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The Light of Evening
In this contemporary story with universal resonance, Edna O'Brien delves deep into the intense relationship that exists between a mother and daughter who long for closeness yet remain eternally at odds.From her hospital bed in Dublin, the ailing Dilly Macready eagerly awaits a visit from her long-estranged daughter, Eleanora. Years before, Eleanora fled Ireland for London when her sensuous first novel caused a local scandal. Eleanora's peripatetic life since then has brought international fame but personal heartbreak in her failed quest for love. Always, her mother beseeches her to return home, sending letters that are priceless in their mix of love, guilt, and recrimination. For all her disapproval, Dilly herself knows something of Eleanora's need for as a young woman in the 1920s, Dilly left Ireland for a new life in New York City. O'Brien's marvelous cinematic portrait of New York in that era is a tour-de-force, filled with the clang and clatter of the city, the camaraderie of the working girls against their callous employers, and their fierce competition over handsome young men. But a lover's betrayal sent Dilly reeling back to Ireland to raise a family on a lovely old farm named Rusheen. It is Rusheen that still holds mother and daughter together.Yet Eleanora's visit to her mother’s sickbed does not prove to be the glad reunion that Dilly prayed for. And in her hasty departure, Eleanora leaves behind a secret journal of their stormy relationship -- a revelation that brings the novel to a shocking close.Brimming with the lyricism and earthy insight that are the hallmarks of Edna O'Brien's acclaimed fiction, The Light of Evening is a novel of dreams and attachments, lamentations and betrayals. At its core is the realization that the bond between mother and child is unbreakable, stronger even than death.
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First published September 28, 2006
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About the author
Edna O'Brien
112 books1,376 followersEdna O’Brien was an award-winning Irish author of novels, plays, and short stories. She has been hailed as one of the greatest chroniclers of the female experience in the twentieth century. She was the 2011 recipient of the Frank O’Connor Prize, awarded for her short story collection Saints and Sinners. She also received, among other honors, the Irish PEN Award for Literature, the Ulysses Medal from University College Dublin, and a lifetime achievement award from the Irish Literary Academy. Her 1960 debut novel, The Country Girls, was banned in her native Ireland for its groundbreaking depictions of female sexuality. Notable works also include August Is a Wicked Month (1965), A Pagan Place (1970), Lantern Slides (1990), and The Light of Evening (2006). O’Brien lived in London until her death.
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August 22, 20199.0/10
Books have an interesting way of pulling their own magic act: they seem to know exactly when they should be read, and by whom. While Edna O'Brien's The Country Girls Trilogy has been sitting patiently on the shelf for a couple of years, this one insisted on being read now, despite that it had never been on my radar. I didn't even know it existed, in fact, until a middle-of-the-night-i-need-to-read-something-NOW episode spewed this one out onto my iPad from the digital library bookshelf. I fell under its trance quite easily, as the lulling, haunting voice of Faulkner, of all people, insinuated himself into an Irish mother-daughter tale: The past is never dead. It's not even past.
The novel doesn't catch fire -- it merely smolders, like the dying embers around a campfire. There is warmth and charm infused with an almost-rambling tale of a woman's life. In fact, it seems at first as if we're going to have an almost-tame story of the foibles of Irish Emigrant To America Turns Domestic Servant And Is Disappointed. But, the life that escapes onto the page is heartbreaking in its simplicity and commonality: this can be a tale of any young woman, any place, any time, who longs to escape the bonds of destiny. For destiny it is when you're born in a certain time and place; to a certain class; to a certain socio-economic imperative. There may be a few who escape these ties, but very few get away.
It is, too, the tale of a mother and daughter who are always at odds, despite the deep love they feel for each other. The daughter knows best, as all daughters do; the mother knows best, as all mothers do - -- and they are both right, and both wrong, in the same breath. It is the dance of time, since the first mother-daughter pair appeared on this earth.
It is heartbreaking to experience both sides of the equation, from a bird's eye view, and not be able to stop the inevitable collision. O'Brien is so adept at creating both tension and empathy that one wants to step into the story and bang their respective heads together to make them see each other's despair, anguish, pain: they are not as unalike as they think they are.
And everything comes too late -- it always comes ten seconds too late. The missed connection; the letter that was mailed too late; the phone call that wasn't returned; the misunderstood gift that was meant as balm and is perceived as poison, until it's too late ... too late to see it was love and not a thorn that was being delivered.
O'Brien excels in portraying the misunderstood gesture and how in the end it will tear out your very soul, for the regret of it all.
Oh, what one would give to have simply taken that phone call from Mum. Oh, what one one would give to have read the letter when it was received. Oh, what one would give to retake the 10-minute detour that drove right by your Mum's house.
But life isn't a rehearsal O'Brien tells us; it isn't the long photo-shoot we imagine, where we can retake, to our hearts' content.
The final act will come, and there will only be unread letters, left for you, poste restante. And that's only if you're lucky.
[This book came hard on the heels of [book:Nothing to Be Frightened of|2982466] and was all the more, for that -- hence, why I think, certain books wait for you, ready to pounce when you're ready for them.]
Books have an interesting way of pulling their own magic act: they seem to know exactly when they should be read, and by whom. While Edna O'Brien's The Country Girls Trilogy has been sitting patiently on the shelf for a couple of years, this one insisted on being read now, despite that it had never been on my radar. I didn't even know it existed, in fact, until a middle-of-the-night-i-need-to-read-something-NOW episode spewed this one out onto my iPad from the digital library bookshelf. I fell under its trance quite easily, as the lulling, haunting voice of Faulkner, of all people, insinuated himself into an Irish mother-daughter tale: The past is never dead. It's not even past.
The novel doesn't catch fire -- it merely smolders, like the dying embers around a campfire. There is warmth and charm infused with an almost-rambling tale of a woman's life. In fact, it seems at first as if we're going to have an almost-tame story of the foibles of Irish Emigrant To America Turns Domestic Servant And Is Disappointed. But, the life that escapes onto the page is heartbreaking in its simplicity and commonality: this can be a tale of any young woman, any place, any time, who longs to escape the bonds of destiny. For destiny it is when you're born in a certain time and place; to a certain class; to a certain socio-economic imperative. There may be a few who escape these ties, but very few get away.
