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A Home at the End of the World
'It was the start of my second new life, in a city that had a spin of its own - a wilder orbit inside the earth's calm blue-green whirl. New York wasn't open to the hopelessness and lost purpose that drifted around lesser places . . . '
Meet Bobby, Jonathan and Clare. Three friends, three lovers, three ordinary people trying to make a place for themselves in the harsh and uncompromising world of the Seventies and Eighties.
And as our threesome form a new kind of relationship, a new approach to family and love, questioning so much about the world around them, so they hope to create a space, a home, in which to live.
Meet Bobby, Jonathan and Clare. Three friends, three lovers, three ordinary people trying to make a place for themselves in the harsh and uncompromising world of the Seventies and Eighties.
And as our threesome form a new kind of relationship, a new approach to family and love, questioning so much about the world around them, so they hope to create a space, a home, in which to live.
343 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1990
413 people are currently reading
22572 people want to read
About the author
Michael Cunningham
79 books4,262 followersMichael Cunningham is the author of the novels A Home at the End of the World, Flesh and Blood, The Hours (winner of the Pen/Faulkner Award & Pulitzer Prize), Specimen Days, and By Nightfall, as well as the non-fiction book, Land's End: A Walk in Provincetown. His new novel, The Snow Queen, will be published in May of 2014. He lives in New York, and teaches at Yale University.
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February 6, 2021
“Want whatever you want more fiercely. Be more difficult and demanding. Or you’ll never make a life that uses you.”
There’s something about the most inspiring and meaningful novels that make them extremely difficult to review. I chalk this up to the fact that they don’t necessarily urge me to tell you what they are about. Rather, they insist that I express how they made me feel. This is a further challenge in that emotions are complex and nearly impossible to convey precisely. Michael Cunningham makes it all look so easy though. It’s as if he reads your mind, extracts the most secret and tangled thoughts, and infuses his characters with the same inner turmoil and desires. You can now look at each character and find some piece of them that is astonishingly like you. It’s all revealed right there on the page, lit up by the exquisite prose and the compelling dialogue.
“Years have passed – we are living in the future, and it’s turned out differently from what we’d planned.”
When I first had a hint of what this novel was about, I thought it sounded all so exotic and different from my own life. Well, parts of it did anyway. I figured I could relate to Alice, a woman who has a child she loves fiercely. Then the child grows and moves on. I’m in the middle of that right now, not with one but two children working towards extraordinary futures that will no longer be fully linked with my own. But then there are Bobby, Jonathan and Clare. Did Cunningham write a story about a love triangle? Well, perhaps. But this triangle has odd, shifting angles. Their relationships with one another as well as their living arrangements may be unconventional, but their humanness is not. Our hopes and expectations change; our disappointments are always there eating away at us. Something always seems out of reach, even when we think we’ve built for ourselves the life that seems ‘perfect’ just for us.
“Hope takes on a fragility. Think too hard and it’s gone. I was surprised by the inner emptiness I felt, my heart and belly swinging on cords. I’d always been so present in the passing moments. I’d assumed that was enough – to taste the coffee and the wine, to feel the sex along every nerve, to see all the movies. I’d thought the question of accomplishment would seem beside the point if I just paid careful attention to every single thing that happened.”
Each character is plagued by the age-old question of what more is out there for him or her. What do those that came before us (both the living and the dead) expect from us? What do we owe them? How can we escape the fates of others and shape a better life for ourselves? What does our home look like, and where can we find it? I don’t know if there is an answer. Except perhaps to live fully in the present, but always be prepared to reshape our future. Life is fluid, not stagnant. We can try to make of it the best that we can by keeping ourselves open to all of the bright possibilities.
“This is what you do. You make a future for yourself out of the raw material at hand.”
There’s something about the most inspiring and meaningful novels that make them extremely difficult to review. I chalk this up to the fact that they don’t necessarily urge me to tell you what they are about. Rather, they insist that I express how they made me feel. This is a further challenge in that emotions are complex and nearly impossible to convey precisely. Michael Cunningham makes it all look so easy though. It’s as if he reads your mind, extracts the most secret and tangled thoughts, and infuses his characters with the same inner turmoil and desires. You can now look at each character and find some piece of them that is astonishingly like you. It’s all revealed right there on the page, lit up by the exquisite prose and the compelling dialogue.
“Years have passed – we are living in the future, and it’s turned out differently from what we’d planned.”
When I first had a hint of what this novel was about, I thought it sounded all so exotic and different from my own life. Well, parts of it did anyway. I figured I could relate to Alice, a woman who has a child she loves fiercely. Then the child grows and moves on. I’m in the middle of that right now, not with one but two children working towards extraordinary futures that will no longer be fully linked with my own. But then there are Bobby, Jonathan and Clare. Did Cunningham write a story about a love triangle? Well, perhaps. But this triangle has odd, shifting angles. Their relationships with one another as well as their living arrangements may be unconventional, but their humanness is not. Our hopes and expectations change; our disappointments are always there eating away at us. Something always seems out of reach, even when we think we’ve built for ourselves the life that seems ‘perfect’ just for us.
“Hope takes on a fragility. Think too hard and it’s gone. I was surprised by the inner emptiness I felt, my heart and belly swinging on cords. I’d always been so present in the passing moments. I’d assumed that was enough – to taste the coffee and the wine, to feel the sex along every nerve, to see all the movies. I’d thought the question of accomplishment would seem beside the point if I just paid careful attention to every single thing that happened.”
Each character is plagued by the age-old question of what more is out there for him or her. What do those that came before us (both the living and the dead) expect from us? What do we owe them? How can we escape the fates of others and shape a better life for ourselves? What does our home look like, and where can we find it? I don’t know if there is an answer. Except perhaps to live fully in the present, but always be prepared to reshape our future. Life is fluid, not stagnant. We can try to make of it the best that we can by keeping ourselves open to all of the bright possibilities.
“This is what you do. You make a future for yourself out of the raw material at hand.”
April 1, 2019
Perhaps one reason Shakespeare is so untouchably brilliant is that you have no idea who he is from his work. This is rarely true of novelists. Read a Fitzgerald or Hemmingway novel and there's the author himself on almost every page. No one doubts Dr Zhivago is Pasternak himself. And I could carry on with innumerable other examples. True some novelists are more elusive in their work and demand more detective work, like Henry James or Nabokov or Virginia Woolf. But when you read a number of novels by the same author you begin to recognise the same pivot and cast of characters popping up over and over again. Even Shakespeare's characters reappear in his plays. One of the fascinating things about reading several books by the same author is this growing familiarity with the limited scope of his/her world. Which is why there's often a sense that every author is telling variations on the same story over and over again. The conclusion perhaps is that in life only a handful of individuals have an impact on the formation of character and the way we see the world. Virginia Woolf's point of departure in The Waves. I've now read two Cunningham novels and started a third and have begun to feel that not only do I know what to expect from his created worlds but also that I know a lot about him, the person behind the text. In much the same way we have all built notions about the real life identity of our fellow reviewers on this site. Notions which, of course, might be miles off the mark. It's always a slightly unreal feeling to feel we know someone we've never met.
To the novel itself. I would have edited out the first chapter of The Hours. Here I would have edited out the last chapter. The penultimate chapter is a miles better ending. That said, this novel left me wanting to know what happens to the characters after the curtain comes down. Is that though a good sign? On the one hand it's a testament to how well he had me invested in them. On the other I felt he curtailed the story just as it was becoming even more compelling. As if Ferrante had ended Elena and Lina's story with My Brilliant Friend, a decent novel but hardly a masterpiece without its other three parts.
A Home at the End of the World is about an unconventional living arrangement. Two men, one gay, the other so pliant he'll try anything and an older woman. There are lulls but loads of great stuff about parenting and romantic expectation and social conditioning and on the whole it's beautifully written and thoroughly engaging.
To the novel itself. I would have edited out the first chapter of The Hours. Here I would have edited out the last chapter. The penultimate chapter is a miles better ending. That said, this novel left me wanting to know what happens to the characters after the curtain comes down. Is that though a good sign? On the one hand it's a testament to how well he had me invested in them. On the other I felt he curtailed the story just as it was becoming even more compelling. As if Ferrante had ended Elena and Lina's story with My Brilliant Friend, a decent novel but hardly a masterpiece without its other three parts.
A Home at the End of the World is about an unconventional living arrangement. Two men, one gay, the other so pliant he'll try anything and an older woman. There are lulls but loads of great stuff about parenting and romantic expectation and social conditioning and on the whole it's beautifully written and thoroughly engaging.
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March 29, 2025UPD 26\09\2024: Почалося передзамовлення перекладу, тому оновлюю і причесую відгук!
Джонатан росте з матір’ю, яка оповиває його задушливим коконом своєї невротичної нажаханої любові, і з батьком, що весь віддається роботі – безнадійно підупалому кінотеатру. Він певен, що нізащо не виросте таким, як батьки, - ані таким нудним і дрібнобуржуазним, ані таким невдахою.
Боббі росте спершу зі старшим братом, який змалечку водить його закинутися кислотою на цвинтарі, а потім, коли брат гине, з батьками, які не витримують тягаря цього горя і сповзають дедалі глибше в розпач і алкоголізм. Він теж певен, що не виросте таким, як батьки – ані таким побутово розхристаним і неприкаяним, ані таким емоційно нездалим.
Клер росте у нібито взірцево-показовій заможній сім’ї зі своєю дозою дисфункції за лаштунками – і тому бунтує проти всіх правил, як має поводитися добра дівчинка. Вона таки не виростає такою, як батьки, й не відтворює їхніх правил, як має протікати правильне доросле життя – але тепер, коли їй під сорок, замислюється, чи правильним був цей вибір, і чи можна його переграти.
Усі ці троє люблять один одного, просто дуже по-різному, і так само запекло бісять один одного – якщо ви любите читати про складних людей у складних стосунках і про любов, яка не вирішує всіх проблем, то вам сюди!
Джонатан, Боббі і Клер разом мурують свій дім на краю світу, де зможуть створювати власні правила дорослішання і життя. Водночас їхній дім стоїть не тільки на краю світу, а й наприкінці світу. Навколо них проминає час і закінчується світ, про який вони мріяли – скажімо, двоє з трьох не встигли у Вудсток, а останні рештки гіппівської свободи тануть під тиском епідемії СНІДу, яка розгорається навколо.
Загалом, якщо вам навколо тридцяти, то є шанси, що ця книжка зажене вам усі голки під нігті душі. Бо це зокрема книжка про той період життя, коли ти ще нібито перспективна молодь з FOMO і знаєш, що перед тобою відкриті всі можливості, ти можеш стати ким завгодно і робити що завгодно, проблем не так і багато, дороги широкі, сонце яскраве, арка історії повільна, але хилиться до успіху. Ти не зобов'язана commit до якогось одного сценарію (одних стосунків, однієї професії, однієї мрії), ти ще все встигнеш, ба більше, прив'язати себе до чогось одного - це відмовитися від усього цього потенційного огрому можливостей, отак і живуть герої:
📘"Я задумався: а на що ми чекали?
— Мабуть, чекали, коли почнеться наше справжнє життя. Ми, мабуть, помилилися."
Бо поступово приходить розуміння, що відмовлятися від вибору - це теж вибір, і саме те життя, яке ти живеш зараз, ти й житимеш до його кінця, і, між іншим, його скінченність перестає бути абстракцією.
📘"Я починаю усвідомлювати, в чому полягає відмінність між юністю і зрілістю. У молоді є час снувати плани й вигадувати нові ідеї. У старших же вся енергія йде на те, аби не відставати від задумів, які вже запущено в рух".
«Дім на краю світу» - почасти психологічна драма, а почасти за естетикою майже космічний горор. Є маленькі дурненькі вразливі люди, а є нескінченність холодного часу і простору поза нами. Є наші надійні мертві, які залишатимуться мертвими протягом усіх тих тисячоліть, які чекають попереду - і надійність смерті це єдина стабільність, на яку можна розраховувати. Ну, і що тепер залишається? Як завжди, любов, немилосердна і всеохопна:
📘"А тепер я лишилася з цим сама. З цією любов’ю. З любов’ю, що прошиває, як рентгенівські промені, й не несе в собі ні йоти добра й милосердя".
І все це написано не дуже зручним для перекладу, але казково гарним стилем з усякими милими порівняннячками:
📘"Власники крамниць у нашому кварталі гарячково змітали свіжий сніг зі своїх хідників, наче то помилки їхньої юності, що нарешті їх наздогнали".
Загалом, сподіваюся, ця книжка зробить вам боляче, але ви про це не пожалкуєте :)
Джонатан росте з матір’ю, яка оповиває його задушливим коконом своєї невротичної нажаханої любові, і з батьком, що весь віддається роботі – безнадійно підупалому кінотеатру. Він певен, що нізащо не виросте таким, як батьки, - ані таким нудним і дрібнобуржуазним, ані таким невдахою.
