danger and has no intention of committing suicide.
Subsequently they bump into each other again and she invites him to stay as a lodger for a few days, since he is temporarily away from home. The relationship is not sexual, they don’t ask questions and they give each other space while offering friendship. They talk over cups of tea, and during the course of these conversations they learn about each other and what has brought them where they are, in terms of time and of attitude. Their stories are both of loss and sadness, and together they manage to find a way of accepting and overcoming the past to look at the future.
The book is a story of bereavement and grieving, and somehow these two people seem to understand each other by the force of their similar feelings. Everyone else, despite being well-intentioned, just doesn’t seem to get their message across and, most of all, nobody is really helpful regardless of their efforts. After all, what do you say to a bereaved person? These two people are both grieving in a different, and personal, way.
It is perhaps impossible to set a book in Ireland without making reference to the political situation, but this is not so strong in the book – it is rather a background, something present every now and then in the dialogues. What is strongest is the sense of loss and how it affects the two characters in the form of anger, sadness and despair, and how they deal with it.
Excellently written, it is a book I recommend heartily.
I felt a lot of love and pain reading this story, but it is ultimately uplifting as two damaged people rescue each other from grief. The constant change of voice kept the tempo moving. If this book is anything to go by JJ is a compelling and insightful Irish novelist, and I am left wanting to read more of her work.
Argh. Another book not read by all that many people (relatively speaking). I grade my books on a scale of A to F and gave this an A++. She is recognized by others as "one of Ireland's finest writers".
I was disappointed by this although it's not a bad novel . Jennifer Johnston invests her characters with sharp and well observed dialogue which drives the plot but , sadly , in this story about two grieving adults, who form an unlikely bond in Dalkey , the dialogue is second fiddle to the interiority of these two introverts and consequently the novel feels like a skeleton riddled with fractures or a car seldom getting out of first gear .
Clara , a lecturer and writer is licking her wounds after a failed affair in New York while Lar is bereaved of his wife and child and has fled his home . Both are tetchy , guarded and generous in turn as they share Clara's home for a few days .
It somehow felt dated though , as if both characters would have been better placed thirty years before ..but there's a happy and comforting dog , a controlling and anxious mother who makes jam and a family doctor who , creepily , has a silent thing for his patient ,Clara , whom he has known for thirty years .
And , lurking in the dark corners is the thorny issue of The Troubles . Here Johnson exposes the easy prejudices shaped by decades of living on a divided island , where easy stereotypes lurk beneath model motherhood and compliance .
The storyline actually isn't awful - the lives of a grieving man and a physically and emotionally fragile woman intersect for a brief while while she deals with her heartbreak over her married lover and he refuses to get over the death of his wife and child two years earlier. However, neither character was particularly likeable, particularly Clara so it seemed fairly out of character for her to invite this random stranger into her home and the German and Italian bits scattered throughout just seemed a bit of a pretentious and unnecessary device to make the book more literary.
The biggest problem for me was that the narration was atrocious - please get actual Irish people to narrate the voices of Irish characters, the fact that the narrator didn't take the trouble to find out how to correctly pronounce Dalkey and Dun Laoghaire is poor given that the characters are Irish and she's meant to be speaking in Irish accents for the majority of the book. Lar didn't seem to know if he was from Northern Ireland, Birmingham, Newcastle or the West Country - his accent was all over the place and Clara's was fairly inconsistent too. This really ruined the listening experience for me - I'd quite happily listen to an otherwise good narrator read a book in their own accent rather than attempt accents they clearly can't do.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Johnston shifts between two protagonists, whose lives intersect, but refreshingly these characters don't become involved in a formulaic way. Each has a private story, separate wretched love stories, again unconventional, and the presence of one is a help to the healing of the other in both cases. Their families remain separate, so the narrative doesn't become a complete mess. It's the story of an encounter, about not knowing what has happened to another person, about having to go on when one really doesn't care to, and about how people sometimes do each other a great human service.
I had to read this for a Principle of Literature class. I was put off by the summary and was hoping it would be interesting. It is! It is a story of heartache and the past for two characters that come across each other. They end up comforting each other and there is a lot of depth to the characters and the plot. I HIGHLY recommend this as it surprised me and I am sure it will pleasantly surprise others.
Just finished this book. Enjoyed the writing, found the subject matter interesting. 2 characters with very different and difficult lives, both grieving. I was surprised at how funny parts of it were considering the context. Read the whole book in a day which is an achievement for me (OK just 200 pages)but easliy distracted by busy household usually. Would recommend.
I have grown to expect beautiful, lean, yet deeply lyrical and poignant prose from Johnston, but the wry humor in The Gingerbread Woman was a pleasant surprise.
