Set in New Zealand in the later half of the 20th century, this story samples the experiences and perceptions of three generations in a middle-class South Island family transitioning from a small town, rustic setting to a more cosmopolitan time.
The atmosphere conjured up feels like a mirror reflecting the author’s own family experience. The early parts of the story draw heavily from the grandfather’s voluminous diary notes on his grocery store, hunting expeditions and hypochondria. The father’s early life, career and slow descent into decrepitude supply the framework for the latter two thirds of the tale. The mother, alienated from her own family of inflexible, hard core religious zealots, struggles to find her place. Interlaced throughout the story are the experiences of the two daughters, one adopted, one born late into the family, as they deal with parents, careers and each other.
It all feels real, if at times a little drab and even depressing. There is not much joy in this story, but neither are there shocking scenes to make me despair of human goodness or the possibility of finding happiness. The tale flows along as a depiction of possibly typical human lives in a certain time and place. But perhaps no life is truly typical, all are unique, and this may have been the point of the story. On reflection, I choose to see it that way.
Without doubt, the mood of a reader affects the appreciation of a book. I read this book when western Canada’s forests were burning; many days there were air quality warnings advising people not to venture outdoors or engage in vigorous activity. The normally bright blue sky was a milky white and the days were gloomy. Without over dramatizing my state of mind, I remember feeling that this was the “end days”. That darkness may have crept over into my experience of the book. I found it interesting as a study of a family, but it didn’t move me at the time.