It is, too, the tale of a mother and daughter who are always at odds, despite the deep love they feel for each other. The daughter knows best, as all daughters do; the mother knows best, as all mothers do - -- and they are both right, and both wrong, in the same breath. It is the dance of time, since the first mother-daughter pair appeared on this earth.
It is heartbreaking to experience both sides of the equation, from a bird's eye view, and not be able to stop the inevitable collision. O'Brien is so adept at creating both tension and empathy that one wants to step into the story and bang their respective heads together to make them see each other's despair, anguish, pain: they are not as unalike as they think they are.
And everything comes too late -- it always comes ten seconds too late. The missed connection; the letter that was mailed too late; the phone call that wasn't returned; the misunderstood gift that was meant as balm and is perceived as poison, until it's too late ... too late to see it was love and not a thorn that was being delivered.
O'Brien excels in portraying the misunderstood gesture and how in the end it will tear out your very soul, for the regret of it all.
Oh, what one would give to have simply taken that phone call from Mum. Oh, what one one would give to have read the letter when it was received. Oh, what one would give to retake the 10-minute detour that drove right by your Mum's house.
But life isn't a rehearsal O'Brien tells us; it isn't the long photo-shoot we imagine, where we can retake, to our hearts' content.
The final act will come, and there will only be unread letters, left for you, poste restante. And that's only if you're lucky.
[This book came hard on the heels of [book:Nothing to Be Frightened of|2982466] and was all the more, for that -- hence, why I think, certain books wait for you, ready to pounce when you're ready for them.]
November 3, 2014
Sadly I cannot honestly say I liked this book and have therefore only given it two stars. I recognize that the writing itself is beautiful but that just was not enough to redeem the book. The author jumped around constantly between characters, place and time and I found myself having to guess when and where we actually were. She frequently seemed to start an explanation and then drifted away leaving so many things vague that I was just plain unsatisfied. It may be a while before I try this author again.
February 14, 2014
O’Brien can make you work: “Men are queer fish hard and soft both all pie when they want you so sweet and whispery sweeter than a woman then not.”
Or she can write as if wielding a blade: “Gabriel, the man she might have tied the knot with except that it was not meant to be. Putting memories to sleep, like putting an animal down.”
I’m not alone in finding the book’s first 120 pages a work of genius, the middle of the book erratic and sometimes confusing, and the end more genius, as an aging Dilly writes a dozen rambling and evocative letters to her daughter, Eleanora.
Though it’s a mother-daughter book, Eleanora plays no part in it for a hundred pages, as Dilly travels from Ireland to America near the start of the last century. Even the New World to her is pretty much Irish, and I love O’Brien’s portrait of a yearning girl in Brooklyn. Just as convincing is Dilly in old age, wanting more than her daughter can give her: “I haven’t got the same energy but didn’t I do my bit for ye all and maybe God will give me a few more years though I’d be no loss to anybody. Sad to say, years and months seem all one now, the same pattern, eat, feed the animals, sit at the fire at night and brood.”
In the middle of the book I was sometimes lost. Who was speaking? What were they talking about? I don’t need to be cosseted, and what I couldn’t figure out I read through, assuming it would all come clear—and most of it did. But it was the beginning and the end of the book that moved me. O'Brien is new to me, and I'll be reading more of her.
June 11, 2019
“The Country Girls”, which I read more than 20 years ago, had me fall a little in love with Edna O’Brien, especially, after I had picked up a recording of her narrating the trilogy in her own voice— a rich, sonorous Irish woman’s voice, so strong, so enchanting. I surrendered my literary heart to her.
Later, I read her book on James Joyce, having read that she was heavily influenced by his writing. I could understand somewhat why she would be influenced by Joyce, as many talented and famous writers have also been. And, she was Irish. When I was first introduced to Joyce I was repelled by him, although he was humble and dedicated to his own art without guile in his influence on younger writers and lovers of literature.
He repelled me and mesmerized me. I fell under his spell as Edna O’Brien has done. She much more than I, but I know the pull of the undertow of his writing. And as I surrendered to Edna O’Brien, she had surrendered to James Joyce.
“The Light of Evening”, a history of the relationship between a mother and a daughter, is powerful but discomfiting—like James Joyce. As other reviewers have explained: her writing is beautiful but in parts disjointed in this book. As if she knew where the narrative had been and where it was going, but had lost touch with the reader, who was as lost as a lamb upon the moor.
Light of Evening should be read, keeping in mind that Edna O’Brien, like many of us, has suffered from being accidentally poisoned by James Joyce. We need to read all of her and, of course, all the works of that Irish magus, James Joyce.
Later, I read her book on James Joyce, having read that she was heavily influenced by his writing. I could understand somewhat why she would be influenced by Joyce, as many talented and famous writers have also been. And, she was Irish. When I was first introduced to Joyce I was repelled by him, although he was humble and dedicated to his own art without guile in his influence on younger writers and lovers of literature.
He repelled me and mesmerized me. I fell under his spell as Edna O’Brien has done. She much more than I, but I know the pull of the undertow of his writing. And as I surrendered to Edna O’Brien, she had surrendered to James Joyce.
“The Light of Evening”, a history of the relationship between a mother and a daughter, is powerful but discomfiting—like James Joyce. As other reviewers have explained: her writing is beautiful but in parts disjointed in this book. As if she knew where the narrative had been and where it was going, but had lost touch with the reader, who was as lost as a lamb upon the moor.
Light of Evening should be read, keeping in mind that Edna O’Brien, like many of us, has suffered from being accidentally poisoned by James Joyce. We need to read all of her and, of course, all the works of that Irish magus, James Joyce.
August 7, 2020
Due vite uguali nonostante tutto.
Dilly è in ospedale, gravemente malata: è in attesa della diagnosi e della visita dell'amata figlia che tarda ad arrivare al suo capezzale.
Con i ricordi la donna ripercorre il suo passato: da giovane emigrata negli Stati Uniti, dove è stata a servizio presso ricche famiglie, al ritorno in Irlanda dove sposa Cornelius, (uomo dedito ai vizi soprattutto all’alcol) e con cui mette al mondo due figli, un maschio, Terence, ed Eleanora, su cui proietta e vede la realizzazione e i fallimenti delle sue aspirazioni.