Боббі росте спершу зі старшим братом, який змалечку водить його закинутися кислотою на цвинтарі, а потім, коли брат гине, з батьками, які не витримують тягаря цього горя і сповзають дедалі глибше в розпач і алкоголізм. Він теж певен, що не виросте таким, як батьки – ані таким побутово розхристаним і неприкаяним, ані таким емоційно нездалим.
Клер росте у нібито взірцево-показовій заможній сім’ї зі своєю дозою дисфункції за лаштунками – і тому бунтує проти всіх правил, як має поводитися добра дівчинка. Вона таки не виростає такою, як батьки, й не відтворює їхніх правил, як має протікати правильне доросле життя – але тепер, коли їй під сорок, замислюється, чи правильним був цей вибір, і чи можна його переграти.
Усі ці троє люблять один одного, просто дуже по-різному, і так само запекло бісять один одного – якщо ви любите читати про складних людей у складних стосунках і про любов, яка не вирішує всіх проблем, то вам сюди!
Джонатан, Боббі і Клер разом мурують свій дім на краю світу, де зможуть створювати власні правила дорослішання і життя. Водночас їхній дім стоїть не тільки на краю світу, а й наприкінці світу. Навколо них проминає час і закінчується світ, про який вони мріяли – скажімо, двоє з трьох не встигли у Вудсток, а останні рештки гіппівської свободи тануть під тиском епідемії СНІДу, яка розгорається навколо.
Загалом, якщо вам навколо тридцяти, то є шанси, що ця книжка зажене вам усі голки під нігті душі. Бо це зокрема книжка про той період життя, коли ти ще нібито перспективна молодь з FOMO і знаєш, що перед тобою відкриті всі можливості, ти можеш стати ким завгодно і робити що завгодно, проблем не так і багато, дороги широкі, сонце яскраве, арка історії повільна, але хилиться до успіху. Ти не зобов'язана commit до якогось одного сценарію (одних стосунків, однієї професії, однієї мрії), ти ще все встигнеш, ба більше, прив'язати себе до чогось одного - це відмовитися від усього цього потенційного огрому можливостей, отак і живуть герої:
📘"Я задумався: а на що ми чекали?
— Мабуть, чекали, коли почнеться наше справжнє життя. Ми, мабуть, помилилися."
Бо поступово приходить розуміння, що відмовлятися від вибору - це теж вибір, і саме те життя, яке ти живеш зараз, ти й житимеш до його кінця, і, між іншим, його скінченність перестає бути абстракцією.
📘"Я починаю усвідомлювати, в чому полягає відмінність між юністю і зрілістю. У молоді є час снувати плани й вигадувати нові ідеї. У старших же вся енергія йде на те, аби не відставати від задумів, які вже запущено в рух".
«Дім на краю світу» - почасти психологічна драма, а почасти за естетикою майже космічний горор. Є маленькі дурненькі вразливі люди, а є нескінченність холодного часу і простору поза нами. Є наші надійні мертві, які залишатимуться мертвими протягом усіх тих тисячоліть, які чекають попереду - і надійність смерті це єдина стабільність, на яку можна розраховувати. Ну, і що тепер залишається? Як завжди, любов, немилосердна і всеохопна:
📘"А тепер я лишилася з цим сама. З цією любов’ю. З любов’ю, що прошиває, як рентгенівські промені, й не несе в собі ні йоти добра й милосердя".
І все це написано не дуже зручним для перекладу, але казково гарним стилем з усякими милими порівняннячками:
📘"Власники крамниць у нашому кварталі гарячково змітали свіжий сніг зі своїх хідників, наче то помилки їхньої юності, що нарешті їх наздогнали".
Загалом, сподіваюся, ця книжка зробить вам боляче, але ви про це не пожалкуєте :)
March 4, 2021
Love had seemed so final, and so dull—love was what ruined our parents. Love had delivered them to a life of mortgage payments and household repairs; to unglamorous jobs and the fluorescent aisles of a supermarket at two in the afternoon. We'd hoped for love of a different kind, love that knew and forgave our human frailty but did not miniaturize our grander ideas of ourselves.
Wow. Michael Cunningham seems to understand marriage between a man and a woman and the mother-child bond better than almost any modern writer, with perhaps the exception of John Updike.
But, given Mr. Updike's advantage, both in having been married to a woman (twice) and having been a father to four, I can't help but grant Mr. Cunningham the greater ability to imagine these relationships, having not participated in them himself.
Good reminders here: you don't need to be a man to write a man; you don't need to be a woman to write a woman. You don't need to be any ethnicity, gender, sexuality or religion to write a character of one different from your own.
You simply need to pay attention to everything around you, write every day, vomit up your own bile, and sometimes go broke, as Mr. Cunningham did, writing this novel for six years, in order to write something that others truly want to read.
And I did want to read this. I have, in fact, been disappointed that I hadn't read something else by Michael Cunningham since I read his Pulitzer winner, The Hours.
The Hours is, for me, an almost perfect novel, one I think about often, and I had nothing but excitement, starting this one. I decorated the first 200 pages with my signature purple post-it notes. . .
But, a couple of things bothered me in this early work of Mr. Cunningham's. I found myself incapable of separating the Voices of the three primary characters: Bobby, Jonathan, and Clare. They all sounded identical to me (not in their dialogue, in their Voice, their perspective). Only Alice, the mother, stood alone in having a tone I distinguished from the others.
Next issue: the ages of everyone. Every person's age in this is off, either too young or too old, for what their character represented. The math was off, too. The characters aged prematurely before they were actually old. A 56-year-old father described as “an elderly man in a polyester sport shirt” and a 39-year-old described as an “older woman in sunglasses” were frequent irritants to me. Even when I was a 17-year-old, I would not have described a 39-year-old as an “older woman,” unless it was in the context of another 17-year-old dating “an older woman,” meaning, in comparison with a much younger person.
Strangely enough, I can make another connection here between Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Updike. A reader needs to be reminded, throughout Updike's work, that his characters are in their 30s and 40s and not their 70s and 80s. I'm not sure what this is. A fear of death seeping through? A warped perception about aging? I'm not sure, but it was damn annoying.
But, then I'd come across a line like this: We had protected ourselves with silence because our only other choice was to howl at one another, to scratch and bite and shriek.
Damn. He gets it. He gets the complicated finesse between people, whether they're lovers, married partners, or a parent-child combo.
And here we are, back to the parent-child piece.
Mr. Cunningham's work has inspired a new shelf for me: Mommie Dearest. A place to put stories where the mother-child role is explored and is significant, regardless of whether it's a healthy or an unhealthy relationship.
If you have any books to nominate for my new shelf, could you please do so in the comments?
Wow. Michael Cunningham seems to understand marriage between a man and a woman and the mother-child bond better than almost any modern writer, with perhaps the exception of John Updike.
But, given Mr. Updike's advantage, both in having been married to a woman (twice) and having been a father to four, I can't help but grant Mr. Cunningham the greater ability to imagine these relationships, having not participated in them himself.
Good reminders here: you don't need to be a man to write a man; you don't need to be a woman to write a woman. You don't need to be any ethnicity, gender, sexuality or religion to write a character of one different from your own.
You simply need to pay attention to everything around you, write every day, vomit up your own bile, and sometimes go broke, as Mr. Cunningham did, writing this novel for six years, in order to write something that others truly want to read.
And I did want to read this. I have, in fact, been disappointed that I hadn't read something else by Michael Cunningham since I read his Pulitzer winner, The Hours.
The Hours is, for me, an almost perfect novel, one I think about often, and I had nothing but excitement, starting this one. I decorated the first 200 pages with my signature purple post-it notes. . .
But, a couple of things bothered me in this early work of Mr. Cunningham's. I found myself incapable of separating the Voices of the three primary characters: Bobby, Jonathan, and Clare. They all sounded identical to me (not in their dialogue, in their Voice, their perspective). Only Alice, the mother, stood alone in having a tone I distinguished from the others.
Next issue: the ages of everyone. Every person's age in this is off, either too young or too old, for what their character represented. The math was off, too. The characters aged prematurely before they were actually old. A 56-year-old father described as “an elderly man in a polyester sport shirt” and a 39-year-old described as an “older woman in sunglasses” were frequent irritants to me. Even when I was a 17-year-old, I would not have described a 39-year-old as an “older woman,” unless it was in the context of another 17-year-old dating “an older woman,” meaning, in comparison with a much younger person.
Strangely enough, I can make another connection here between Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Updike. A reader needs to be reminded, throughout Updike's work, that his characters are in their 30s and 40s and not their 70s and 80s. I'm not sure what this is. A fear of death seeping through? A warped perception about aging? I'm not sure, but it was damn annoying.
But, then I'd come across a line like this: We had protected ourselves with silence because our only other choice was to howl at one another, to scratch and bite and shriek.
Damn. He gets it. He gets the complicated finesse between people, whether they're lovers, married partners, or a parent-child combo.
And here we are, back to the parent-child piece.
Mr. Cunningham's work has inspired a new shelf for me: Mommie Dearest. A place to put stories where the mother-child role is explored and is significant, regardless of whether it's a healthy or an unhealthy relationship.
If you have any books to nominate for my new shelf, could you please do so in the comments?
June 1, 2007
This book was my introduction to Michael Cunningham, and when I finished it I cried. And then went out and bought everything he'd ever written.
I fell in love with this book. At that time in my life I could relate to its characters and their story in a unique way, but it was also Cunningham's writing: spare, lovely, gorgeously aware of minutiae, devastatingly honest. There is a sadness in his work that fills me with a profound loneliness that I find myself both overwhelmed by and grateful for.
"A Home at the End of the World" tells the story of Jonathan and Bobby, friends since their childhood in Cleveland. Thanks to various family tragedies, Bobby is damaged and strange. Jonathan, raised by a loving family, is naive and kind. The boys become friends, as close as brothers, but the friendship is quickly complicated by the their muddled teenaged libidos. They begin to experiment together sexually.
Embarrassed and confused, they lose touch for years only to reunite in New York. Jonathan is openly gay and living with Clare, an older, quirky single woman. Bobby is still lost, simply wandering. Clare and Jonathan, in the classic gay-man-straight-woman pact, have already agreed to have a baby together, but Clare and Bobby immediately become lovers and Clare quickly becomes pregnant. Pact off. Or so it seems, until the group manages to cobble together a little family and a life of the most patchwork variety.
It's become, in this "Will & Grace" era, a familiar story. But what Cunningham does with the characters is stunning. Bobby's rootlessness and desperate pansexuality in lieu of true love and nurturing is haunting. Jonathan's desire for a "traditional" life (kids, home, security) and the sadness that comes when he sees that life slipping away is heartbreaking. Clare's mix of selfishness and determined independence is compelling. Cunningham manages, beautifully, to shed new light on the old questions: how do we find home and how are we best loved? The answer, according to "A Home at the End of the World" is a refreshing one: we create it ourselves.
I fell in love with this book. At that time in my life I could relate to its characters and their story in a unique way, but it was also Cunningham's writing: spare, lovely, gorgeously aware of minutiae, devastatingly honest. There is a sadness in his work that fills me with a profound loneliness that I find myself both overwhelmed by and grateful for.
"A Home at the End of the World" tells the story of Jonathan and Bobby, friends since their childhood in Cleveland. Thanks to various family tragedies, Bobby is damaged and strange. Jonathan, raised by a loving family, is naive and kind. The boys become friends, as close as brothers, but the friendship is quickly complicated by the their muddled teenaged libidos. They begin to experiment together sexually.
Embarrassed and confused, they lose touch for years only to reunite in New York. Jonathan is openly gay and living with Clare, an older, quirky single woman. Bobby is still lost, simply wandering. Clare and Jonathan, in the classic gay-man-straight-woman pact, have already agreed to have a baby together, but Clare and Bobby immediately become lovers and Clare quickly becomes pregnant. Pact off. Or so it seems, until the group manages to cobble together a little family and a life of the most patchwork variety.
It's become, in this "Will & Grace" era, a familiar story. But what Cunningham does with the characters is stunning. Bobby's rootlessness and desperate pansexuality in lieu of true love and nurturing is haunting. Jonathan's desire for a "traditional" life (kids, home, security) and the sadness that comes when he sees that life slipping away is heartbreaking. Clare's mix of selfishness and determined independence is compelling. Cunningham manages, beautifully, to shed new light on the old questions: how do we find home and how are we best loved? The answer, according to "A Home at the End of the World" is a refreshing one: we create it ourselves.
March 3, 2021
A Home at the End of the World seems to enjoy a healthy following on Goodreads. Total strangers repeatedly came out of the woodwork to like my status updates day after day as I progressed through this book, handfuls of them – thanks, friendly strangers! It didn’t take long for me to see why the novel would have such a draw or why it would inspire such a welcoming bunch to cheer on new readers.
