The acclaimed author of Red Clocks returns with a biting, lyrical novel about an intergenerational group home run by an ex-musician determined to make a place for those without one
On a bluff above a river rises The House, where elderly and disabled residents live alongside young people who help out in exchange for free rent. The community is led by a former punk singer who never wanted to be responsible for anyone yet now finds herself the caretaker of this precarious collection of lives. It’s not a family, exactly, but it’s got the complicated, sometimes painful, sometimes hilarious, dynamics of kinship.
When two kids—Nola and her little cousin James—show up on The House’s back porch in need of refuge, the whole experiment is thrown into question. All are welcome here, or that was the idea. But the authorities are looking for these children, and The House’s finances are teetering on the edge.
Zumas’s long-anticipated third novel wrestles with America’s crisis of care in a taut, aching, polyphonic tale that moves as fast as the crackling comebacks that fly between The House’s residents over breakfast. As the rules of the outside world start to press in on this safe haven, readers will find themselves asking, what would the world look like if everyone had a place to belong?
Leni Zumas is the author of RED CLOCKS (Little, Brown, 2018); THE LISTENERS (Tin House, 2012); and FAREWELL NAVIGATOR: STORIES (Open City, 2008). She lives in Portland, Oregon, where she is Director of Creative Writing at Portland State University.
No matter how many books Leni Zumas writes, “Red Clocks,” published in 2018, will probably always ring above the rest. That novel — once prophetic, now policy — describes an America in which Roe v. Wade has been squashed and women can be prosecuted for taking control of their own bodies. Sensitive and plausible where Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale” is polemical and speculative, “Red Clocks” has quickly become a feminist touchstone.
Zumas’s new novel, “Wolf Bells,” is destined to make far less noise, if only because it’s about people we’re already so adept at ignoring. But that’s just another reason to lean in.
The story takes place in a ramshackle mansion built more than a century ago by a widowed sea captain in a fit of extravagant grief. Over the decades, his ship-shaped house passed in and out of use by various descendants until it finally fell into the hands of the sea captain’s great-granddaughter, a former punk rocker of once-moderate fame named Caz. Now in her 60s, and finally sober, Caz has turned the house and its many rooms into what she calls an “intergenerational community.” A sign sticking in the grim yard says....
This book really messed me up (complimentary). Zumas' previous novel was the excellent dystopia RED CLOCKS but now she turns in the opposite direction, to the ways we try in the present to make a better world for ourselves and each other. I can't imagine a more topical work of fiction given how much we are talking about mutual aid and community building, which are the central building blocks of WOLF BELLS.
The House is a kind of commune. In it, there are elderly and disabled residents, who would normally be living in a residential care facility. They receive care from the other residents, who get a lower cost of living because of their communal contributions. Caz has created this house when she ended up caring for her elderly mother, who owns the property. Caz is a former punk rocker, someone who's been through drug addiction and rehab, someone who still has many of the ideals of her youth but understands too well the realities of the world. Or at least, she thinks she does.
This is not a perfect space, and this is clear immediately. The residents annoy each other. Constantly. And from short chapter to short chapter we move between their points of view. (At first I was having trouble keeping them straight, eventually I stopped worrying about it and this is when the book really started working for me. If you need to know exactly who a character is, you will.) They are not all thrilled about where they are and the rules around food and the use of the television. But generally they seem to have a functional ecosystem. It may not be utopia, but it is a model that feels like maybe it should be more in use everywhere.
But Zumas is not going to leave us in this cozy view of things. Into the story enters two children who throw this system into disarray. They challenge Caz to imagine the full capacity of what The House and its community are capable of. And they also challenge everyone to wonder if any of this is actually possible.
Idealism and realism are constantly a struggle in this novel. Any moment spent in The House shows you this tension so clearly and Zumas brings it back from everyone's different points of view. I often complain in reviews about undeveloped characters, and even if I cannot remember all these characters names, as soon as you are in one of their heads they are fully realized.