Eleonora si è presto allontanata dalla soffocante campagna irlandese, ha scelto di vivere a Londra è diventata una scrittrice scandalizzando con i suoi libri l’opinione pubblica, ha divorziato, e regolarmente riceve le lettere amorevoli quanto feroci della madre.
Attraverso il dramma muto di due donne che hanno fallito nel loro rapporto, questo romanzo intimo e penetrante rimanda inevitabilmente il lettore al rapporto con la propria madre.
È l’intreccio di due voci che fanno eco una con l’altra ,che si uniscono per trasmettere lo stesso desiderio di emancipazione, la stessa fame d'amore, la stessa ricerca di felicità, le stesse delusioni.
“La luce della sera” ha una scrittura piena di rabbia, malinconia, angoscia e sensibilità
È un romanzo appassionato a volte tortuoso e persino confuso, disomogeneo, ma resta un bellissimo tributo, sensibile e poetico, alle madri.
Dilly è in ospedale, gravemente malata: è in attesa della diagnosi e della visita dell'amata figlia che tarda ad arrivare al suo capezzale.
Con i ricordi la donna ripercorre il suo passato: da giovane emigrata negli Stati Uniti, dove è stata a servizio presso ricche famiglie, al ritorno in Irlanda dove sposa Cornelius, (uomo dedito ai vizi soprattutto all’alcol) e con cui mette al mondo due figli, un maschio, Terence, ed Eleanora, su cui proietta e vede la realizzazione e i fallimenti delle sue aspirazioni.
Eleonora si è presto allontanata dalla soffocante campagna irlandese, ha scelto di vivere a Londra è diventata una scrittrice scandalizzando con i suoi libri l’opinione pubblica, ha divorziato, e regolarmente riceve le lettere amorevoli quanto feroci della madre.
Attraverso il dramma muto di due donne che hanno fallito nel loro rapporto, questo romanzo intimo e penetrante rimanda inevitabilmente il lettore al rapporto con la propria madre.
È l’intreccio di due voci che fanno eco una con l’altra ,che si uniscono per trasmettere lo stesso desiderio di emancipazione, la stessa fame d'amore, la stessa ricerca di felicità, le stesse delusioni.
“La luce della sera” ha una scrittura piena di rabbia, malinconia, angoscia e sensibilità
È un romanzo appassionato a volte tortuoso e persino confuso, disomogeneo, ma resta un bellissimo tributo, sensibile e poetico, alle madri.
July 9, 2021
I selected this book because of the accolades I ran across regarding the author. Edna O'Brien has been described as "the most gifted woman now writing in English" and "one of the great creative writers of her generation". I guess I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer as I found this to be an exceptionally awful book.
It was extremely hard to follow. It wasn't until I was 100 pages into it that I realized that each chapter flipped back and forth from mother to daughter. Even afterwards it was still difficult to determine who exactly the chapter was about, the mother or the daughter. An additional difficulty was that each chapter also jumped back and forth in time, but often with little clue as to what time it was. Sometimes the chapters switched from first to third person, then back again.
The book is full of descriptive prose leading up to nothing. Both the mother and daughter remain enigmas as the author never really delves into why they do what they do or feel the way they do. Things seem to just happen to them. That can sometimes be interesting if the events themselves are interesting but thats not the case here. Their lives are sheer banality.
If the book wasn't so short I would have abandoned it but I soldiered on with the hope that the author would pull it all together but in fact it got worse. The last few pages are just verbatim letters the mother wrote to the daughter, written like most such letters. Just random everyday thoughts; it rained yesterday, hope you got my last letter, the cat had kittens.........
I have never been so glad to finish a book.
It was extremely hard to follow. It wasn't until I was 100 pages into it that I realized that each chapter flipped back and forth from mother to daughter. Even afterwards it was still difficult to determine who exactly the chapter was about, the mother or the daughter. An additional difficulty was that each chapter also jumped back and forth in time, but often with little clue as to what time it was. Sometimes the chapters switched from first to third person, then back again.
The book is full of descriptive prose leading up to nothing. Both the mother and daughter remain enigmas as the author never really delves into why they do what they do or feel the way they do. Things seem to just happen to them. That can sometimes be interesting if the events themselves are interesting but thats not the case here. Their lives are sheer banality.
If the book wasn't so short I would have abandoned it but I soldiered on with the hope that the author would pull it all together but in fact it got worse. The last few pages are just verbatim letters the mother wrote to the daughter, written like most such letters. Just random everyday thoughts; it rained yesterday, hope you got my last letter, the cat had kittens.........
I have never been so glad to finish a book.
November 25, 2015
Not so good as expected.
3* Saints and Sinners
2* The Light of Evening
TR Mother Ireland: A Memoir
TR The Little Red Chairs
TR In the Forest
TR Girl With Green Eyes
TR The Country Girls Trilogy
3* Saints and Sinners
2* The Light of Evening
TR Mother Ireland: A Memoir
TR The Little Red Chairs
TR In the Forest
TR Girl With Green Eyes
TR The Country Girls Trilogy
July 21, 2016
“…the milk-white china cups with their beautiful rims of gold, dimmed here and there from the graze of lips…” (3-4).
“…telling her that she would have to go to Dublin for observation. Observation for what? As is she were the night sky” (8).
“…I’ll never forget this moment, the hum of the bee, the saffron threads of the flower, the drawn blinds, nature’s assiduousness and human cruelty” (81).
“…finding himself outside under a roof of frozen stars…” (96).
“It was snowing in the vast cemetery in Brooklyn, big bulky overcoats of snow on the tall tombs, draping the headstones and the flat tablets with their long loving recitations” (96).
“A multitude of small bells, followed by bigger bells, are ringing inside Dilly’s head, chimes half a century apart, bringing her gradually awake, her mind clogged with memories and with muddle” (119).
“…Nolan deems her as only a step above buttermilk and kinda mad” (120).
“…clouds like great liners roaming across the rinsed blue heavens…” (131).