As it explores the personal growth of a motley cast of broken souls, A Home at the End of the World successfully develops into a poetic and soft-spoken tale of acceptance. This is a book that celebrates human differences in their utter banality, making them part of an everyday experience while casting conformity to the wind. There’s room for fun in this story and a constant preoccupation with dignity, with Cunningham giving a voice not to monsters, not to radical eccentrics, but to approachable outcasts and dreamers instead. In this novel, we’re one drag queen away from an Almodóvar movie. Figure the feel?
At its very core, this modern-day fable explores leaving the nest and preparing one of your own. In step with the growth of its main characters, the novel itself evolves, its actual writing mutates, reflecting first the boisterousness of youth, then the novelty of chasing opportunities in a big city, and finally the more pensive and atmospheric reality of settled adulthood. As childhood friends Bobby and Jonathan both leave their Cleveland homes and eventually reunite in New York, the tone changes; it will change again when they end up sharing a house in the middle of nowhere – a home at the end of the world – with Jonathan’s friend Clare.
Even though she would eventually get demoted to a secondary role of little interest, when Jonathan’s mother Alice first got her own voice to air her doubts and regrets in seeing her son grow up, she made everything click for me in this story; only then would she recede into the background again, leaving a lasting impression. But that woman had changed my appreciation of the novel from that point on. She had ripped my heart open then left it there and walked away, her job properly done. I stood defenseless.
I expect to carry inside me for a long time to come the memory of a delicate, haunting mood that Michael Cunningham nurtured with intuitive talent and no shortage of beautiful words, in this first novel of his.
As it explores the personal growth of a motley cast of broken souls, A Home at the End of the World successfully develops into a poetic and soft-spoken tale of acceptance. This is a book that celebrates human differences in their utter banality, making them part of an everyday experience while casting conformity to the wind. There’s room for fun in this story and a constant preoccupation with dignity, with Cunningham giving a voice not to monsters, not to radical eccentrics, but to approachable outcasts and dreamers instead. In this novel, we’re one drag queen away from an Almodóvar movie. Figure the feel?
At its very core, this modern-day fable explores leaving the nest and preparing one of your own. In step with the growth of its main characters, the novel itself evolves, its actual writing mutates, reflecting first the boisterousness of youth, then the novelty of chasing opportunities in a big city, and finally the more pensive and atmospheric reality of settled adulthood. As childhood friends Bobby and Jonathan both leave their Cleveland homes and eventually reunite in New York, the tone changes; it will change again when they end up sharing a house in the middle of nowhere – a home at the end of the world – with Jonathan’s friend Clare.
Even though she would eventually get demoted to a secondary role of little interest, when Jonathan’s mother Alice first got her own voice to air her doubts and regrets in seeing her son grow up, she made everything click for me in this story; only then would she recede into the background again, leaving a lasting impression. But that woman had changed my appreciation of the novel from that point on. She had ripped my heart open then left it there and walked away, her job properly done. I stood defenseless.
I expect to carry inside me for a long time to come the memory of a delicate, haunting mood that Michael Cunningham nurtured with intuitive talent and no shortage of beautiful words, in this first novel of his.
December 31, 2020
In a time before I first read this novel I was still young enough to believe I was going to have to eventually place myself in one of the many categories that other people seemed to be placing themselves into. Then after I finished reading it and because its characters didn’t fall into any available categories I knew from my small little world, I felt a sudden and overwhelming sense of relief. I suddenly believed I was right and had always been right about the way I despise stereotypes, clichés and the way most people always seem to want to be part of big groups.
(...) if you walk around looking like someone other than who you are, you could end up getting the wrong job, the wrong friends, who knows what-all. You could end up with somebody else’s whole life.
This time after I turned the last page and found myself in love with these characters again, I also realised that I actually despised stereotypes even more fiercely than I did nearly seventeen years ago! However, I was very surprised to find myself feeling exactly the way I did all those years ago; that I still have a life of possibilities ahead of me.
We become the stories we tell about ourselves.
Because strangely, or maybe not, stories filled with melancholy and feelings leading to introspection are always the ones that take me closer to what I believe to be my true self. The real me! It’s not like sadness is what I look for in literature or even in real life. No. What moves me about stories, life itself or people’s lives in general is and always has been their honesty; their capacity to gently and subtly show themselves in a mirror-like kind of way that would reflect or even completely reveal myself and give me a completely new perspective of my life. Because, let’s be truthful, life never seems more beautiful than it does in that moment when we think about the pain we’re not feeling but we know it’s there under our skin ready to strike at any moment. Or when we look at a stunning sunset and let ourselves be carried away by that powerful feeling of certainty that that sense of beauty comes from the fact that moments like that have been happening every single day. Since ever and forever.
Beauty and pain are always going to walk hand in hand.
Art is our anchor.
(...) if you walk around looking like someone other than who you are, you could end up getting the wrong job, the wrong friends, who knows what-all. You could end up with somebody else’s whole life.
This time after I turned the last page and found myself in love with these characters again, I also realised that I actually despised stereotypes even more fiercely than I did nearly seventeen years ago! However, I was very surprised to find myself feeling exactly the way I did all those years ago; that I still have a life of possibilities ahead of me.
We become the stories we tell about ourselves.
Because strangely, or maybe not, stories filled with melancholy and feelings leading to introspection are always the ones that take me closer to what I believe to be my true self. The real me! It’s not like sadness is what I look for in literature or even in real life. No. What moves me about stories, life itself or people’s lives in general is and always has been their honesty; their capacity to gently and subtly show themselves in a mirror-like kind of way that would reflect or even completely reveal myself and give me a completely new perspective of my life. Because, let’s be truthful, life never seems more beautiful than it does in that moment when we think about the pain we’re not feeling but we know it’s there under our skin ready to strike at any moment. Or when we look at a stunning sunset and let ourselves be carried away by that powerful feeling of certainty that that sense of beauty comes from the fact that moments like that have been happening every single day. Since ever and forever.
Beauty and pain are always going to walk hand in hand.
Art is our anchor.
October 17, 2018
This is the "Less than Zero"ish novel of the popular NYC writer, and just like Bret Easton Ellis' depiction of the derelict children of sunny Cali in the 80's, Cunningham encapsulates the latter 80's in the East Village & early 60's, 70's in the stark midwest) with lost souls and unique individuals.
The plot is this: Two guys and a gal play house together because they are (equally?) in love.
Obviously there is more to it, as it differs somewhat from the pretty damn good movie with an additional character Erich (he, not Jonathan, gets AIDS!) & a fourth point of view: that of Alice, the pot smoking desperate housewife (later widow).
This episodic drama is written carefully, it seems, and it sometimes drifts into insane allusions (see: The Hours) while keeping the normalcy so entertaining to behold. The reader mirrors Bobby in that ethereal aspect... one is not alive nor dead following the triplets around. One just IS.
Like I said, this one is an early example of a genius master. My favorite Cunningham is "Specimen Days" which sounds, and is (spectacularly) weird. Here he tries to get something right, and thoroughly succeeds. I like that he is taking another direction currently however, even after all the fame and acclaim garnered by "The Hours". Cunningham is ambitious, and I am yet to be disappointed, though I probably never will*.
* False. See: The Snow Queen
The plot is this: Two guys and a gal play house together because they are (equally?) in love.
Obviously there is more to it, as it differs somewhat from the pretty damn good movie with an additional character Erich (he, not Jonathan, gets AIDS!) & a fourth point of view: that of Alice, the pot smoking desperate housewife (later widow).
This episodic drama is written carefully, it seems, and it sometimes drifts into insane allusions (see: The Hours) while keeping the normalcy so entertaining to behold. The reader mirrors Bobby in that ethereal aspect... one is not alive nor dead following the triplets around. One just IS.
Like I said, this one is an early example of a genius master. My favorite Cunningham is "Specimen Days" which sounds, and is (spectacularly) weird. Here he tries to get something right, and thoroughly succeeds. I like that he is taking another direction currently however, even after all the fame and acclaim garnered by "The Hours". Cunningham is ambitious, and I am yet to be disappointed, though I probably never will*.
* False. See: The Snow Queen
October 16, 2022
I followed the ragged lives of four individuals with a myriad of conflicting feelings: anxiety, unrest, exasperation, abhorrence, sympathy. At the end, the title of this novel made perfect sense. While collecting my thoughts about this book, it dawned on me that all four characters were seeking a home and going to the end of the world to find it for themselves.
Jonathan, a homosexual; Bobby, likely a bisexual; Alice, Jonathan’s mother; and Clare, a heterosexual woman took turns to narrate the paths they each chose to take before they eventually found what they thought they wanted out of life.
‘This is what you do. You make a future for yourself out of the raw material at hand.’
Making that future was not easy for all four of them. Their quest included an acceptance of one’s sexuality, hard lessons on friendship, a thirsting after love, and a longing to find a true home (even if an unconventional one).
None of these characters was likeable; none was happy. Whatever semblance of happiness they experienced had in it a grudging quality. They all seemed to live messed up lives and I found it hard to fathom how dangerously they willed themselves to teeter on the brink of self-destruction.
Clare, a jewelry designer in her thirties, had many lovers, was married, had an abortion, and was divorced. When we met her, she was living as Jonathan’s half-lover and wanted a baby with him even though their love was not physical. She said, ”People who’ve been well cared for can’t imagine the freedom there is in being bad.” She could well be right.
Jonathan, a journalist in his twenties, had a ‘random sexual life with strangers.’ He lived recklessly. As a five-year-old, he played with dolls and was told by his father not to do this in public. Jonathan revealed, “I felt my first true humiliation. I recognized a deep inadequacy in myself, a foolishness.” He claimed that Clare was his main love. He also loved Bobby, his first teenage lover and close friend. It is possible that Jonathan’s sense of inadequacy stalked him even as he abandoned himself unreservedly to his physical desires.
Bobby, born to parents who were teachers, was introduced to drugs and alcohol at age 9 by his 16-year-old brother. A string of family tragedies left him practically an orphan, and he spent a lot of time with Jonathan’s family. His deprivation made him hungry for an orderly home and home-cooked meals. Alice, Jonathan’s mother observed, ”He looked at our house with such open, avid greed.” He picked up cooking from Alice and became a chef. Unlike Jonathan, Bobby was passive and compliant in an annoyingly sweet way. He went with the flow and let things happen to him.
Alice, married to Ned who ran a movie theatre business, was thrifty and sensible. She loved Jonathan but was unhappy in her marriage. Her sense of duty bound her to Ned and she lived with a nascent longing for a different life. Her conversations with Jonathan over his love life were painful to listen to.
This is a book that raised some difficult questions. The characters were flawed but real and honest. Who can decide for anyone what is right for him or her, who to love, what love is, and what makes a family? A Home at the End of the World is written in impeccable prose. It is a difficult story but not one without hope.
Jonathan, a homosexual; Bobby, likely a bisexual; Alice, Jonathan’s mother; and Clare, a heterosexual woman took turns to narrate the paths they each chose to take before they eventually found what they thought they wanted out of life.
‘This is what you do. You make a future for yourself out of the raw material at hand.’
Making that future was not easy for all four of them. Their quest included an acceptance of one’s sexuality, hard lessons on friendship, a thirsting after love, and a longing to find a true home (even if an unconventional one).
None of these characters was likeable; none was happy. Whatever semblance of happiness they experienced had in it a grudging quality. They all seemed to live messed up lives and I found it hard to fathom how dangerously they willed themselves to teeter on the brink of self-destruction.
Clare, a jewelry designer in her thirties, had many lovers, was married, had an abortion, and was divorced. When we met her, she was living as Jonathan’s half-lover and wanted a baby with him even though their love was not physical. She said, ”People who’ve been well cared for can’t imagine the freedom there is in being bad.” She could well be right.
Jonathan, a journalist in his twenties, had a ‘random sexual life with strangers.’ He lived recklessly. As a five-year-old, he played with dolls and was told by his father not to do this in public. Jonathan revealed, “I felt my first true humiliation. I recognized a deep inadequacy in myself, a foolishness.” He claimed that Clare was his main love. He also loved Bobby, his first teenage lover and close friend. It is possible that Jonathan’s sense of inadequacy stalked him even as he abandoned himself unreservedly to his physical desires.
Bobby, born to parents who were teachers, was introduced to drugs and alcohol at age 9 by his 16-year-old brother. A string of family tragedies left him practically an orphan, and he spent a lot of time with Jonathan’s family. His deprivation made him hungry for an orderly home and home-cooked meals. Alice, Jonathan’s mother observed, ”He looked at our house with such open, avid greed.” He picked up cooking from Alice and became a chef. Unlike Jonathan, Bobby was passive and compliant in an annoyingly sweet way. He went with the flow and let things happen to him.