The struggle of all this is that it is both beautiful and really unpleasant. Again, that tension. Every time I started this book I was happy to be in it. But in the minutes before I started I would think, "Oh right, I'm reading Wolf Bells. Do I want to keep reading?" Because it didn't give me joy, it was challenging to my own ideals and my own visions of what is possible. And I have to admit that this is probably why I am not putting this book on my Best of the Year list, even though it would be there if that list was based on merit. But that list is based on my personal enjoyment, and this book is not enjoyable. It is powerful and challenging and heartbreaking, but it is not enjoyable. It's hard to do something like recommend it because I think the power of it is why you should read it.
And yet, Zumas is such a good writer that this is not like eating your vegetables, reading something because you know you should. It is the discomfort that is the point. It is what she is going for. And grappling with your ideals and your discomfort is something few novels can truly provide.
Wolf Bells by Lenny Zumas, I really thought I would love this story about those coming together to make a family but from the beginning there was so much I just couldn’t jive with. seems like they were either making sexual innuendos or talking about sex. at the end in front of little bitty James they have a whole conversation about when was the first time you had an abortion as if it was something to brag about and one of them had an abortion four times and I must state for the record I have no opinion about abortion except when it comes to my own body and I wouldn’t have one but that’s because I know me and I couldn’t live with the guilt but have very close friends who’ve had one but in the book they had someone who had four of them, abortion isn’t birth control but I digress. although I did like Mr. Rudd and Miss Quinby it wasn’t enough to save the book and I felt situations were set up just so the author could push for her own narrative and opinion and I really don’t like books like that regardless of the opinion. I read books to escape not to be reminded of the hills people are willing to die on in real life. I know there will probably be those who love this book but I myself just did not. I am not a big fan of someone breaking down a situation to his basic elements and then crying make it make sense when that is not the only variable that steak. Either way you may like it again I did not. #NetGalley, #TheBlindreviewer, #MyHonestReview, #LennyZumas,#WolfBells,
Wolf Bells makes for an interesting read. In a way, its setting—a mixed-age group home—is a bit of a variant on Sartre's No Exit with a much larger cast of characters. None of them are people I would be glad to spend time with. None of them are eager to spend time with one another. All of them have foibles, chips of one kind or another on their shoulders. They don't give one another the benefit of the doubt. Yet there are occasional moments of grace scattered among the many, many moments of cantankerousness. This grace comes to the front (in awkward, imperfect ways) when two children seek shelter in the home. Wolf Bells isn't a feel-good, everything ends neatly story. It's messy and complicated. And messy. And complicated.
I liked this a lot…it’s different, both in its story and the writing, so expect to be mystified a bit as the novel unfolds—don’t worry, everything does become clear as you learn more about the characters and their circumstances. It’s a quick read—but it packs a punch on many levels, and the author gives you much to chew on (but not in a heavy-handed or preachy way). There are some gaps left for the reader to fill in…but that’s a plus in my book.
What a weird little book! So completely different than Zumas’ debut, RED CLOCKS, I appreciated seeing that she might have a wide range of talent and she’s not necessarily putting herself in one corner. It will be very interesting to see what direction her next book heads!
At the heart of the book is a commune. There are elderly and disabled residents; rent is very low in exchange for the residents each taking care of each other. When two small children show up on the doorstep one morning, They change the entire vibe of the house and the community.
Had it not been for the very short chapters (and book overall), I may not have stuck with this one. I appreciate seeing Zumas try something new, but ultimately I don’t think this was really the book for me.
3.5 One of the jacket reviews said this was a “no frills utopian roadmap.” It was not. I did not dislike it, exactly, but I needed way more. The premise was good (a quasi retirement community that includes live-in young people who trade work for rent, to which two children arrive), but the reality was too scattered. Zumas always gets the fact of bodies and frailty just right. But I wish this had been longer (and ended differently).
Short and sweet, a quick one-sitting read about an intriguing house and the colorful characters inside. It could very easily be expanded into a TV show I'd almost definitely watch.