“A moment of vindication when she read of Christina Rossetti, Christina Rossetti dressed in black at a tea party of Mrs. Virtue Tebbs, having to listen to banality, social nothings, suddenly standing up in the middle of that room, holding a green volume of her poems and saying to the frivolous group, “I am Christina Rossetti. ‘Bring me poppies brimmed with sleepy death.’” Yes, she would be Christina Rossetti when she confronted her mother” (145).
“He worked at night. A light in his window and a light in hers is what a traveler would chance on, two disparate lights signaling a divided house” (148).
“If ever there was a moment for reconciliation it was there, it was then, the softness of the night, the trees in their spring vesture and the signing of the leaves, not like winter’s brawl” (149).
“It was coming from your country and I thought of the mist on the mountain, the clods so big, so roaming, reluctant to cross the Irish Sea and come and hang over this great wide blotch of a city of London and hang over me” (151).
“…visiting little malices on one another in lieu of their missed happiness” (164).
“…rummaging in their rush baskets, asking of their baskets if they had forgotten this or that and the evident relief at finding a bottle of pills or a crochet pattern” (170).
“…and elsewhere lagoons of lit candles, hosts of waiters and waitresses all in black, like fledgling birds, swooping to be of use” (214).
“ ‘I ate my dinner cautiously and without schnapps,’ he says, quoting Strindberg, poor Strindberg with his deathly melodies” (215).
“…separate and tensed as they listen to the wheels pawing the ground outside and the engines puttering in an indecision” (218).
*Side note: the author uses the word "baleful" quite frequently, but she doesn't seem to use it correctly.
*The book becomes much more complicated (I shouldn't be surprised, in dealing with relationships among family members) during the letters section at the end of the book.
"The room felt icy, even though the fire was on. It was one of those tall electric fires fronted with a simulation of logs, broken chunks of coal, lit from within by a red bulb that gave a semblance of heat, but not real heat" (267).
“…telling her that she would have to go to Dublin for observation. Observation for what? As is she were the night sky” (8).
“…I’ll never forget this moment, the hum of the bee, the saffron threads of the flower, the drawn blinds, nature’s assiduousness and human cruelty” (81).
“…finding himself outside under a roof of frozen stars…” (96).
“It was snowing in the vast cemetery in Brooklyn, big bulky overcoats of snow on the tall tombs, draping the headstones and the flat tablets with their long loving recitations” (96).
“A multitude of small bells, followed by bigger bells, are ringing inside Dilly’s head, chimes half a century apart, bringing her gradually awake, her mind clogged with memories and with muddle” (119).
“…Nolan deems her as only a step above buttermilk and kinda mad” (120).
“…clouds like great liners roaming across the rinsed blue heavens…” (131).
“A moment of vindication when she read of Christina Rossetti, Christina Rossetti dressed in black at a tea party of Mrs. Virtue Tebbs, having to listen to banality, social nothings, suddenly standing up in the middle of that room, holding a green volume of her poems and saying to the frivolous group, “I am Christina Rossetti. ‘Bring me poppies brimmed with sleepy death.’” Yes, she would be Christina Rossetti when she confronted her mother” (145).
“He worked at night. A light in his window and a light in hers is what a traveler would chance on, two disparate lights signaling a divided house” (148).
“If ever there was a moment for reconciliation it was there, it was then, the softness of the night, the trees in their spring vesture and the signing of the leaves, not like winter’s brawl” (149).
“It was coming from your country and I thought of the mist on the mountain, the clods so big, so roaming, reluctant to cross the Irish Sea and come and hang over this great wide blotch of a city of London and hang over me” (151).
“…visiting little malices on one another in lieu of their missed happiness” (164).
“…rummaging in their rush baskets, asking of their baskets if they had forgotten this or that and the evident relief at finding a bottle of pills or a crochet pattern” (170).
“…and elsewhere lagoons of lit candles, hosts of waiters and waitresses all in black, like fledgling birds, swooping to be of use” (214).
“ ‘I ate my dinner cautiously and without schnapps,’ he says, quoting Strindberg, poor Strindberg with his deathly melodies” (215).
“…separate and tensed as they listen to the wheels pawing the ground outside and the engines puttering in an indecision” (218).
*Side note: the author uses the word "baleful" quite frequently, but she doesn't seem to use it correctly.
*The book becomes much more complicated (I shouldn't be surprised, in dealing with relationships among family members) during the letters section at the end of the book.
"The room felt icy, even though the fire was on. It was one of those tall electric fires fronted with a simulation of logs, broken chunks of coal, lit from within by a red bulb that gave a semblance of heat, but not real heat" (267).
July 27, 2022
Oh, Edna. I love you so, yet you keep writing the same book over and over! And in thinly-veiled autobiography. The writing here was gorgeous in its detail, of course, but the story felt boring and like I had read it before (since I've read most of her books). I liked the Dilly parts, especially her time in Brooklyn (reminded me so much of the novel by Colm Toibin!), and her letters to her daughter were delightful.
June 12, 2012
Dilly is lying in her hospital bed and her thoughts fade in and out through the years of her life, from her frightening but exciting journey from Ireland to America in the 1920's, to lost love and her struggle to exist and to have a meaningful relationship with her children. Her lost daugher, Eleanora has her own struggles (and many lovers!) and is on her way to her dying mothers side.
This is another book that I came across on our bookshelf at work, having never read Edna O'Brien before I was interested to find out what this Author was all about. I am absolutely divided in opinion about 'The Light of Evening'. On paper this has to be right up my alley, it is literary fiction and it is beautifully and absorbingly written. Each page is like a work of poetry dressed up as a work of fiction and it is quite imaginative and original. It could have been amazing if it had had more of an interesting story and a better ending and I found it to be frustratingly Arty Farty!
Too often I found myself in the past and then the present and then inside a classic literary work of fiction and then a dream and then back again. I like it when books have depth and dimensions but sometimes (as in this case) it actually got in the way of a good book. It has wetted my appetite to read more from this Author in the hope that her other titles are more readable.
This book, from my point of view anyway, walked too close a tight rope between interesting and boring, frustrating and genius. It could have been genius and other readers may think it is.