Alice, married to Ned who ran a movie theatre business, was thrifty and sensible. She loved Jonathan but was unhappy in her marriage. Her sense of duty bound her to Ned and she lived with a nascent longing for a different life. Her conversations with Jonathan over his love life were painful to listen to.
This is a book that raised some difficult questions. The characters were flawed but real and honest. Who can decide for anyone what is right for him or her, who to love, what love is, and what makes a family? A Home at the End of the World is written in impeccable prose. It is a difficult story but not one without hope.
March 15, 2025
Читаючи роман Майкла Каннінґема "Дім на краю світу", я намагався пригадати, а коли у моєму житті були часи і події, котрі можна було б співвіднести за значенням та впливом із легендарним фестивалем "Вудсток" 1969 року?
Я спізнився на український фестивальний двіж на кілька років, але, здається, таки встиг на його найсмачніші роки — десь між 2007 та 2013: подільські "Шешори", "Підкамінь", "Свірж", "Форт-Місія", "Трипільське коло", "Славське-Рок", "Арт-Поле"... З відстані у часі тепер так очевидно, які це були світлі і безтурботні дні: наповненні подорожами, музикою, танцями, друзями, легкістю і коханням з першого погляду. Нехай тоді у нас майже не було грошей, але я міг поснідати бананом та кавою з автомата і потім цибати на танцювальних майстер-класах весь день.
Тому, коли Боббі у романі нестримно вабить до "Вудстока", коли він зачаровано дивиться на Клер, котра там була, коли вони повсякчас слухають музику Джиммі Гендрікса, Grateful Dead, Дженіс Джоплін — я дуже навіть розумію всих тих, хто народився занадто пізно, щоби застати найкращі українські роки в свідомому віці.
Але психологічна драма Майкла Каннінґема — зовсім не про фестивалі, швидше навпаки — про найпростіші, банальні, елементарні елементи побуту, якісь милі (і не дуже) дрібнички, з яких складається життя. Про те, чим ми зможемо його наповнити і як будемо проживати (його) неминучу скінченність.
Основних персонажів тут четверо, але загалом, для мене, схема їх розподілу тілом роману виглядає, як 2+1+1. Перші двоє — Боббі та Джонатан, ми знайомимося з ними ще у школі. Хлопці починають приятелювати, захоплюються одне одним і навіть стають коханцями. Боббі взагалі вже встиг хильнути лиха. Спершу він стає свідком трагічною і абсолютно дурацької загибелі рідного брата, який був його провідником у світ дорослих розваг. Згодом його мати накладає на себе руки типово американським способом - напившись піґулок, а батько починає бухати. Тому, коли хлопчик починає навідуватися в будинок свого приятеля і знайомиться з його батьками, він настільки до них прив'язується, що навіть деякий час живе у них після того, як Джонатан їде навчатися у коледж в Нью-Йорку.
Автор розповідає історію також з погляду двох жінок: Еліс — матері Джонатана, та Клер — жінки під сорок, з якою Джонатан живе в Нью-Йорку в одній квартирі. Клер та Джонатан, начебто, в якомусь сенсі одне в одного закохані, але без сексу, адже Джонатан — гей. Клер виросла в заможній сім'ї, де рано почала бунтувати, встигла зовсім юною сходити заміж, зробити аборт, але тепер обговорює із своїм другом та співмешканцем можливість завести спільну дитину.
Історія набуває яскравіших барв, коли до цієї "парочки" приєднується Боббі, котрого Еліс мало не силоміць виперла у доросле життя і на пошуки власної долі. Кожен із учасників такого умовного "любовного трикутника" має глибокі і складні почуття до двох інших його "вершин", але найцікавіше починається, коли Клер вагітніє...
Поруч із спробами створити нестандартну сім'ю, вийшовши поза межі уявлень про сімейне життя, отриманими від батьків та інших людей, всі герої та героїні роману, включно з другорядними, гостро проживають власну скінченність разом із кінцем світу, особливо на фоні епідемії СНІДу, яка почала охоплювати США у 80-х. Гасло "Любов, мир і щастя", під яким проходив "Вудсток" у 1969 році, не лише не врятувало наш світ, воно не здатне врятувати навіть родину, де всі одне одного дуже люблять, але для щастя цього чомусь не достатньо. Сховавшись у сільському будиночку неподалік від місця, де проводився "Вудсток", Боббі, Джонатан та Клер намагаються побудувати життєздатні стосунки на непевному фундаменті з кохання та сексу (але, звісно, не всіх з усіма).
Майкл Каннінґем пише "Дім на краю світу" так тонко та гостро, що це не може не боліти, але, водночас, читаючи цю книгу, я відчував себе аж надто живим. Бо люблять, кохаються, ненавидять, страждають, тікають, зляться, сумніваються, захоплюються лише ті, хто ще живий. З часом це все, звісно, вилікує смерть, але буде чудово, якщо не сьогодні.
Я спізнився на український фестивальний двіж на кілька років, але, здається, таки встиг на його найсмачніші роки — десь між 2007 та 2013: подільські "Шешори", "Підкамінь", "Свірж", "Форт-Місія", "Трипільське коло", "Славське-Рок", "Арт-Поле"... З відстані у часі тепер так очевидно, які це були світлі і безтурботні дні: наповненні подорожами, музикою, танцями, друзями, легкістю і коханням з першого погляду. Нехай тоді у нас майже не було грошей, але я міг поснідати бананом та кавою з автомата і потім цибати на танцювальних майстер-класах весь день.
Тому, коли Боббі у романі нестримно вабить до "Вудстока", коли він зачаровано дивиться на Клер, котра там була, коли вони повсякчас слухають музику Джиммі Гендрікса, Grateful Dead, Дженіс Джоплін — я дуже навіть розумію всих тих, хто народився занадто пізно, щоби застати найкращі українські роки в свідомому віці.
Але психологічна драма Майкла Каннінґема — зовсім не про фестивалі, швидше навпаки — про найпростіші, банальні, елементарні елементи побуту, якісь милі (і не дуже) дрібнички, з яких складається життя. Про те, чим ми зможемо його наповнити і як будемо проживати (його) неминучу скінченність.
Основних персонажів тут четверо, але загалом, для мене, схема їх розподілу тілом роману виглядає, як 2+1+1. Перші двоє — Боббі та Джонатан, ми знайомимося з ними ще у школі. Хлопці починають приятелювати, захоплюються одне одним і навіть стають коханцями. Боббі взагалі вже встиг хильнути лиха. Спершу він стає свідком трагічною і абсолютно дурацької загибелі рідного брата, який був його провідником у світ дорослих розваг. Згодом його мати накладає на себе руки типово американським способом - напившись піґулок, а батько починає бухати. Тому, коли хлопчик починає навідуватися в будинок свого приятеля і знайомиться з його батьками, він настільки до них прив'язується, що навіть деякий час живе у них після того, як Джонатан їде навчатися у коледж в Нью-Йорку.
Автор розповідає історію також з погляду двох жінок: Еліс — матері Джонатана, та Клер — жінки під сорок, з якою Джонатан живе в Нью-Йорку в одній квартирі. Клер та Джонатан, начебто, в якомусь сенсі одне в одного закохані, але без сексу, адже Джонатан — гей. Клер виросла в заможній сім'ї, де рано почала бунтувати, встигла зовсім юною сходити заміж, зробити аборт, але тепер обговорює із своїм другом та співмешканцем можливість завести спільну дитину.
Історія набуває яскравіших барв, коли до цієї "парочки" приєднується Боббі, котрого Еліс мало не силоміць виперла у доросле життя і на пошуки власної долі. Кожен із учасників такого умовного "любовного трикутника" має глибокі і складні почуття до двох інших його "вершин", але найцікавіше починається, коли Клер вагітніє...
Поруч із спробами створити нестандартну сім'ю, вийшовши поза межі уявлень про сімейне життя, отриманими від батьків та інших людей, всі герої та героїні роману, включно з другорядними, гостро проживають власну скінченність разом із кінцем світу, особливо на фоні епідемії СНІДу, яка почала охоплювати США у 80-х. Гасло "Любов, мир і щастя", під яким проходив "Вудсток" у 1969 році, не лише не врятувало наш світ, воно не здатне врятувати навіть родину, де всі одне одного дуже люблять, але для щастя цього чомусь не достатньо. Сховавшись у сільському будиночку неподалік від місця, де проводився "Вудсток", Боббі, Джонатан та Клер намагаються побудувати життєздатні стосунки на непевному фундаменті з кохання та сексу (але, звісно, не всіх з усіма).
Майкл Каннінґем пише "Дім на краю світу" так тонко та гостро, що це не може не боліти, але, водночас, читаючи цю книгу, я відчував себе аж надто живим. Бо люблять, кохаються, ненавидять, страждають, тікають, зляться, сумніваються, захоплюються лише ті, хто ще живий. З часом це все, звісно, вилікує смерть, але буде чудово, якщо не сьогодні.
October 17, 2025
Перечит 2025 українською.
Я був певен, що це 5. Ну бо Каннінгем не буває менше. Тому я й узяв її читати саме на тиждень мого дня народження.
Це щемка, душевна історія, але не депресивна, незважаючи на весь її трагізм.
І українською ця меланхолійність ще фактурніша.
Для мене це дуже осіннє читання, як і я сам. )))
Гадаю моя бульбашка вже давно її прочитала, але якщо ви ще ні - то це знак.
Я був певен, що це 5. Ну бо Каннінгем не буває менше. Тому я й узяв її читати саме на тиждень мого дня народження.
Це щемка, душевна історія, але не депресивна, незважаючи на весь її трагізм.
І українською ця меланхолійність ще фактурніша.
Для мене це дуже осіннє читання, як і я сам. )))
Гадаю моя бульбашка вже давно її прочитала, але якщо ви ще ні - то це знак.
January 5, 2025
Відразу в топ прочитаного не лише якогось місяця/року/тощо, а за все життя.
Насправді мені поки слів замало, щоб описати якісь враження і відчуття. Текст так проростає в шкіру, ніби стає якоюсь невід'ємною частинкою тебе самого, і ти просто залишаєшся з ним.
Це максимально чесний роман. Болючий, але чесний. Про сім'ю і різновиди любові, про доросле життя і відкриття на цьому шляху, про потребу мати свій Дім наприкінці чи на краю світу. Про крихкість кожного з нас. А ще мені ця книжка про людську смертність, про те, що всі ми скінченні, а світ навколо ні. Тож, уважно дослухайтеся до тріску власного внутрішнього я — можливо, ще не пізно щось змінити і збудувати свій Дім для втечі від великого світу.
Насправді мені поки слів замало, щоб описати якісь враження і відчуття. Текст так проростає в шкіру, ніби стає якоюсь невід'ємною частинкою тебе самого, і ти просто залишаєшся з ним.
Це максимально чесний роман. Болючий, але чесний. Про сім'ю і різновиди любові, про доросле життя і відкриття на цьому шляху, про потребу мати свій Дім наприкінці чи на краю світу. Про крихкість кожного з нас. А ще мені ця книжка про людську смертність, про те, що всі ми скінченні, а світ навколо ні. Тож, уважно дослухайтеся до тріску власного внутрішнього я — можливо, ще не пізно щось змінити і збудувати свій Дім для втечі від великого світу.
June 7, 2018
A million stars. What an amazing book. The writing is incredible - just beautiful, beautiful words. I can’t even be coherent about this thing. One of the very, very few books I’ve read populated by REAL people. READ IT. EVERYONE READ IT.
December 31, 2025
Люблю, коли на початку року маю змогу знайти таку книгу!
Початок історії мені нагадав книгу These Violent Delights і я думала, що ми прямуватимемо одним шляхом з двома головними героями. Потім мене насторожила поява матері Джонатана, я змінила свої прогнози, але знову помилилася. Ця книга здивувала мене ще не раз (тільки не читайте анотацію).
У цій історії буде не два, а три головних герої – троє аутсайдерів (стосовно цього питання є різні думки, для когось їх четверо). Джонатан ховає у собі стільки злості на цей світ. Боббі – живе без запитів, без друзів за межами дому, залежний від інших. А ще є дещо невротична Клер, яка дуже ускладнить і без того складне.
У цій історії мало любові, ще менше – щастя. Але герої, що так не схожі на тебе, провокують читача,злять і приголомшують. Водночас тут відчувається ніжне ставлення автора до них, до їхніх травм і виборів.
Точно перечитаю!
Початок історії мені нагадав книгу These Violent Delights і я думала, що ми прямуватимемо одним шляхом з двома головними героями. Потім мене насторожила поява матері Джонатана, я змінила свої прогнози, але знову помилилася. Ця книга здивувала мене ще не раз (тільки не читайте анотацію).
