3.5 stars
Major thanks to Scribner and NetGalley for an ARC of this book in exchange for my honest review:
"𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴. “𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦.”
Barker is the kind of woman who tells you things. Will spill gossip about Sally the next door over, but will make it clever, and then tell you to look out the window to her garden, claim what’s in bloom, and then sips at her tea that has been sitting out all morning. She’ll tell you about the kids, about all the work she’ll get to, but there’s a sense of cool nerves in her speech that you think that she’s done all the work already, she just enjoys being in the present tense, will throw back her head in laughter about the past, but when she thinks about her husband, awashed in history, you notice the dip in the light and the afternoon returns to its morning blue and you wonder if time has stopped, if it’s moving backwards with Barker’s stories, and if she’s right about Sally. If the kids are alright. If Barker is alright. And so you drink the cold tea too because there’s nothing left to say or do. What’s left is Barker by the window, looking out, weaving scenes into words, scribbles on napkins, and she says something that sounds pretty, that makes sense, but overall pretty because you’ve forgotten how beautiful the world can get after so much chatter and changes to the light.
Beautiful musings that are less essays and more like curated journal entries into a woman so full of life, so full of observations on marriage, children, grief, and womanhood, all interwoven in nature.