3/5
This is another book that I came across on our bookshelf at work, having never read Edna O'Brien before I was interested to find out what this Author was all about. I am absolutely divided in opinion about 'The Light of Evening'. On paper this has to be right up my alley, it is literary fiction and it is beautifully and absorbingly written. Each page is like a work of poetry dressed up as a work of fiction and it is quite imaginative and original. It could have been amazing if it had had more of an interesting story and a better ending and I found it to be frustratingly Arty Farty!
Too often I found myself in the past and then the present and then inside a classic literary work of fiction and then a dream and then back again. I like it when books have depth and dimensions but sometimes (as in this case) it actually got in the way of a good book. It has wetted my appetite to read more from this Author in the hope that her other titles are more readable.
This book, from my point of view anyway, walked too close a tight rope between interesting and boring, frustrating and genius. It could have been genius and other readers may think it is.
3/5
February 10, 2008
Reading Edna O'Brien's latest novel was sort of like reading a cross between James Joyce -- I definitely noticed his influence here -- and Alice Munro, and maybe a little Virginia Woolf, too. I wish I remembered more of The House of Splendid Isolation, which I read in 2000. Reading this was a lovely yet somewhat devastating experience, but then, I read about mothers and daughters differently now. The story centers around Dilly, a woman dying from ovarian cancer, and Eleanora, her daughter. Eleanora is a writer with a scandalous personal life, and her relationship with her mother is, predictably, often strained. Her final visit to her mother's bedside doesn't provide the closure her mother hopes for; instead, it opens new wounds and much is left unsaid. O'Brien takes us through Dilly's life and experiences as a young Irish woman living in New York City in the 1920's to Eleanora's adult life. It is a heartbreaking yet somehow lovely and familiar account of all the ways in which we lose each other.
June 7, 2016
I checked out several O'Brien works to try this author for my reading enjoyment and found I do not find reading this type of book a rewarding experience. Yes, she is a good writer. This is emotional, dramatic, poignant here and there, revealing and very Irish with authentic Irish immigration experiences. Now we know from her son's revelations that his father was extremely jealous of Edna's writing success and imagined he had written her works himself - a scene nakedly portrayed in this book of remembrances. Truth is fiction? The Light of Evening portrays the life of a woman near dying as she reflects on her own life and that of her children played out in fractured remembrances mixed with live action. One daughter happens to be a successful novelist. Whether this is great writing or not, it is just not my cup of tea. I use this forum for my own use - to find books I enjoy reading and help my poor memory to avoid those I don't like.
May 14, 2012
5.11.12 started this book last night, I think. I like the writing but the story is sooooo sad. Hurrying to get to the end!
5.14.12 finished this book this morning. Very sad - such a depressing book, which I certainly don't need. One word review would be "WHY?"
Only 293 pages long. I will say "some" of the writing was very LYRICAL. And beautiful...but overall?
UGH.....in my humble opinion. Someone else, perhaps better reader, will have a different opinion.
Would not recommend to the readers i know.
5.14.12 finished this book this morning. Very sad - such a depressing book, which I certainly don't need. One word review would be "WHY?"
Only 293 pages long. I will say "some" of the writing was very LYRICAL. And beautiful...but overall?
UGH.....in my humble opinion. Someone else, perhaps better reader, will have a different opinion.
Would not recommend to the readers i know.
June 7, 2008
I was disappointed in this book. The jacket cover said it was a book that "explore[d] the complicated, incomparable bonds of mother-daughter love." I sure didn't get that from the book, and I kept waiting for it to start getting to be about that, but I don't feel it ever was. The daughter didn't seem to want much of a relationship with her mom and the mom kept hoping to have one and that never really changed.
October 24, 2021
I’m having a hard time rating The Light of Evening. There were portions that I loved and that reminded me a great deal of Brooklyn by Colm Toibin. And then there were portions that were steam-of-conscience writings that were very difficult to read and understand. The book is divided into 8 parts and an epilogue. The book begins with Dilly, an elderly Irish woman, getting ready to leave and go to the hospital. Then the book shifts to Dilly’s early life when she leaves Ireland and goes to the U.S. to work. This is my favorite portion of the book. I enjoyed the descriptions of Dilly’s wonder and homesickness as she starts a new life in the U.S. The theme of this book is mothers and daughters and how that even though they love each other, mothers and daughters have a hard time communicating and understanding each other. Dilly receives some of the most unusual letters from her mother with frequent complaints and criticisms. But later in the book, Dilly will do the same to her daughter, unable to talk about the things that really matter to her. Dilly remains in the hospital gravely ill, hoping that her daughter will visit. Her daughter, Eleanora, is a successful author and travels a great deal. Eventually Eleanora does visit and accidentally leaves her personal journal behind. This journal is the stream-of-conscience writing that was so hard for me read. A great deal of it concerns Eleanora’s failed marriage, her many affairs and the stormy relationship she had with her mother, and she is mortified when she realizes that she has left it behind and that her mother has read it. This was not an easy or happy book to read, but I keep finding myself thinking about Dilly and Eleanora. This was an interesting immigrant story with a mother/daughter conflict at its heart and the good portions outweigh the bad.
October 29, 2020
The Light of Evening by Edna O’Brien is a deceptively complex book. It deals with relationships between two women, Dilly and Eleanora, who live very different lives some years apart. They are both women, but they come from different generations. They are both Irish, but they seem to belong to different countries, as well as different eras. They both leave their homeland to seek fortune, but on wholly different terms and to different places. They both seem to stumble into relationships with men, some of which involve marriage, and cope in partially successful ways with the challenges posed by maintaining the terms of engagement. The complications in the relationship between the two women, Dilly and Eleanora, arise because they are mother and daughter.
At the start, we meet Dilly, the mother, who is in hospital in Dublin. Her years have advanced. She is seriously ill and about to undergo a procedure. Her youth flashes before her sedated eyes. She travels from Ireland to the United States and we follow a developing life in New York as it moves from promised opportunity to promised opportunity, only to find that reality usually imposes its surprisingly mundane results. Wiser, but only marginally richer, Dilly soon finds herself repatriated for family reasons.