У цій історії буде не два, а три головних герої – троє аутсайдерів (стосовно цього питання є різні думки, для когось їх четверо). Джонатан ховає у собі стільки злості на цей світ. Боббі – живе без запитів, без друзів за межами дому, залежний від інших. А ще є дещо невротична Клер, яка дуже ускладнить і без того складне.
У цій історії мало любові, ще менше – щастя. Але герої, що так не схожі на тебе, провокують читача,злять і приголомшують. Водночас тут відчувається ніжне ставлення автора до них, до їхніх травм і виборів.
Точно перечитаю!
October 25, 2022
UPDATE….( below the 💕).
WE JUST SECONDS AGO HAD A - FELT - EARTHQUAKE…
Review soon .... This would make a great book choice pick. I'd rather jump right into a book-discussion -than write a review -- haha, but it doesn't work that way --does it?/!
I love Michael Cunningham --His writing of "The Snow Queen" was luminous and and compassionate. "The Hours" > brilliant. "A Wild Swan" > a beauty. "By Nightfall" > I felt a ton of empathy for it.
And now .... "A Home at the End of the World"..... another book that examines American culture in the 60's thru 80's - portraying bonds of family, friendship, love, sex, loss, death, grief, loneliness. >> and the startling ways tragedy affects us all --
I'm still thinking about this book -- (not without flaws in my opinion) -- but definitely thought-provoking, well written, very engaging, with characters who individually are well developed yet their relationships together are less so.
I'll add to this review later -- but why can't we just start the discussion? lol ...
Oh, right -- because it would be filled with spoilers!
I recommend it -- 'for' the opportunity to explore one's own thoughts!!
💕
UPDATE:
The blurb: …..[and, wow? There is a film?]….who has seen it? I’m interested!
“There’s Jonathan, lonely, introspective, and unsure of himself; and Bobby, hip, dark, and inarticulate. In New York after college, Bobby moved in with Jonathan and his roommate Clare, a veteran of the city’s erotic wars. Bobby and Clare fall in love, scuttling the plans of Jonathan, who is gay, to father Clare’s child.
Then, when Clare and Bobby have a baby, the three moved to a small house upstate to raise ‘their’ child together and, with an odd friend, Alice, create a new kind of family”.
I included the above blurred because it’s a pretty clear description of the basics and why reinvent the wheel?
The rest of this review will be my thoughts and feelings.
I’ll include some excerpts.
The first question I asked myself after finishing this book…was….if I had to choose, who did I feel this story belonged to most?
Jonathan? His mother, Alice? Bobby? (Jonathan‘s friend since middle school), Clare? or…..even Erich? (a gay man - Jonathan’s sexual partner- a character who became more poignant to us towards the end of the novel— but was not one of the narrative voices)
I could make an argument….for this novel being a tribute to Erich. —the least visible character until much further in the book…but an important character.
But..
I’d say this novel most belongs to Bobby.
A slight spoiler — but it means nothing without reading more to go along with this fact: Bobby literally had the most loss: a brother, a mother, a father.
I personally know how penetrating, deeply life altering it is after the loss of one parent as a child…(but two? and a very beloved older sibling?)
Bobby lost all his immediate family [not all at once]—before he was out of his teens.
Bobby’s older brother, Carleton, introduced drugs to Bobby at age nine - and even unintentionally sex: ‘not cool’, but Carleton was Bobby’s hero. He followed his older brother around like a loved puppy dog….hanging out at a nearby cemetery.
As Bobby grew older — he was still always following others around — but there was a purity about him. He simply was looking for love — wanted desperately ‘to’ love and ‘be’ loved.
Ok….so as embarrassing as this is — I related to Bobby.
Bobby ….unintentionally….latches onto to another family. I relate to this aspect too — I did the same. (Renee or Lisi - if you are reading this - you’re shaking your heads remembering our growing years). I practically lived at Renee’s house daily — and Lisi’s pretty often too.
When you’re a young kid with so little at your own home….nobody cooking, nobody around, little expectations, it’s very easy to fall in love with a family that seems to have some semblance of order, and delicious home cooked dinners. At its deepest core — a desired for love is the driving force.
My little personal share:
My childhood favorite meals were at Renee’s house. Renee’s, mom, Helen, (Holocaust survivor), was the ‘best’ cook. Her husband, Mel, was too —-so that even on my 40th birthday— ‘years’ later — Renee, and her mom (arranged with my husband, Paul) — a surprise party for me at Renee’‘s house in San Francisco. They made all my favorite foods that I grew up with… Stuffed cabbage, carrot pudding (it’s a non-frosting carrot cake - served warm made in a round ring) served with our meal with roasted chicken, and the stuffed cabbage).
I knew what it felt like to fall in love — deeply— with my friends and their entire families.
So…. when Alice, teaches Bobby how to cook while he was still in High School in their Cleveland home, (which changed the dynamics of Jonathan’s relationship with Bobby) …I was very curious to know how the revolving doors of the years moving on were going to go.
I enjoyed where Cunningham took this novel — into New York. I especially loved the beginning, though, when in Cleveland.
Parts of the middle section when Clare came on board were a little draggy for me. (not all)….but I admit, she was my least favorite character. Not only because of her choices….I just didn’t find her all that interesting.
However….this is a GOOD BOOK. I’m glad I read it — and it was the type I was in the mood for.
There are ‘many’ ways to view this novel. MANY!
Credit to Michael Cunningham— he has given us a lot of worthy juice to chat about.
A couple insignificant FLAWS:
…..The first tiny flaw ( soooo silly)….but it ‘is’ a flaw….lol. The card game Hearts is not played with 2 people — I loved the game years ago —(probably still would)… but the card game takes 3 or best 4 people.
So….when Alice played hearts with her son Jonathan— I was thinking, how?….lol
Fun flaw?
Next — insignificant flaw—IMO
…..Ned, Alice’s husband, was ‘mostly’ absent in this story — so that when he died later on — I felt too much time was spent of his death.
Now for the good parts….hah…you mean the rest wasn’t any good?
Even though this book was written years ago — and ‘might’ seem outdated — absolutely nothing is shocking — it’s a terrific character study….and the writing flows seamlessly.
It’s filled with psychological nuance.
EACH READER will have to decide who they are rooting for - or who they like - or don’t like - and think about moral quandaries —
All the characters are flawed — but personally I was rooting for them.
A FEW EXCERPTS (always out of context — but I hope it gives others a taste the books beauty, intimacy, sadness, and love.
Jonathan:
“I learned that Bobby found sitting silently beside me just as amusing as he did listening to me talk”.
“We spent every day together. It was the kind of reckless overnight friendship particular to those who are young, lonely, and ambitious. Gradually, item by item, Bobby brought over his records, his posters, his clothes. We spent just enough time at his house for me to know what he was escaping from; a stale sour smell of soiled laundry and old food, a father who crept with drunken caution from room to room. Bobby slept in a sleeping bag on my floor. In the dark, I lay listening to the sound of his breath. He moaned sometimes in his dreams”.
They shared a lot of dope together.
Alice…
“Sometimes in those days I thought of Wendy from Peter Pan—an island mother to a troop of lost boys. I didn’t make an outright fool of myself. I didn’t buy gauzy skirts or Indian jewelry or sandals from Mexico. I didn’t let my hair grow long and wild. But there was a different feeling now. I had a new secret, a better one. Previously, my only secret had been the facts that I feared sex and could not summon any interest in getting to know our neighbors. I felt frail and thin to the point of translucence, an insubstantial figure who got headaches from the cold and sinus infections from the heat. But this new secret was buoying, exhilarating—I would be the scandal of the neighborhood if I was found out. The secret warmed me as they passed along the isles of the supermarket. I was a mother who got stoned with her son”.
Clare:
“In a sense I liked the way I was aging. I’d invented a life of my own. I wasn’t a prim careerist living with two cats in a townhouse full of ancient maps. I wasn’t a drunk drifting from binges to purges and back again. I was proud of that. But still, I expected by this time of life to have developed a more general sense of pride in my larger self. I’d thought I’d be able to say, if somebody asked me, just exactly what I was doing in the world”.
Bobby:
“I’d made a kind of love with Jonathan because he wanted to, and because I’d loved him. I’d have orgasms that passed through me like spirits of people more devoted to the body than I was”.
I didn’t feel what others called desire. Something was missing for me. I felt love… the strain and heat of it, the animal comfort mixed up with human fear. I loved all of the Glovers— for Sammi at the Bakery, for Dylan when he sang Blue Baby. But nothing built up in his groin.
This is a novel that has us (readers) feel as if we are really there with everyone.
It had flaws - the characters had flaws — but it also dazzled my heart and thoughts. It’s emotionally genuine — with all the components that make for a great fiction story,
4.5 rating.
WE JUST SECONDS AGO HAD A - FELT - EARTHQUAKE…
Review soon .... This would make a great book choice pick. I'd rather jump right into a book-discussion -than write a review -- haha, but it doesn't work that way --does it?/!
I love Michael Cunningham --His writing of "The Snow Queen" was luminous and and compassionate. "The Hours" > brilliant. "A Wild Swan" > a beauty. "By Nightfall" > I felt a ton of empathy for it.
And now .... "A Home at the End of the World"..... another book that examines American culture in the 60's thru 80's - portraying bonds of family, friendship, love, sex, loss, death, grief, loneliness. >> and the startling ways tragedy affects us all --
I'm still thinking about this book -- (not without flaws in my opinion) -- but definitely thought-provoking, well written, very engaging, with characters who individually are well developed yet their relationships together are less so.
I'll add to this review later -- but why can't we just start the discussion? lol ...
Oh, right -- because it would be filled with spoilers!
I recommend it -- 'for' the opportunity to explore one's own thoughts!!
💕
UPDATE:
The blurb: …..[and, wow? There is a film?]….who has seen it? I’m interested!
“There’s Jonathan, lonely, introspective, and unsure of himself; and Bobby, hip, dark, and inarticulate. In New York after college, Bobby moved in with Jonathan and his roommate Clare, a veteran of the city’s erotic wars. Bobby and Clare fall in love, scuttling the plans of Jonathan, who is gay, to father Clare’s child.
Then, when Clare and Bobby have a baby, the three moved to a small house upstate to raise ‘their’ child together and, with an odd friend, Alice, create a new kind of family”.
I included the above blurred because it’s a pretty clear description of the basics and why reinvent the wheel?
The rest of this review will be my thoughts and feelings.
I’ll include some excerpts.
The first question I asked myself after finishing this book…was….if I had to choose, who did I feel this story belonged to most?
Jonathan? His mother, Alice? Bobby? (Jonathan‘s friend since middle school), Clare? or…..even Erich? (a gay man - Jonathan’s sexual partner- a character who became more poignant to us towards the end of the novel— but was not one of the narrative voices)
I could make an argument….for this novel being a tribute to Erich. —the least visible character until much further in the book…but an important character.
But..
I’d say this novel most belongs to Bobby.
A slight spoiler — but it means nothing without reading more to go along with this fact: Bobby literally had the most loss: a brother, a mother, a father.
I personally know how penetrating, deeply life altering it is after the loss of one parent as a child…(but two? and a very beloved older sibling?)
Bobby lost all his immediate family [not all at once]—before he was out of his teens.
Bobby’s older brother, Carleton, introduced drugs to Bobby at age nine - and even unintentionally sex: ‘not cool’, but Carleton was Bobby’s hero. He followed his older brother around like a loved puppy dog….hanging out at a nearby cemetery.
As Bobby grew older — he was still always following others around — but there was a purity about him. He simply was looking for love — wanted desperately ‘to’ love and ‘be’ loved.
Ok….so as embarrassing as this is — I related to Bobby.
Bobby ….unintentionally….latches onto to another family. I relate to this aspect too — I did the same. (Renee or Lisi - if you are reading this - you’re shaking your heads remembering our growing years). I practically lived at Renee’s house daily — and Lisi’s pretty often too.
When you’re a young kid with so little at your own home….nobody cooking, nobody around, little expectations, it’s very easy to fall in love with a family that seems to have some semblance of order, and delicious home cooked dinners. At its deepest core — a desired for love is the driving force.
My little personal share:
My childhood favorite meals were at Renee’s house. Renee’s, mom, Helen, (Holocaust survivor), was the ‘best’ cook. Her husband, Mel, was too —-so that even on my 40th birthday— ‘years’ later — Renee, and her mom (arranged with my husband, Paul) — a surprise party for me at Renee’‘s house in San Francisco. They made all my favorite foods that I grew up with… Stuffed cabbage, carrot pudding (it’s a non-frosting carrot cake - served warm made in a round ring) served with our meal with roasted chicken, and the stuffed cabbage).
I knew what it felt like to fall in love — deeply— with my friends and their entire families.
So…. when Alice, teaches Bobby how to cook while he was still in High School in their Cleveland home, (which changed the dynamics of Jonathan’s relationship with Bobby) …I was very curious to know how the revolving doors of the years moving on were going to go.
