I finished THE SHELL SEEKERS last night then woke up early this morning to water my garden before the oppressive summer heat set in, wondering how I wanted to approach this review.
The answer was given to me, almost immediately. Right at the top of my running playlist on my phone was “In My Life,” by the Beatles. The first musical offering of my day:
There are places I’ll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
If you’ve ever read this multigenerational epic from 1987, you will know, absolutely, that you’d be hard pressed to find any better lines to quickly summarize this 530 page story.
What we have here, really, is a masterpiece of storytelling. It wasn’t the characters that wowed me, nor the dialogue. It’s not that kind of book. Or, it wasn’t for me. This is all about STORY. Luckily, that’s one of my favorite topics.
This is the story of a young girl, a shell seeker, whose image was captured, early on, in a gorgeous painting by her regionally famous father, Lawrence Stern.
Lawrence Stern has been gone for years now; he was an older father to begin with, but his art has come back into fashion and wealthy Americans, in particular, are seeking what they can, of his work, and they are willing to pay outrageous sums for them. Our little shell seeker, Penelope, is 64-years-old now, and, as the only child of Lawrence Stern, she has not only pieces of his that have never been viewed before by strangers, but a secret cache of his work, to boot.
This artwork isn’t valuable to Penelope because a handful of American millionaires desire to possess it; it is meaningful to her because her parents were absolutely precious to her and the painting “The Shell Seekers” itself, which is casually positioned above Penelope’s sofa, is a source of instant peace for her.
Her adult children are of a different mindset. They’re “upwardly mobile,” spending their resources faster than they can replenish them. Penelope’s kids are wrapped up in the financial schemes of the current day, the 1980s, and don’t have any connection to the antiquated shell seekers of the 1920s and 1930s, or their creator.
They wish that Mom (Penelope) would sell everything, anything, and leave it all to them now, but they never take the time to find out why she’d never want to part with his work, or what her relationships were like, with these beloved parents.
What follows: complex dynamics between an adult widow and her grown children, complicated sibling rivalries, and a time capsule of a simpler time.
What may stay with me forever: a devastating argument between a mother and her adult children at her table, after a meal. So much was revealed in this scene, which was rife with miscommunication, unfair assumptions and layers of defensiveness.
I was disappointed by some of the “picture perfect” coincidences and a very underwhelming (and predictable) ending, but, all in all, I was so hip-deep in this story for about 10 days, I’d basically rub my eyes, emerging back into my reality, every time I paused in my reading.
I’m a richer person for having read this novel, and I truly appreciated Penelope’s attraction to those friends who are stewards of our earth and her natural repulsion for those who are motivated by materialism. I could absolutely relate to the pain that our generational wounding causes us, even the subconscious suffering, and I agree with Penelope, wholeheartedly, that I am never more restored than when I am praying in a garden.
I learned to live within myself, to grow flowers, to watch my children grow; to look at paintings and listen to music. The gentle powers. They are quite amazingly sustaining.