We meet Eleanora via scenes from her marriage. She too has left Ireland, but she has personal reasons and she has pursued education. She seems to be in control, at least potentially in control of her life options. She is apparently free to choose and we see her relocate for professional rather than menial reasons. But she seems to spend as much of her time and energy analyzing her relationships with men as pursuing her professional goals. The turns in her life are unpredictable, often unfathomable. They have a gloss of normality imposed by obvious consumption, personality created by likes and dislikes and achievement realized through opportunity. It is a life that presents a vivid contrast to the life of Dilly, whose own journey was imposed by a need to make a living first and a personal space second.
But the real complication arises because these two women, doing what women do a generation apart are mother and daughter. Letters exchanged form a major part of the book’s substance, specifically letters between mother and daughter. These letters often do not appear to say very much, but then that becomes a crucial point in the narrative. Deceptively simple, they can also deceive by not saying what the writer wants to say, by not communicating what the reader wants to hear.
Overall the plot of Edna O’Brien’s novel dwells almost exclusively on the nature of the relationship between mother and daughter, the difference and similarities that make their lives. It travels the world that surrounds their different generations, drawing sharp contrasts but also recognizing remarkable similarities. It’s a book that walks well-worn paths, but arrives at new experiences for the reader. Rather than the substance of life, it is the spaces between, whether large or small, that captivate. And, by the end, we realize that for all our complications, we individuals are generally ruled by self and can often be driven by quite mundane, but devastatingly relentless material concerns.
At the start, we meet Dilly, the mother, who is in hospital in Dublin. Her years have advanced. She is seriously ill and about to undergo a procedure. Her youth flashes before her sedated eyes. She travels from Ireland to the United States and we follow a developing life in New York as it moves from promised opportunity to promised opportunity, only to find that reality usually imposes its surprisingly mundane results. Wiser, but only marginally richer, Dilly soon finds herself repatriated for family reasons.
We meet Eleanora via scenes from her marriage. She too has left Ireland, but she has personal reasons and she has pursued education. She seems to be in control, at least potentially in control of her life options. She is apparently free to choose and we see her relocate for professional rather than menial reasons. But she seems to spend as much of her time and energy analyzing her relationships with men as pursuing her professional goals. The turns in her life are unpredictable, often unfathomable. They have a gloss of normality imposed by obvious consumption, personality created by likes and dislikes and achievement realized through opportunity. It is a life that presents a vivid contrast to the life of Dilly, whose own journey was imposed by a need to make a living first and a personal space second.
But the real complication arises because these two women, doing what women do a generation apart are mother and daughter. Letters exchanged form a major part of the book’s substance, specifically letters between mother and daughter. These letters often do not appear to say very much, but then that becomes a crucial point in the narrative. Deceptively simple, they can also deceive by not saying what the writer wants to say, by not communicating what the reader wants to hear.
Overall the plot of Edna O’Brien’s novel dwells almost exclusively on the nature of the relationship between mother and daughter, the difference and similarities that make their lives. It travels the world that surrounds their different generations, drawing sharp contrasts but also recognizing remarkable similarities. It’s a book that walks well-worn paths, but arrives at new experiences for the reader. Rather than the substance of life, it is the spaces between, whether large or small, that captivate. And, by the end, we realize that for all our complications, we individuals are generally ruled by self and can often be driven by quite mundane, but devastatingly relentless material concerns.
March 14, 2008
Beautiful, sentimental, harsh...I loved it-but since I can't find the words I'll let the book speak for itself-here's the prologue...
Prologue
'There is a photograph of my mother as a young woman in a white dress, standing by her mother who is seated out-of-doors on a kitchen chair, in front of a plantation of evergreen trees. Her mother is staring with a grave expression, her gnarled fingers clasped in prayer. Despite the virgin marvel of the white dress and the obligingness of her stance, my mother has heard the mating calls of the world beyond and has seen a picture of a white ship far out at sea. Her eyes are shockingly soft and beautiful.
The photograph would have been taken of a Sunday and for a special reason, perhaps on account of the daughter's looming departure. A stillness reigns. One can feel the sultriness, the sun beating down on the tops of the drowsing trees and over the nondescript fields, on and on to the bluish swath of mountain. Later as the day cools and they have gone in, the cry of the corncrake will carry across those same fields and over the lake to the blue-hazed mountain, such a lonely evening sound to it, like the lonely evening sound of the mothers, saying it is not our fault that we weep so, it is nature's fault that makes us first full, then empty.
Such is the wrath of the mothers, such is the cry of the mothers, such is the lamentation of the mothers, on and on until the last day, the last bluish tinge, the pismires, the gloaming, and the dying dust.'
Prologue
'There is a photograph of my mother as a young woman in a white dress, standing by her mother who is seated out-of-doors on a kitchen chair, in front of a plantation of evergreen trees. Her mother is staring with a grave expression, her gnarled fingers clasped in prayer. Despite the virgin marvel of the white dress and the obligingness of her stance, my mother has heard the mating calls of the world beyond and has seen a picture of a white ship far out at sea. Her eyes are shockingly soft and beautiful.
The photograph would have been taken of a Sunday and for a special reason, perhaps on account of the daughter's looming departure. A stillness reigns. One can feel the sultriness, the sun beating down on the tops of the drowsing trees and over the nondescript fields, on and on to the bluish swath of mountain. Later as the day cools and they have gone in, the cry of the corncrake will carry across those same fields and over the lake to the blue-hazed mountain, such a lonely evening sound to it, like the lonely evening sound of the mothers, saying it is not our fault that we weep so, it is nature's fault that makes us first full, then empty.
Such is the wrath of the mothers, such is the cry of the mothers, such is the lamentation of the mothers, on and on until the last day, the last bluish tinge, the pismires, the gloaming, and the dying dust.'
March 10, 2008
Loved it, but struggled with it. Just as you think you are going to be given the secret, the "thing" that has been driven between this mother and daughter, you are led back around to something else. But it's there - I think it's there on the last page of Eleanora's journal, the one her mother wasn't supposed to read (or was she?), and then confirmed later when we're told of a young boy watching a woman storm up and down the banks of raging river. Or at least I think we're told. And the tragedy of it - of the mother dying with the horrible truths she's read, but without ever being able to discuss them with her deeply troubled daughter.