I enjoyed where Cunningham took this novel — into New York. I especially loved the beginning, though, when in Cleveland.
Parts of the middle section when Clare came on board were a little draggy for me. (not all)….but I admit, she was my least favorite character. Not only because of her choices….I just didn’t find her all that interesting.
However….this is a GOOD BOOK. I’m glad I read it — and it was the type I was in the mood for.
There are ‘many’ ways to view this novel. MANY!
Credit to Michael Cunningham— he has given us a lot of worthy juice to chat about.
A couple insignificant FLAWS:
…..The first tiny flaw ( soooo silly)….but it ‘is’ a flaw….lol. The card game Hearts is not played with 2 people — I loved the game years ago —(probably still would)… but the card game takes 3 or best 4 people.
So….when Alice played hearts with her son Jonathan— I was thinking, how?….lol
Fun flaw?
Next — insignificant flaw—IMO
…..Ned, Alice’s husband, was ‘mostly’ absent in this story — so that when he died later on — I felt too much time was spent of his death.
Now for the good parts….hah…you mean the rest wasn’t any good?
Even though this book was written years ago — and ‘might’ seem outdated — absolutely nothing is shocking — it’s a terrific character study….and the writing flows seamlessly.
It’s filled with psychological nuance.
EACH READER will have to decide who they are rooting for - or who they like - or don’t like - and think about moral quandaries —
All the characters are flawed — but personally I was rooting for them.
A FEW EXCERPTS (always out of context — but I hope it gives others a taste the books beauty, intimacy, sadness, and love.
Jonathan:
“I learned that Bobby found sitting silently beside me just as amusing as he did listening to me talk”.
“We spent every day together. It was the kind of reckless overnight friendship particular to those who are young, lonely, and ambitious. Gradually, item by item, Bobby brought over his records, his posters, his clothes. We spent just enough time at his house for me to know what he was escaping from; a stale sour smell of soiled laundry and old food, a father who crept with drunken caution from room to room. Bobby slept in a sleeping bag on my floor. In the dark, I lay listening to the sound of his breath. He moaned sometimes in his dreams”.
They shared a lot of dope together.
Alice…
“Sometimes in those days I thought of Wendy from Peter Pan—an island mother to a troop of lost boys. I didn’t make an outright fool of myself. I didn’t buy gauzy skirts or Indian jewelry or sandals from Mexico. I didn’t let my hair grow long and wild. But there was a different feeling now. I had a new secret, a better one. Previously, my only secret had been the facts that I feared sex and could not summon any interest in getting to know our neighbors. I felt frail and thin to the point of translucence, an insubstantial figure who got headaches from the cold and sinus infections from the heat. But this new secret was buoying, exhilarating—I would be the scandal of the neighborhood if I was found out. The secret warmed me as they passed along the isles of the supermarket. I was a mother who got stoned with her son”.
Clare:
“In a sense I liked the way I was aging. I’d invented a life of my own. I wasn’t a prim careerist living with two cats in a townhouse full of ancient maps. I wasn’t a drunk drifting from binges to purges and back again. I was proud of that. But still, I expected by this time of life to have developed a more general sense of pride in my larger self. I’d thought I’d be able to say, if somebody asked me, just exactly what I was doing in the world”.
Bobby:
“I’d made a kind of love with Jonathan because he wanted to, and because I’d loved him. I’d have orgasms that passed through me like spirits of people more devoted to the body than I was”.
I didn’t feel what others called desire. Something was missing for me. I felt love… the strain and heat of it, the animal comfort mixed up with human fear. I loved all of the Glovers— for Sammi at the Bakery, for Dylan when he sang Blue Baby. But nothing built up in his groin.
This is a novel that has us (readers) feel as if we are really there with everyone.
It had flaws - the characters had flaws — but it also dazzled my heart and thoughts. It’s emotionally genuine — with all the components that make for a great fiction story,
4.5 rating.
April 28, 2021
4.5 Stars
’Once our father bought a convertible. Don’t ask me. I was five. He brought it and drove it home as casually as he’d bring a gallon of rocky road. Picture our mother’s surprise. She kept rubber bands on the doorknobs. She washed old plastic bags and hung them on the line to dry, a string of thrifty tame jellyfish floating in the sun. Imagine her scrubbing the cheese smell out of a plastic bag on its third or fourth go-round when our father pulls up in a Chevy convertible...He saw it parked downtown with a For Sale sign and decided to be the kind of man who buys a car on a whim.’ - Bobby
’I was not ladylike, nor was I manly. I was something else altogether. There were so many different ways to be a beauty.’ - Jonathan
This is a story about love, about belonging - or not belonging, or perhaps not belonging any one place, to any one person, anything. It is about belonging everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Having the freedom, or audacity, to change your mind along the way, of what you want...or perhaps of wanting the flexibility to have what you want without that cancelling out your other wants. Not in the sense of “I’d like a hamburger and a milkshake, but in choosing a life, a person - or persons - you want to share your life with, intimately.
’This is what you do. You make a future for yourself out of the raw material at hand.’
A Bob and Clare, and Clare and Jonathan, and so on kind of story.
This is also a story about loss, family, love, friendship and devotion.
Clare is around ten years older than Bob and Jonathan, she feels the window of opportunity to fulfill her desire to have a child closing day by day. Clare had always wanted a settled life and a shocking one. Her life one of nursing flocks of undisciplined wishes that collided and canceled each other out.
’Hope takes on a fragility. Think too hard and it’s gone. I was surprised by the inner emptiness I felt, my heart and belly swinging on cords. I’d always been so present in the passing moments. I’d assumed that was enough - to taste the coffee and the wine...Soon there would be an important addition to the list of things I was too old to do.’ - Clare
Although there are various locations in this story, the main story takes place in NYC, followed by upstate New York, not far from the Woodstock, where Clare was during the 1969 Festival. They buy a somewhat ramshackle old house that needs work, and then a small restaurant which is run by the men.
And life is good, although it takes on a somewhat day-by-day routine of the necessary things in life, leaving little time left in the day for fulfilling leftover wants or dreams.
They’d hoped for more, life was good, but was missing some of the things they’d envisioned. Their visions for their future had been formed in the optimism of their former, more youthful years, and their belief that they would not change as their parents had.
Years ago, the year it was published, I read Michael Cunningham’s The Hours - years before Goodreads - and was swept away into those pages, and his prose. The stories aren’t really comparable, and even though this story didn’t flow quite as fluidly as The Hours, the prose is as lovely, and the story is nearly as engaging.
Many thanks to my friend Candi, whose review led me to read this. Her review can be found here:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
’Once our father bought a convertible. Don’t ask me. I was five. He brought it and drove it home as casually as he’d bring a gallon of rocky road. Picture our mother’s surprise. She kept rubber bands on the doorknobs. She washed old plastic bags and hung them on the line to dry, a string of thrifty tame jellyfish floating in the sun. Imagine her scrubbing the cheese smell out of a plastic bag on its third or fourth go-round when our father pulls up in a Chevy convertible...He saw it parked downtown with a For Sale sign and decided to be the kind of man who buys a car on a whim.’ - Bobby
’I was not ladylike, nor was I manly. I was something else altogether. There were so many different ways to be a beauty.’ - Jonathan
This is a story about love, about belonging - or not belonging, or perhaps not belonging any one place, to any one person, anything. It is about belonging everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Having the freedom, or audacity, to change your mind along the way, of what you want...or perhaps of wanting the flexibility to have what you want without that cancelling out your other wants. Not in the sense of “I’d like a hamburger and a milkshake, but in choosing a life, a person - or persons - you want to share your life with, intimately.
’This is what you do. You make a future for yourself out of the raw material at hand.’
A Bob and Clare, and Clare and Jonathan, and so on kind of story.
This is also a story about loss, family, love, friendship and devotion.
Clare is around ten years older than Bob and Jonathan, she feels the window of opportunity to fulfill her desire to have a child closing day by day. Clare had always wanted a settled life and a shocking one. Her life one of nursing flocks of undisciplined wishes that collided and canceled each other out.
’Hope takes on a fragility. Think too hard and it’s gone. I was surprised by the inner emptiness I felt, my heart and belly swinging on cords. I’d always been so present in the passing moments. I’d assumed that was enough - to taste the coffee and the wine...Soon there would be an important addition to the list of things I was too old to do.’ - Clare
Although there are various locations in this story, the main story takes place in NYC, followed by upstate New York, not far from the Woodstock, where Clare was during the 1969 Festival. They buy a somewhat ramshackle old house that needs work, and then a small restaurant which is run by the men.
And life is good, although it takes on a somewhat day-by-day routine of the necessary things in life, leaving little time left in the day for fulfilling leftover wants or dreams.
They’d hoped for more, life was good, but was missing some of the things they’d envisioned. Their visions for their future had been formed in the optimism of their former, more youthful years, and their belief that they would not change as their parents had.
Years ago, the year it was published, I read Michael Cunningham’s The Hours - years before Goodreads - and was swept away into those pages, and his prose. The stories aren’t really comparable, and even though this story didn’t flow quite as fluidly as The Hours, the prose is as lovely, and the story is nearly as engaging.
Many thanks to my friend Candi, whose review led me to read this. Her review can be found here:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
July 12, 2022
3.5 stars — Classic case of right book, wrong time?
Didn’t do this any favors by reading it in disrupted, distracted spurts spread across a busy two weeks of summer travel and time spent with family. It's episodic and ephemeral enough as it is, and my staggered reading no doubt made it even more of a struggle to connect with these characters and their respective journeys.
I think the main thing that kept me from adoring this as much as some of my other GR friends, was the lack of a clear, compelling plot. Not that I need every book to include an action-packed storyline, but I do prefer a stronger and more balanced "story to emotion" ratio than this.
There just wasn't enough narrative momentum in this loosely structured story of unconventional love and friendship between Jonathan and Bobby, two boyhood friends, and a woman they both meet later in life, to sustain my interest or make me care about what happened to them on any kind of deep or lingering level.
Amidst this frustrating aimlessness, however, there's some truly beautiful writing and lovely character development to savor and enjoy. I didn't necessarily like most of these characters, but I finished the book feeling like I knew them on a sometimes uncomfortably intimate level.
At times the prose feels strained and overwrought, which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering it's one of Cunningham's early novels. But there are also passages of pure genius scattered throughout, the kind of lyrical perfection and punch-to-the-gut relatable life wisdom that left me tossing the book aside and gasping for air several times.
The childhood and adolescence chapters were my favorites, especially those told from the point of view of Alice (Jonathan's mother). She was the most complex and interesting character for me, and Cunningham seems most confident and insightful when exploring the complicated, fraught relationships between parents and children.
There's an aching vulnerability and raw honesty in these chapters about a young mother struggling to connect with her lonely and sexually confused teenage son, that really resonated with me in a way the rest of the book didn't.
Didn’t do this any favors by reading it in disrupted, distracted spurts spread across a busy two weeks of summer travel and time spent with family. It's episodic and ephemeral enough as it is, and my staggered reading no doubt made it even more of a struggle to connect with these characters and their respective journeys.
I think the main thing that kept me from adoring this as much as some of my other GR friends, was the lack of a clear, compelling plot. Not that I need every book to include an action-packed storyline, but I do prefer a stronger and more balanced "story to emotion" ratio than this.
There just wasn't enough narrative momentum in this loosely structured story of unconventional love and friendship between Jonathan and Bobby, two boyhood friends, and a woman they both meet later in life, to sustain my interest or make me care about what happened to them on any kind of deep or lingering level.
Amidst this frustrating aimlessness, however, there's some truly beautiful writing and lovely character development to savor and enjoy. I didn't necessarily like most of these characters, but I finished the book feeling like I knew them on a sometimes uncomfortably intimate level.
At times the prose feels strained and overwrought, which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering it's one of Cunningham's early novels. But there are also passages of pure genius scattered throughout, the kind of lyrical perfection and punch-to-the-gut relatable life wisdom that left me tossing the book aside and gasping for air several times.
The childhood and adolescence chapters were my favorites, especially those told from the point of view of Alice (Jonathan's mother). She was the most complex and interesting character for me, and Cunningham seems most confident and insightful when exploring the complicated, fraught relationships between parents and children.
There's an aching vulnerability and raw honesty in these chapters about a young mother struggling to connect with her lonely and sexually confused teenage son, that really resonated with me in a way the rest of the book didn't.
January 21, 2025
«Я написав цю книгу як гей, який пережив епідемію СНІДу. Деяких підтримували їхні біологічні сім’ї, а інших кидали напризволяще. Ми створювали свої сім’ї з друз��в, драг-квінів і танцюристів. Вони замінювали батьків, робили все — від сварок із лікарями до організації похоронів»
Роман «Дім на краю світу» відчувається водночас близьким і таким, що вислизає зі звичних літературних категорій. Має потужний емоційний заряд і порушує складні теми любові, самотності, пошуку себе.
