William Maxwell was born in Lincoln, Illinois, where So Long, See You Tomorrow is set. Along with publishing his own writing, he worked as an editor of the New Yorker for forty years, editing the likes of John Updike, J.D. Salinger, and Eudora Welty. Like David Wroblewski described, So Long is part fact, part fiction. The affair and its tragic consequences between the farmer and his friend’s wife were actual events taken from the Illinois State Historical Library. And at the age of ten, Maxwell suffered the death of his mother from the 1918 influenza epidemic. He wrote of his loss, "It happened too suddenly, with no warning, and we none of us could believe it or bear it... the beautiful, imaginative, protected world of my childhood swept away." This life changing event would be at the center of many of his works.I’ll put out a few questions over the next few days but please feel free to start your own post if there is something you want to discuss. Look at the comments on the last post for some good questions from Larisa. I’m really interested in hearing what everyone thinks about the book.
Thank you for posting the background of the book. The last paragraph encapsulated the sensitive nature of the main narrator and who better to get it right than a sensitive author who lost his mother in his youth? The quote on the back page of my copy says "Maxwell's voice is one of the wisest in American fiction; it is, as well, one of the kindest." --John Updike
ReplyDeleteSeriously, this book was so interesting in its meanderings. I loved how the light way in which was written, like how the narrator described his childhood clock telling time: "...it was breakfast time, it was late afternoon, it was night." I don't know what the name of that style is, but I definitely want to read Maxwell's The Chateau, which is defined as having a "tragicomic premise".
Alright, I'll go...
ReplyDeleteThe "children are powerless" theme was sad because it's so true.
I loved the way the book sort of turned into a novel midstream - almost seamlessly. I can't remember a book I've read that made a transition in the same way.
Once I realized I was reading an apology to Cletus (or an expression of his guilt re: Cletus), I decided it was because he felt terrible about not acknowledging Cletus' loss, just like nobody acknowledged HIS loss.
I loved how the author expressed (many times) the notion that one cannot trust their memory or recollection. It was wise of him to acknowledge that his memories could be edited in his mind by circumstances and people. This has always been a fascinating topic to me.
And when he said, "Generosity might be the greatest pleasure there is" when his stepmother's family took him to Chicago . . . I think he was reflecting upon all kinds of generosity.
OK, this is why I need book clubs. It's because you are all brilliant. (Of course, the embarrassing flip side of this is "I'm not that smart". But, I'm learning to deal.)
ReplyDeleteNevertheless! I have to confess I was having trouble with the thread between Cletus and the narrator. It seemed a little too tenuous for how burdened the narrator feels? I couldn't figure out what I was missing. So, what you just said about the lack of acknowledgment was a total light bulb for me. That's it!
Anyway, I'm also going to post a separate thread about the memory thing. I want you guys to get all brilliant on it for me.