I wouldn't have known of Johnston or her books had it not been for reading Bowen last year and discovering both the authors nominated for the Booker prize back in 1977. One rarely hears or read of this Irish author anymore, at least I haven't seen her books anywhere on the internet or even a bookshop for that matter. I wanted to try the shortlisted one but when I browsed through the books she had written, something about this one appealed to me. It made me think that this would be a great point to start with her works. Written in 2000, this novel follows a woman in her 30s in Dublin. She stays in the same street as her mother who makes jams and gingerbread and cakes. She is post-operative and is cynical, moody, and seeks desolation. At the back of her mind, memories of her time spent in New York hovers, reminding her why she in the present state. She begins to feel like a gingerbread woman; escaped and then 'all gone'. One morning she bumps into a man who is from the North of Ireland with his dog. He is running away from a tragedy back home and is holed up in a hotel. Soon, both of them bump into bars, parks until they start to acknowledge a friendship that has somehow sneaked between the fissures of their griefs. Clara throws jibes at Laurence while he sallows the hate he feels toward everything around him. It was a short and quick read. I don't think I could have picked a better book to be introduced to the author. The sense of Dublin she paints was swoonworthy. I felt the city pause, run and rewind for the characters. Beautifully, she writes about grief, loss and friendship. I was reminded of Strout's books while reading this. I must admit that unlike Strout's American dramatisation at times, this book handles the two adults more maturely, or rather with the Irish humour and cadence that can sometimes rub off as dry. This can, however, make a reader who is in need of something spicy bored. But I loved it. I feel it was like Strout and yet not and that made all the difference. It made me appreciate this book as much as Strout's. The best thing was the book made mentions of so many Irish authors and I was secretly grinning because I had read a book or two of theirs and I got the hang of it! I loved this book. I do recommend it if it sounds like the right one for you. I hope to read more of Johnston in the years to come.
"Run, run as fast as you can! You can't catch me I'm the Gingerbread man/woman"
It feels so good to hold a library book again! Libraries are the best!
The Gingerbread Woman by Jennifer Johnson is a tale of two people struggling with emotional torment who meet by chance and find a small sanctuary from their inner turmoil.
Clara, living in Dublin, is a recovering post-operative who loves to listen to classical music in her head and whose mother always makes jam and Lar, down for from the North with his dog Pansy who left his home without telling anyone to get away. The two meet by chance and enter a strange companionship of figuring out their feelings and plans to move on with their lives. For Lar, it is how to move on with life after the death of his wife and child. For Clara, it is a man from her past who is the reason she went to hospital. The two bond over the fact they needed to run, escape from the real world for a while - hence the recurring reference to the Gingerbread man/woman
I loved the simplicity of the story, the matter of fact way the characters spoke and interacted with each other. I also appreciated the rawness of their feelings. Clara's self loathing and introspection and Lar's guilt and hate felt very genuine.
I also thought there was an interesting spin on healing from trauma. It will come in your time, when you decide to be ready. It is not a pretty journey. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense and it is open ended.
If any of this sounds like your cup of tea, give this a read. (also it's set in Ireland so the scenery is gorgeous!!!)
Disclaimer: this book does not shy away from difficult topics such as mental health, grief and a depiction of a bombing incident.
Petite musique des adieux ; Un Livre de Jennifer Johnston (Irlandaise née den 1930) & Anne Damour (Traducteur). 250 pages. Editions Belfond (21/08/2023). Un style bien à part. Le point de vue d’une grand-mère, un peu factieuse sur les bords. Historie de famille, jeunesse et d’Irlande… « À l’autre bout de la pelouse, les mères rassemblaient leurs enfants, inquiètes à la vue des changements dans le ciel. « Ou ? — Ou, je ne sais pas, aller quelque part ailleurs. » Cet extrait ressemble bien au Livre qui veut juste « être ailleurs » selon mon expertise, l’auteure écrit pour s’évader ; -) … Puis il y a l’histoire du chien. C’est cool, les chiens. Non ? J’avoue je n’ai pas eu le courage de terminer ce Livre -ça m’arrive pas souvent xd !! – parce que pour moi c’était trop banal style « Bin je prend ma douche, après je me fais un café, je vais me promener… » Vous voyez l’esprit ? Bonnes Lectures quand même Phoenix ++
A story of trauma and tragic loss, shared through the stories of two people who happen to meet by chance. Clara has known loss, but prefers to pretend she is fine. Laurence loss is something that seems to almost disappear in random moments, but hits all the harder when he realizes he is almost happy.
Tragedy, whether our own or others, seems to reappear to us all at random moments, and these two souls seem to prefer to appear happy - at least until it is too exhausting, or a too personal question is posed. Questions that would require delving back into the tragedy, those painful memories.
Clara and Lar are two troubled souls, traumatised and sad from events in their past. They meet on Killiney Hill in Dublin and spend time together. Clara has come back to her home town from the States and Lar has come on holiday from Northern Ireland. Clara invites Lar and his dog, Pansy, to stay with her and over time, they gradually help each other to start to heal and move forward in their lives. This is quite a sad book and although the ending could be seen as positive for both of them, I was left feeling a little empty having read it. I liked Pansy and loved the books cover and learned many new French words reading it.
