Janet and Dovie, a Mennonite mother and daughter, accompany each other through the events of their lives as their religious principles define their love for God, man, and each other
A story of a Mennonite daughter and mother, on a tobacco farm in Pennsylvania (I think?). Poetic and mysterious. The mother is a conflicted character. Does she want to follow her friend Ruth to the sea, to France? I don’t think I’d call this book a novel. Not sure what it is. A photo album? A haunted diary? Autofictional gospel?
Ayyyy. I don’t know how to talk about this book because it’s a feeling, a list of shapes, sharp bits of dialogue that paint characters, an exploration of loss of ability, of feeling trapped in religion and the outside pulling at you. Gorgeous descriptions. Very embodied writing. Something to aspire to. Would read again to study and feel it more.
Really, there are really only so many books that are part of the enduring body of literature contributing to the literature of mothers and daughters and still be the kind of reader I am-- one who dreams of reading Vollman's big books and crime pulps. But this book, despite its quintessential girlyness is totally awesome.
Mom and daughter are close, mom has a stroke and changes, arguably for the better, and the daughter is keenly aware of what she's lost.... all related in Kauffman's amazing and wonderful sentences. This book is a winner.
This is the story of a Mennonite mother told from the perspective of her 12 year old daughter. With her father and brother, they live and work on a tobacco farm. The first sentence of the novel is, “My mother lied to me about everything.” The mother knows about the broader world—her best friend from high school left the church when she graduated and now, 20 years later, is living in France. Her mother does not “buy” all Mennonite notions about God, but teaches Sunday school. And then she has a stroke and things change. An unusual, beautifully written book.
"Her face is her new, accommodating face, and I feel better in the darkness... Her shoulders slope under the heavy coat, lopsided as if she had pulled it across her back, something too large. The darkness of the coat washes completely into the darkness of the air, and she appears to be a construction for the transportation of night--a homemade device that carts a wedge across a field. Her legs, in the wrong stockings, glow very white. Her feet, sunk in black shoes, disappear into the ground. When she walks away from me, her legs carry her. Her hair points in all directions."
This reads more like a 130 page prose poem than traditional novel. Just gorgeous.
I didn't find the subject matter terribly compelling, but it's formally interesting, a sort of collage of short, disconnected themes that finally paint a picture of a woman and a family.