Поки я читала, мене не полишало відчуття, що книга залишається для мене незбагненною. Здавалося, я не можу вловити її суть, але точно знаю, що вона є. Роман немов протистоїть бажанню «вкласти» його в рамки жанру чи коротко переказати фабулу. Після прочитання лишається відчуття, що отримав більше питань, ніж відповідей.
Головна тема роману, яку я все ж виділила для себе, — що таке дім?
Каннінгем подає ідею дому як мінливу, плинну субстанцію. Дім може бути тимчасовим, крихким, умовним. Але найважливіше — це люди, які його наповнюють.
Трохи про героїв:
Боббі: живе «на межі» після втрати брата. Він ніби перебуває поза життям, не маючи свого осердя, і саме це несвідомо притягує до нього інших.
Джонатан: шукає свій шлях і прийняття. Його постійний пошук гармонії (у сім’ї, у собі, серед друзів) перегукується з прагненням знайти місце, де можна бути собою.
Клер: уособлює внутрішній розрив між бажанням сталості та потребою в яскравих враженнях. Вона прагне побудувати свій «домашній всесвіт», але водночас боїться втратити себе в рутині буденності.
Еліс: трагедія людини, яка усвідомлює, що вже переросла свій дім. Але не здатна вирватися.
Їхня спільність — це їхні травми.
СНІД тут виступає як загрозливий монстр із майбутнього, що повільно насувається на героїв і проявляється лише наприкінці. Каннінгем написав роман про сім’ю, яка випадково утворюється в спробі захиститися від жорстокості зовнішнього світу.
Одне з найяскравіших вражень від книги — стиль письма. Те, що часто неможливо точно описати словами (втрату близької людини, постійний страх відкинення, покинутість), Каннінгем робить майже відчутним, ніби цей біль можна торкнутися руками. Він майстерно балансує між красою та грубою реальністю.
Автор апелює не до логіки, а до «потаємних кімнат» нашої душі.
Це твір, який неможливо повністю збагнути з одного прочитання, але можна відчути всім серцем.
Роман «Дім на краю світу» відчувається водночас близьким і таким, що вислизає зі звичних літературних категорій. Має потужний емоційний заряд і порушує складні теми любові, самотності, пошуку себе.
Поки я читала, мене не полишало відчуття, що книга залишається для мене незбагненною. Здавалося, я не можу вловити її суть, але точно знаю, що вона є. Роман немов протистоїть бажанню «вкласти» його в рамки жанру чи коротко переказати фабулу. Після прочитання лишається відчуття, що отримав більше питань, ніж відповідей.
Головна тема роману, яку я все ж виділила для себе, — що таке дім?
Каннінгем подає ідею дому як мінливу, плинну субстанцію. Дім може бути тимчасовим, крихким, умовним. Але найважливіше — це люди, які його наповнюють.
Трохи про героїв:
Боббі: живе «на межі» після втрати брата. Він ніби перебуває поза життям, не маючи свого осердя, і саме це несвідомо притягує до нього інших.
Джонатан: шукає свій шлях і прийняття. Його постійний пошук гармонії (у сім’ї, у собі, серед друзів) перегукується з прагненням знайти місце, де можна бути собою.
Клер: уособлює внутрішній розрив між бажанням сталості та потребою в яскравих враженнях. Вона прагне побудувати свій «домашній всесвіт», але водночас боїться втратити себе в рутині буденності.
Еліс: трагедія людини, яка усвідомлює, що вже переросла свій дім. Але не здатна вирватися.
Їхня спільність — це їхні травми.
СНІД тут виступає як загрозливий монстр із майбутнього, що повільно насувається на героїв і проявляється лише наприкінці. Каннінгем написав роман про сім’ю, яка випадково утворюється в спробі захиститися від жорстокості зовнішнього світу.
Одне з найяскравіших вражень від книги — стиль письма. Те, що часто неможливо точно описати словами (втрату близької людини, постійний страх відкинення, покинутість), Каннінгем робить майже відчутним, ніби цей біль можна торкнутися руками. Він майстерно балансує між красою та грубою реальністю.
Автор апелює не до логіки, а до «потаємних кімнат» нашої душі.
Це твір, який неможливо повністю збагнути з одного прочитання, але можна відчути всім серцем.
December 7, 2014
Directly after I've finished the book:
THAT, my friends, is an excellent example of a literary fiction.
And it is not easy to rate the books of the genre.
They could be everything - from 2 to 5 stars.
Well, I have to decide between 4 or 5 in this specific case, but it won't be easier to write a review for it. The reason WHY I love literary fiction-it makes you not only feel, but think, think a lot.
Oh, yes, it can even detect our hidden individual talent for philosophy.
Now I'll go into my tub to think about...the fragility of life, the variety of love, the power of human bonding, the senseless of death, the significance of the moment and the solemnity of words...
I decided not to hide my review within the spoiler tags=>spoiler-free :
Michael Cunningham is an extraordinary story teller. I was drawn into this multifaceted journey across years and cities from the very first page. I re-read some lines again and again letting the words slowly grow on me before turning to the next page. The writing is rich and compelling. I highlighted the half of the book.
The author takes us through the lives of the three main characters- Bobby, Jonathan and Clare- their childhood, families, their loves, lives, dreams, disappointments, losses, small triumphs, big changes, ups and downs. The trio would find themselves becoming major parts of each others lives. The relationships between these three characters between the late 70s and the early 80s are the core of the story.
This book is about friendship and family bond. And it is about love, that is so different in all its facets and appearances.
There is no rules for love, it is genderless and ageless, and timeless.
And because all my dear friends wanted to know if there is a HEA:
It is a very realistic ending, full of hope and mererly present and at the same it is an open ending - Michael Cunningham trusts his readers to draw the right conclusions about his characters - and this ending is melancholic, poignant and simply BEAUTIFUL.
My only complaint, a very tiny one - the multiple first person's POV. I would have given it 5 stars if not every character had his own first person's POV. In spite of the fact that this kind of telling is my favourite, I think the book was a bit overloaded with it. As the result -all these different POVs sounded very similar at the end.
It was always ONLY the voice of Michael Cunningham behind.
Highly recommended!
P.S. I'd like to thank Nick for a nice exchange of opinions about the book. It is this kind of books you NEED to talk about while/after reading it. It is a kind of book you shouldn't read alone.
It is why I love my GR friends so much.
May 20, 2020
“...confusi e smarriti e privi di un piano, tormentati da un amore che non accettava di focalizzarsi in modo convenzionale”
E’ cosa banale dire che ogni vita ha un suo percorso con le sue curve e i suoi rettilinei ma altrettanto vero è ammettere che non tutti si adattano a vivere in una nicchia per quanto sia scavata a misura del proprio essere.
Ci sono persone che vivono un disagio.
Comincia con un fastidio come fosse un sassolino nella scarpa e poi man mano che si cresce si tramuta in un’indefinibile ansia che fa sentire intorpiditi, scollegati, falliti.
Bobby Morrow e Jonathan Glover sono due anime di questo tipo che incontrandosi si riconoscono e mettono in comune un bisogno, una necessità del vivere raggiungere un luogo dove il panorama avrebbe messo pace a quel vago senso di incompiutezza.
Dalla fine degli anni ’60 puntellati da una notevole colonna sonora (da Van Morrison, i Doors, Janis Joplin, Jimmy Andrix, i Jethro Tull....) al pieno degli anni ’80 con lo spettro dell’AIDS che appanna il concetto di futuro. Da Cleveland a New York.
La storia Bobby e Jonathan s’interseca con quella di Alice (mamma di Jonathan) e quella di Clare un’eccentrica coinquilina che farà la differenza...
Un coro di voci (su questo potrei fare l’unica annotazione critica per uno stile uniforme dell’opera che non differenzia le voci ma forse è intenzionale nei riguardi di un’unità su cui punta tutta la storia...) che raccontano l’incontro tra due tredicenni che diventano adulti arrivando a dirsi: ” Ciascuno di noi è l’altro nato in una carne differente.”
Pubblicato nel 1990, “La casa alla fine del mondo” è il romanzo con cui Michael Cunningham ha fatto il suo esordio.
Una storia che mi ha coinvolta tantissimo.
Superba scrittura di Michael Cunningham che dopo, “Le ore” e "Un cigno selvatico" entra definitivamente nel mio pantheon.
” Non parliamo più. Ci sono troppe cose da dire. “
[Ne è stato tratto un film nel 2004 diretto da Michael Mayer
https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Una_cas...]
E’ cosa banale dire che ogni vita ha un suo percorso con le sue curve e i suoi rettilinei ma altrettanto vero è ammettere che non tutti si adattano a vivere in una nicchia per quanto sia scavata a misura del proprio essere.
Ci sono persone che vivono un disagio.
Comincia con un fastidio come fosse un sassolino nella scarpa e poi man mano che si cresce si tramuta in un’indefinibile ansia che fa sentire intorpiditi, scollegati, falliti.
Bobby Morrow e Jonathan Glover sono due anime di questo tipo che incontrandosi si riconoscono e mettono in comune un bisogno, una necessità del vivere raggiungere un luogo dove il panorama avrebbe messo pace a quel vago senso di incompiutezza.
Dalla fine degli anni ’60 puntellati da una notevole colonna sonora (da Van Morrison, i Doors, Janis Joplin, Jimmy Andrix, i Jethro Tull....) al pieno degli anni ’80 con lo spettro dell’AIDS che appanna il concetto di futuro. Da Cleveland a New York.
La storia Bobby e Jonathan s’interseca con quella di Alice (mamma di Jonathan) e quella di Clare un’eccentrica coinquilina che farà la differenza...
Un coro di voci (su questo potrei fare l’unica annotazione critica per uno stile uniforme dell’opera che non differenzia le voci ma forse è intenzionale nei riguardi di un’unità su cui punta tutta la storia...) che raccontano l’incontro tra due tredicenni che diventano adulti arrivando a dirsi: ” Ciascuno di noi è l’altro nato in una carne differente.”
Pubblicato nel 1990, “La casa alla fine del mondo” è il romanzo con cui Michael Cunningham ha fatto il suo esordio.
Una storia che mi ha coinvolta tantissimo.
Superba scrittura di Michael Cunningham che dopo, “Le ore” e "Un cigno selvatico" entra definitivamente nel mio pantheon.
” Non parliamo più. Ci sono troppe cose da dire. “
[Ne è stato tratto un film nel 2004 diretto da Michael Mayer
https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Una_cas...]
February 19, 2025
Канінгем розповідає історію дорослішання персонажів, кожен з яких є травмованим і справляється зі своєю травмою по різному. Наскрізною є метафора дому, який формує їх та від впливу якого вони тікають, щоб зрештою перевіднайти його.
«Упаковка мусить відповідати сутності. Якщо ходитимеш сам на себе не схожий, то можеш і роботу неправильну знайти, і друзів неправильних, і ще бозна-що. Так можна прожити ціле чуже життя». До кінця твору зберігається враження, що кожен персонаж – лицемір, який живе чужими мріями та хоче здаватись кращою версією себе. Можливо це частина їхньої особистості, вони готові мріяти і планувати, але не готові зіштовхнутися з буденністю реалізованих мрій.
«Усі дні надходили як однаковісінькі пакунки, і їхня краса полягала саме в їхній бездоганній схожості один на другий. Повторення, як і наркотик, змінює масштаб речей». Єдиний хто приймає реальність у будь-якому вигляді це Боббі, який виглядає простакуватим в порівнянні зі своїми друзями. Важке дитинство певною мірою стерло його особистість,
він не знає чого хоче і просто пливе за течією бажань своїх друзів.
«Це просто маленька дурненька помилочка, яка вирвалася з-під контролю. Як там це називається? Гріх бездіяльності». Це те що обʼєднує
Джонатана та Клер, які усвідомлюють, що повинні щось змінити, але продовжують за інерцією рухатись далі. Кожен по різному уникає відповідальності за змарноване життя, Клер намагається виправити це дитиною, Джонатан піклуванням про партнера, замість того щоб перевірити власне здоров’я.
«Хай би чого ти бажав, бажай цього завзятіше. Будь складнішим, вимагай більше. Інакше ти ніколи не створиш собі такого життя, де зможеш використовувати себе на повну». Єдиний персонаж в книзі, що сприймає реальність не через призму власних бажань – мати Джонатана. Її рішення змінити своє життя, незважаючи на всі обставини, надихає переглянути власне життя.