Uni-Lektüre (Re-read) Dieser Roman hat mir leider garnicht zugesagt, auch wenn die Geschichten hinter den Protagonisten ganz interessant war, fehlte die Spannung komplett. Dazu kommt, dass mich die Nebencharaktere auch oft einfach genervt haben, weil sie sich ständig in die Leben der Protagonisten eingemischt haben, ohne dass es von ihnen gewollt war.
Vielleicht ist es auch einfach nicht die passendste Lebensphase bei mir und dadurch gefiel mir das Buch nicht. Darauf kommt es ja auch manchmal an:)
The gingerbread woman for me was a very morbid book, and at times I found quite boring. It takes place in Dublin with two people Carla Barry and Lawrence Mc Grane who meet on kiliney hill one wet afternoon. Both people are coming from sad painful back rounds. Lars losted both his wife and young daughter in a motor accident And Clara was recovering from surgery. Lars feels he needs to cling to hate and pain daily just to survive, Clara needs to forget the pain she has suffered I was glad this book was only a little over 200 pages, as I felt the structure of the story boring.
The story was enjoyable apart from the dreadful accent of the narrator on audible. Place names seemed to really stump her, when she said Dun Laoire I nearly went into orbit and her accents for the different characters kept changing, she never once managed a northern sounding brogue for Lar, at one point he was knee deep in Yorkshire. I do wonder if it was a bot reading it. Sort of spoiled the beauty that is Jennifer Johnston.
Je ne sais que penser. La manière de vouloir mettre en scène les personnages et leur passé est très belle, mais je reste sur ma fin, de l’incompréhension dans les dialogues et dans l’histoire qui n’aide pas à me sentir transcendée. C’est quand même brut, j’aime que l’autrice ne surcharge pas le dialogue de futilité, et que ce soit directement profond et pleins de sous-entendus, il aurait peut-être fallu un roman plus développé.
A short, glorious read! I am inspired to read only Irish female authors from now on. Edna O’Brien, Kate O’Brien, Elizabeth Bowen, and more of Jennifer Johnston. They know the female human heart and soul and body so very well.
According to the blurb, this is the story of the chance encounter of two people (man and woman, naturally) with damaged pasts. They develop an unusual friendship and finally with the help of each other become capable of facing the pains of their pasts and perhaps start a new life.
As it is, I happen to be a sucker for stories about people with tragic memories. I have an inexplicable drawing towards intimate, very human stories with few characters, dealing with the tackling of the past. Of course I’m always afraid that I run into some abhorrent kitsch about the magical healing powers of love or some similar topic, but I also always hope that perhaps this one will be something different – a truly beautiful and unobtrusive story which will find its way to my heart.
To my great delight, I quickly found that The Gingerbread Woman belongs to the second category. This is a heart-rending and painful story, so life-like that it’s almost too hard to bear, but amidst all the pain it manages to convey in a slightly paradoxical way that perhaps hope indeed springs eternal.
It is not my intention to write down in detail the traumas the protagonists, Clara and Lar have to deal with, as it is exactly the main driving force and topic of the novel how – through a series of roundabouts – they manage to face up to the past and admit at least to themselves what is torturing them. When they finally succeed in this, it is a great relief both for them and for the reader – I might as well call it a cathartic moment.
By the way it is highly interesting how very differently Lar and Clara choose to fight with their pasts. Lar claims that he doesn’t want to forget his pain, doesn’t want to be healed, and his only desire is that he should be left alone to hate the whole world in peace, while Clara attempts to be optimistic and can hardly wait until her pain is gone, so that she might be able to laugh again. Contrary to what we may expect, it is Lar who tells his story (or parts of his story) compulsively to everyone coming his way, but he refuses to listen to the sympathetic words he gets in return. Clara, on the other hand, keeps her story a secret as much as possible, and finally gets rid of her memories by committing them on paper, as notes for a novel, that is, she fictionalizes her life.
Despite the fact that the motif of novel-writing (which usually gives a touch of literariness to any novel) appears in the book, The Gingerbread Woman remains on the ground throughout. It is especially Lar’s life which is strongly influenced by the history of his home country, Northern Ireland, but Clara herself is not the kind of heroine either who stands apart from her present and reality, and tries to spice up her boring life with imaginary ailments.
Although the novel doesn’t deal with particularly pleasant themes, it appealed to me all the same. I took to Clara and Lar very much, and I wanted to know as much as possible about their lives. I was almost desperate to continue whenever I had to stop reading. It doesn’t happen to me often nowadays but I got to like the protagonists so much, I found them so strong and realistic characters that it was hard for me to believe at the end of the novel that the story is over and I will never get to know more about them.
Even though the whole novel is exquisite, the ending is particularly so: it answers some questions and indicates some directions in which the life of the protagonists is likely to go, but it also leaves several options open. It seems that nothing is entirely black, but it cannot be taken for granted either that everything will turn out all right in the end. And I believe it is a great achievement that the author did not feel an urge to finish the story with a happy end, but did not feel it necessary to torture her characters to death either. Jennifer Johnston seems to have found the perfect balance between suffering and hope, and created a truly wonderful novel.