November 20, 2011
This was one of the most boring books I have ever read. I could not wait for it to be over but almost groaned every time I picked it up. The only redeeming part was a section set in New York in the early 1900's. The characters were odd and the plot meandering and pointless. The sections with the daughter were the most tedious as the author went into long, literary monologues to prove she was well read ?!?!!??! Would avoid her other books like a Danielle Steel.
May 31, 2016
Rather like the last rose of summer from this author's long-cultivated garden. Some of the recurring themes might have been omitted from this latest novel, and some of the pokes at Ireland/country folk/the Church are no longer on the mark as in earlier decades,
or have since been done in fresher fashion by younger writers, the newly provoked. But all in all, a satisfying read from the self-exiled doyenne.
or have since been done in fresher fashion by younger writers, the newly provoked. But all in all, a satisfying read from the self-exiled doyenne.
March 6, 2014
Portrait of a mother-daughter relationship read by Tina Kellegher.
August 29, 2022
A modernist novel, which in this case means (I think) an objectivist writing style (not the political nonsense of that name but writing -often poetry- focused on everyday life and language, emphasizing sincerity and a clear vision of the world), a somewhat cubist plot (broken shards without an obvious storyline, that usually don’t join up) and the heroism of an ordinary life, observed without irony, respectfully, seriously, as it deserves, as we all deserve. Although it is described as a mother – daughter relationship, it seems to me more like the daughter, a successful writer, whose personal life is sacrificed to her work, describing her mother, a simple woman but nobody’s fool, with sympathy and some sorrow. The mother is given her own clear voice through the technique of letter writing. There is some entertainment at the expense of people who imagine they are depicted in the novel and threaten to sue. There are a few exceptionally fine moments of pure exuberance in the writing. It can be a frustrating book to be honest, in which not a lot happens slowly, sometimes confusing, but it’s ultimately a moving homage to all of our mothers, whom we only understand in retrospect and we miss when they are gone.
September 9, 2022
Lettura bella ed impegnativa.
L'autrice, irlandese, si colloca perfettamente nella tradizione di "Irish writers", sia per le capacità tecniche, sia per la profondità dei temi affrontati, espressi con grande sensibilità.
Le protagoniste sono due donne: Dilly, la madre ed Eleanora, la figlia.
Il romanzo è diviso in 8 parti, precedute da un prologo iniziale e concluse da un epilogo.
La tecnica narrativa varia: a volte il narratore è onnisciente e si esprime in terza persona, altre è intradiegetico e si esprime in prima persona attraverso le voci di Dilly e di sua figlia Eleanora.
Un numero cospicuo di pagine è occupato dalle lettere che Dilly invia ad Eleanora, e la parte sesta dal diario di Eleanora.
Anche il tempo e lo spazio del racconto sono vari; vi sono flashback e ambientazioni tra Irlanda, Londra, Stati Uniti e parti d'Europa che Eleanora tocca nei suoi viaggi.
La "confusione" narrativa sembra rispecchiare gli animi inquieti di Dilly ed Eleanora, entrambe desiderose di libertà, emancipazione e amore, ognuna figlia del proprio tempo in quanto a modalità.
E' una storia triste, in cui i personaggi non si incontrano veramente mai, rimanendo prigionieri della loro solitudine. Così anche Dilly ed Eleanora.
L'autrice, irlandese, si colloca perfettamente nella tradizione di "Irish writers", sia per le capacità tecniche, sia per la profondità dei temi affrontati, espressi con grande sensibilità.
Le protagoniste sono due donne: Dilly, la madre ed Eleanora, la figlia.
Il romanzo è diviso in 8 parti, precedute da un prologo iniziale e concluse da un epilogo.
La tecnica narrativa varia: a volte il narratore è onnisciente e si esprime in terza persona, altre è intradiegetico e si esprime in prima persona attraverso le voci di Dilly e di sua figlia Eleanora.
Un numero cospicuo di pagine è occupato dalle lettere che Dilly invia ad Eleanora, e la parte sesta dal diario di Eleanora.
Anche il tempo e lo spazio del racconto sono vari; vi sono flashback e ambientazioni tra Irlanda, Londra, Stati Uniti e parti d'Europa che Eleanora tocca nei suoi viaggi.
La "confusione" narrativa sembra rispecchiare gli animi inquieti di Dilly ed Eleanora, entrambe desiderose di libertà, emancipazione e amore, ognuna figlia del proprio tempo in quanto a modalità.
E' una storia triste, in cui i personaggi non si incontrano veramente mai, rimanendo prigionieri della loro solitudine. Così anche Dilly ed Eleanora.
November 21, 2018
A story about a woman who is dying, as she reflects upon her life and relationships. O'Brien's writing is wonderful so I feel compelled to read more and more by her. It is rather depressing as well, so take that into consideration.
March 16, 2021
Edna O'Brien's writing is a discovery for me. She's had a long and prolific career, with this novel written when she was in her seventies. The story, based upon O'Brien's own life, is about Dilly, an elderly woman from farm in County Clare, who's now dying of cancer in a hospital in Dublin. She's waiting for a visit from her beloved daughter, Eleanora, who's now an acclaimed writer living in London. Though this novel is short, it is written in 8 parts with each one different in style and point of view. Some sections are third person, some in Dilly's voice, some in Eleanora's, some are letters, and some journal entries. Her writing is so evocative and beautiful with its descriptions of the rural Irish landscape and odd characters. My favorite section is Dilly's telling of her life as a young woman trying to make her way in Brooklyn before she returns to Ireland for the long haul. Overall, this is sad tale as the mother-daughter relationship is fraught with disappointment but there's a fierce love that's present. The epilogue is a lovely way to end the novel after a rather unsatisfying conclusion.
I read a wonderful profile of O'Brien in The Guardian. She's still feisty and interesting at 90. I suspect that this novel is not her best- it's bit disjointed- but I enjoyed reading it and feel like I've discovered a new writer's oeuvre to explore.