«Упаковка мусить відповідати сутності. Якщо ходитимеш сам на себе не схожий, то можеш і роботу неправильну знайти, і друзів неправильних, і ще бозна-що. Так можна прожити ціле чуже життя». До кінця твору зберігається враження, що кожен персонаж – лицемір, який живе чужими мріями та хоче здаватись кращою версією себе. Можливо це частина їхньої особистості, вони готові мріяти і планувати, але не готові зіштовхнутися з буденністю реалізованих мрій.
«Усі дні надходили як однаковісінькі пакунки, і їхня краса полягала саме в їхній бездоганній схожості один на другий. Повторення, як і наркотик, змінює масштаб речей». Єдиний хто приймає реальність у будь-якому вигляді це Боббі, який виглядає простакуватим в порівнянні зі своїми друзями. Важке дитинство певною мірою стерло його особистість,
він не знає чого хоче і просто пливе за течією бажань своїх друзів.
«Це просто маленька дурненька помилочка, яка вирвалася з-під контролю. Як там це називається? Гріх бездіяльності». Це те що обʼєднує
Джонатана та Клер, які усвідомлюють, що повинні щось змінити, але продовжують за інерцією рухатись далі. Кожен по різному уникає відповідальності за змарноване життя, Клер намагається виправити це дитиною, Джонатан піклуванням про партнера, замість того щоб перевірити власне здоров’я.
«Хай би чого ти бажав, бажай цього завзятіше. Будь складнішим, вимагай більше. Інакше ти ніколи не створиш собі такого життя, де зможеш використовувати себе на повну». Єдиний персонаж в книзі, що сприймає реальність не через призму власних бажань – мати Джонатана. Її рішення змінити своє життя, незважаючи на всі обставини, надихає переглянути власне життя.
March 11, 2025
Більше відгуків на моєму Ютубі https://youtube.com/@yellowbooknook?s...
Я не розумію цю історію. Брешу, не так. Розумію і водночас ні.
Вона дивна і гіпнотична.
Про що вона? Про життя. Дивне, не припасоване до загальноприйнятих суспільних рамок життя.
Я ніби роздивлялась під лупою декількох людей, їх образи та історії.
Джонатан егоїстичний легкодух, що винить будь-кого в тому, що він не вписується в стандарт. Прийняти себе і той факт, що він іншої породи він не може, але вперто бере і приглядається до прямокутних рамок, коли йому потрібна інакша. Зміряти свої сторони, кути, опуклості й зробити щось кастомне на це в нього не вистачає духу.
Клер. О, Клер. Найбільша правдорубка щодо себе самої. Вона визначає і приймає свої хиби, почуття, особливості. Вона надивовижу зріла. Чимось во��а пробудила в мені повагу до себе.
А Боббі найбільша загадка для мене. Його я не розумію, але жалію більше за всіх. Цьому хлопцеві життя навіть не дало шансу, але він давав його усім. І добро, і турботу, і піклування.
Кінцівка мене заплутала. Тому, я дуже радію, що випадково одразу по закінченню перечитала вірш, що відкриває цей текст. Все стало більш цілісно.
Читання було на диво легким і безсовісно гарним. Перекладачці та редакторці вдалося зробити звучання Каннінґема українською автентичним.
Сам текст мене заворожував, радше навіть гіпнотизував. Кожен раз, беручи книгу до рук, навіть в ті моменти, коли я просто намагалась боротись зі своєю залежністю від соцмереж і дешевого дофаміну, я проковтувала сторінку за сторінкою, не помічаючи як рахунок йде на десятки. Щось тут було, таке правдиве.
Я не розумію цю історію. Брешу, не так. Розумію і водночас ні.
Вона дивна і гіпнотична.
Про що вона? Про життя. Дивне, не припасоване до загальноприйнятих суспільних рамок життя.
Я ніби роздивлялась під лупою декількох людей, їх образи та історії.
Джонатан егоїстичний легкодух, що винить будь-кого в тому, що він не вписується в стандарт. Прийняти себе і той факт, що він іншої породи він не може, але вперто бере і приглядається до прямокутних рамок, коли йому потрібна інакша. Зміряти свої сторони, кути, опуклості й зробити щось кастомне на це в нього не вистачає духу.
Клер. О, Клер. Найбільша правдорубка щодо себе самої. Вона визначає і приймає свої хиби, почуття, особливості. Вона надивовижу зріла. Чимось во��а пробудила в мені повагу до себе.
А Боббі найбільша загадка для мене. Його я не розумію, але жалію більше за всіх. Цьому хлопцеві життя навіть не дало шансу, але він давав його усім. І добро, і турботу, і піклування.
Кінцівка мене заплутала. Тому, я дуже радію, що випадково одразу по закінченню перечитала вірш, що відкриває цей текст. Все стало більш цілісно.
Читання було на диво легким і безсовісно гарним. Перекладачці та редакторці вдалося зробити звучання Каннінґема українською автентичним.
Сам текст мене заворожував, радше навіть гіпнотизував. Кожен раз, беручи книгу до рук, навіть в ті моменти, коли я просто намагалась боротись зі своєю залежністю від соцмереж і дешевого дофаміну, я проковтувала сторінку за сторінкою, не помічаючи як рахунок йде на десятки. Щось тут було, таке правдиве.
April 9, 2025
ця книжка викликала змішанні почуття, переважно мені було некомфортно від неї, але загалом враження хороші.
June 18, 2025
Отримав колосальне задоволення читаючи цю книгу. Настільки захопився історією, що не міг відірватись і перегортував сторінка за сторінкою, хоча особливо подій, які шокують і інтригують у книзі не відбуваються.
Але Каннінґем написав магнетично. Якось так, що змусив мене зупинитись і подумати.
Подумати — що для мене дім? Чи це місце, де я народився? Чи це місце, де я зараз живу? Чи це місце, де я поруч з коханою людиною? Що є домом для мене?
Подумати — чи достатньо я ціную людей поруч? Чи не занадто я від них вимагаю? Чи не забагато я перекладаю на них відповідальності ЗА СВОЇ ВЧИНКИ?
Книга розповідає нам про трьох друзів, які так само як і я задають собі ці питання. Джонатан, Боббі, Клер десь трохи наївні, десь заплутані у своїх думкам, десь приймають неправильні рішення. Вони різні
Але такі живі. Вони настільки живі, що я передати не можу! Їх діалоги просто наповнені динамікою і хімією.
Історія подається нам з декількох POVів, власне трьох друзів і ще однієї жінки в цій історії — Еліс, матері Джонатана. І вона також думає про ДІМ!
Я в багатьох речах не погоджувався з героями. Але як я вже казав раніше вони настільки пропрацьовані, що я все одно їм співчував і хотів обійняти. Тому що мені хотілось. Бо в їхніх діях було щось глибоко людське, у чому легко впізнати себе - навіть якщо страшно це визнавати. Ми всі робимо якісь необдумані вчинки.
Звісно ж, надважливою складовою тут є епідемія СНІДу. Хвороба тут - не в центрі, але її тінь відчувається в кожному рішенні, у спробі вхопити щастя, поки воно є.
Я у захваті! Мені треба ще книги автора.
Але Каннінґем написав магнетично. Якось так, що змусив мене зупинитись і подумати.
Подумати — що для мене дім? Чи це місце, де я народився? Чи це місце, де я зараз живу? Чи це місце, де я поруч з коханою людиною? Що є домом для мене?
Подумати — чи достатньо я ціную людей поруч? Чи не занадто я від них вимагаю? Чи не забагато я перекладаю на них відповідальності ЗА СВОЇ ВЧИНКИ?
Книга розповідає нам про трьох друзів, які так само як і я задають собі ці питання. Джонатан, Боббі, Клер десь трохи наївні, десь заплутані у своїх думкам, десь приймають неправильні рішення. Вони різні
Але такі живі. Вони настільки живі, що я передати не можу! Їх діалоги просто наповнені динамікою і хімією.
Історія подається нам з декількох POVів, власне трьох друзів і ще однієї жінки в цій історії — Еліс, матері Джонатана. І вона також думає про ДІМ!
Я в багатьох речах не погоджувався з героями. Але як я вже казав раніше вони настільки пропрацьовані, що я все одно їм співчував і хотів обійняти. Тому що мені хотілось. Бо в їхніх діях було щось глибоко людське, у чому легко впізнати себе - навіть якщо страшно це визнавати. Ми всі робимо якісь необдумані вчинки.
Звісно ж, надважливою складовою тут є епідемія СНІДу. Хвороба тут - не в центрі, але її тінь відчувається в кожному рішенні, у спробі вхопити щастя, поки воно є.
Я у захваті! Мені треба ще книги автора.
November 6, 2014
I only sort of liked this, so I honestly don't have too much to say about it. It wasn't remarkable, but it wasn't awful.
It basically follows a set of three friends - one women, two men - and examines their relationships, both with each other, and with people from the outside world (mothers, fathers, girlfriends, boyfriends).
It reads almost a little blandly. I suppose you could say it's more of a character study and less about the plot. But then I couldn't say that it was very successful, because I didn't feel connected to any of the characters. They had their moments, but the things they felt and experienced weren't enough to move me emotionally - and I'm a pretty big sap. Even this was a little too sappy and unnecessarily dramatic for me. There's not a lot of joy in this book, so after awhile it feels like the characters are just holding on to each other out of history and obligation. They seem almost afraid to meet new people. Or maybe just lazy.
If you're determined to read it, borrow it. Or buy it used. But if you want a better examination of the dynamic between two men and one woman, read The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.
Also, has anyone read any of Cunningham's other works? I kind of want to read The Hours, but this makes me a little wary.
It basically follows a set of three friends - one women, two men - and examines their relationships, both with each other, and with people from the outside world (mothers, fathers, girlfriends, boyfriends).
It reads almost a little blandly. I suppose you could say it's more of a character study and less about the plot. But then I couldn't say that it was very successful, because I didn't feel connected to any of the characters. They had their moments, but the things they felt and experienced weren't enough to move me emotionally - and I'm a pretty big sap. Even this was a little too sappy and unnecessarily dramatic for me. There's not a lot of joy in this book, so after awhile it feels like the characters are just holding on to each other out of history and obligation. They seem almost afraid to meet new people. Or maybe just lazy.
If you're determined to read it, borrow it. Or buy it used. But if you want a better examination of the dynamic between two men and one woman, read The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.
Also, has anyone read any of Cunningham's other works? I kind of want to read The Hours, but this makes me a little wary.
March 12, 2025
"O casã la capãtul lumii" nu e despre doi gay si Claire si Alice, e despre fiecare dintre noi, despre cât de imperfecți ne dãm seama cã suntem dupã ce trec anii nãvalnici ai tinereții timpurii. Nu e simplu sã spui cã esti (ne)fericit, nu e simplu sã admiți cã ai o viatã banalã, dar e bine sã te simti prezent în viața ta, aşa inegalã şi diluatã şi total strãinã de cum ți-o închipuiseṣi cândva.
April 26, 2025
A story about unconventional love, music, drugs and cooking. I really liked the way the story makes you love a character one minute and dislike them the next. Pretty much everyone in this book is broken in some way, and searching for some kind of peace and contentment. I didn't like the ending. Usually I might complain when when a book neatly ties everything up, sometimes not knowing is better, but in this case I was so emotionally involved I wanted to know if Johnathan got sick, what happened to Clare & Rebecca and did they get the dishwasher fixed????
Probably doesn't give same punch as it did when it was first published, but definitely worth your time.
Probably doesn't give same punch as it did when it was first published, but definitely worth your time.
June 25, 2010
"You don't necessarily meet a lot of people in this world."
This is the first of Michael Cunningham's books I've read, but I will be reading all of them. He just flat gets it. By the time I was halfway through, I more or less disliked two of the three main characters, but I wasn't tired of reading about them. I wanted to figure them out. I wanted to like them and if I didn't, I wanted to understand why.
This is one of those books that you read a sentence or a paragraph or a scene and it hits you deep down, sometimes in the places where you're most insecure. (If you're someone who underlines quotations, get new pencils. Get a *box* of pencils.) There were times when I was sad or upset about something and would read another book instead because I didn't want to feel everything that this one brought up.
I'm making this book sound like a big downer. It isn't. It's exhilarating, like all the best books, because it tells you what you know is true and then makes you look at it all again.
This is the first of Michael Cunningham's books I've read, but I will be reading all of them. He just flat gets it. By the time I was halfway through, I more or less disliked two of the three main characters, but I wasn't tired of reading about them. I wanted to figure them out. I wanted to like them and if I didn't, I wanted to understand why.
This is one of those books that you read a sentence or a paragraph or a scene and it hits you deep down, sometimes in the places where you're most insecure. (If you're someone who underlines quotations, get new pencils. Get a *box* of pencils.) There were times when I was sad or upset about something and would read another book instead because I didn't want to feel everything that this one brought up.
I'm making this book sound like a big downer. It isn't. It's exhilarating, like all the best books, because it tells you what you know is true and then makes you look at it all again.
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