I read a wonderful profile of O'Brien in The Guardian. She's still feisty and interesting at 90. I suspect that this novel is not her best- it's bit disjointed- but I enjoyed reading it and feel like I've discovered a new writer's oeuvre to explore.
April 29, 2014
Dilly Macready lies in her hospital bed, waiting to be reunited with her daughter, Eleanora. Their relationship has been strained, separated by distance and by lifestyle choice. But O'Brien narrates this story from the third person and also from letters written by mothers to daughters.
This is my first novel by Edna O'Brien, and upon it's reading, I can understand why she is so highly praised. She is a master wordsmith - the descriptive nature of her prose, the connections she makes and the messages she sends. In The Light of Evening, O'Brien unravels the story behind a mother and daughter, being female, being Irish and struggling to break free from convention and into their own selves. The bond between them is related beautifully and accurately, as we see the love and challenges that come of such a relationship.
There were times when the writing jumped around and I found that it did more to detach the reader than draw me in. But still, I enjoyed the journey from Ireland to Brooklyn to London and back home to Ireland again. Makes me want to spend a day at Rusheen. 3 1/2 stars.
This is my first novel by Edna O'Brien, and upon it's reading, I can understand why she is so highly praised. She is a master wordsmith - the descriptive nature of her prose, the connections she makes and the messages she sends. In The Light of Evening, O'Brien unravels the story behind a mother and daughter, being female, being Irish and struggling to break free from convention and into their own selves. The bond between them is related beautifully and accurately, as we see the love and challenges that come of such a relationship.
There were times when the writing jumped around and I found that it did more to detach the reader than draw me in. But still, I enjoyed the journey from Ireland to Brooklyn to London and back home to Ireland again. Makes me want to spend a day at Rusheen. 3 1/2 stars.
July 2, 2013
This was a gorgeous book. Easily one of the best novels I'll end up reading in 2013. Edna O'Brien can do no wrong.
The prose is lyrical, evocative and loaded with deep, conflicting emotions that play out in bittersweet tones. The Light of Evening is not an easy read, and definitely not summertime beach fodder. It's the kind of novel that you savor, like sipping 20 year old tawny port.
The plot revolves around the difficult and contradictory relationship between a mother and her children, specifically her daughter. But the plot of this book is the last thing the reader needs to track - if you're looking for a book with a slam-bang action-packed story, this won't be your choice.
However, if you love deep characterization, deft handling of interior thoughts and emotions and especially great depictions of time and place, this novel delivers on all cylinders.
It's the reading equivalent of watching your relatives drive away after a long time together, with that special ache we reserve for those closest to us as we retreat back into the long journey of our lives. Just a heartbreakingly gorgeous book.
The prose is lyrical, evocative and loaded with deep, conflicting emotions that play out in bittersweet tones. The Light of Evening is not an easy read, and definitely not summertime beach fodder. It's the kind of novel that you savor, like sipping 20 year old tawny port.
The plot revolves around the difficult and contradictory relationship between a mother and her children, specifically her daughter. But the plot of this book is the last thing the reader needs to track - if you're looking for a book with a slam-bang action-packed story, this won't be your choice.
However, if you love deep characterization, deft handling of interior thoughts and emotions and especially great depictions of time and place, this novel delivers on all cylinders.
It's the reading equivalent of watching your relatives drive away after a long time together, with that special ache we reserve for those closest to us as we retreat back into the long journey of our lives. Just a heartbreakingly gorgeous book.
August 8, 2011
I strongly suspect that this novel is an attempt by O'Brien to deal with the complicated relationship she had with her mother - but I don't like to read novels over-biographically and don't believe that they should appear over-biographical if they are truly art. In this case, it seems to me that O'Brien had a hard time fictionalizing. Of course, I could be wrong. But feeling like I was somewhere between memoir and fiction was a bit disconcerting. Dilly, the mother, is a fascinating character, and I found her portions of the narrative to be better than the Eleanor/daughter portions. One thing is certain, though: O'Brien is absolutely masterful when conjuring descriptions of natural locales, landscapes, fields and flowers and trees and everything in between. I read a review that faulted some of her prose here as "empurpled" (!) and "pseudo-Joycean" (!) O'Brien's Joycean allusions and echoes are still beautiful to me, and I welcomed them with great satisfaction in this novel. (The very last sentence echoes Joyce - magnificently.)
Read
February 5, 2009Edna O'Brien's 20th work of fiction does what all of her novels do: it lyrically expounds on the dizzying power of love. Nevertheless, reviews were mixed. Light of Evening is simultaneously overwrought, sentimental, forceful, and heartbreakingly true__even if the tacked-on conclusion felt strained. The narrative shifts between third-person points of view, stream of consciousness, and diary entries also caused a problem for some reviewers, including Erica Wagner from the New York Times Book Review: "Overall, the novel is destabilized by the shifts in perception that are also so much a part of its structure."<BR>Copyright 2006 Bookmarks Publishing LLC
This is an excerpt from a review published in Bookmarks magazine.
June 20, 2014
Lovely book. I like way Edna O'Brien writes -- beautiful, lyrical, poetic.
The blood, of course,I a about family dysfunction -- one of O'Brien's favorite topics -- particularly about
Mother/ daughter struggles for closeness and understanding, while being unable to achieve that.
You also hear about the morher's (Dilly's) time in New York as a young woman -- and can feel the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn.
But poor Dilly is betrayed there by girl friends and a boyfriend -- although maybe that was a mixup. She goes scampering
Back to a Ireland and settles for a marriage and children but still has yearnings for a different kind of life -- which is what her daughter,
Eleanor, achieves.
Well written -- good book -- but could be a bit depressing for some.
The blood, of course,I a about family dysfunction -- one of O'Brien's favorite topics -- particularly about
Mother/ daughter struggles for closeness and understanding, while being unable to achieve that.
You also hear about the morher's (Dilly's) time in New York as a young woman -- and can feel the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn.
But poor Dilly is betrayed there by girl friends and a boyfriend -- although maybe that was a mixup. She goes scampering
Back to a Ireland and settles for a marriage and children but still has yearnings for a different kind of life -- which is what her daughter,
Eleanor, achieves.
Well written -- good book -- but could be a bit depressing for some.
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