Though its themes of community and care for others were not hard to see, the story itself, delivered through multiple points of view (the many inhabitants of the residence/care home), was not one I could say I enjoyed, despite admiring the writing. Leni Zumas wants us to think hard and feel for those who need respite and compassion and care, and who, perhaps, do not fit the perceptions or definitions of “normal”, whatever the heck that is.
These are illustrated by the variety of misfits, including Caz herself, who inhabit her family’s crumbling house. Her notions of community are threatened when two kids arrive, on the run from the foster system. With every moment Caz defers calling authorities, we know a reckoning is coming, even while the kids find acceptance and warmth amongst the residents.
Again, though I did not enjoy this story, I appreciated what Leni Zumas was showing us about the systems and beliefs that don’t always stretch or accommodate those who don’t seem to fit.
Thank you to Netgalley and to Algonquin Books for this ARC in exchange for my review.
Im pretty bummed to say that this book left me with nothing to take away. No questions, no thoughts, no emotions. I feel bad giving it a 1 star, but this is the ranking I give to books that I just got nothing from or got frustrated with. It felt like a short story collection from different perspectives woven together into an extremely loose narrative with very little to grasp onto. I found myself cringing at the random inserts of sexual content as well, it usually came up with no context and was oddly placed considering the tone I think the main plot point was trying to set. Overall this was just a big nothing burger for me unfortunately :(
4.5 stars. I will read anything Leni Zumas writes. This book was a short and bittersweet read. What we’re shown is a makeshift family of people brought together by need for community their own blood relatives -for one reason or other- cannot provide. The arrival of two displaced children puts a spotlight on this household in a poignant way, and I loved the way the book was structured and told in the rooms throughout the home. Would I have liked it to be a bit longer? Yes, most definitely. Each of the characters were compelling, and I enjoyed the way Zumas scattered bits of backstory in each room like crumbs for the reader to follow. This is a lovely book that highlights the sort of people who go about their day not looking to be noticed, but to also do more than survive—to find the people they’d go into battle with and fight for the causes they believe in. “All Welcome”.
I really did not like this book at all! I think the concept was an interesting one, but the author did not achieve success. I do not plan on reading anything else by this author.
What I hoped for in this novel is not what I got so I really was not the target reader. The premise of a home for older, possibly disabled, impoverished adults living with young adults who assist with their care promised (I’d hoped) a blueprint for both elder care and housing for the young just starting out. Instead I found it disjointed and confusing while introducing an autistic child into the story which added little to the book’s initial premise.
While this typically isn't something I normally read, I will say that I was pretty satisfied with this book. It is on the short side at 210 pages which seems more like a novelette than a full novel, but it was still an an enjoyable read. It has heart, humor, heartbreak, hope and a good variety of characters that are all unique in their own way. If you want a quick Literary fiction book, check this out.
I found this story of a few days in a group home to be a bit of a struggle to get into. It hops around between a lot of characters, which I think contributed to that. Ultimately, I think it’s commenting on loneliness and how we should be able to take care of one another, family or not, if we so desire, but I found the whole thing a bit muddled. None of it was quite fleshed out in a way that ultimately made the book a bit unsatisfying.
So disappointing! I read it was a great book for people who enjoy booked by Frederick Bachman. I am a huge Frederick Bachman fan and saw no correlation to style content or character development. The book was all over the place at times hard to keep track ofcharacters and evolution of the story. I almost feel like I was missing chapters.
The House sits on a bluff above a river, its mission to provide a home for different sorts of people in need of one. Caz, a once-upon-a-time member of a punk duo, owns the house, and she runs it as a place for the elderly, those with handicaps, and young healthy people willing to contribute time and labor towards the house's running and residents' care in exchange for a free place to live. Its existence is precarious...money is generally tight, not all the residents get along, and there are health problems galore...but they are squeaking along until a pair of children arrive. Nola has snatched her young autistic cousin James from the institution where he had been placed and where those charged with his care were mistreating him. They have nowhere else to go, but their presence makes The House a target of the authorities as they search for the missing James. In a world that doesn't care for all its beings equally, is it possible for somewhere to exist where everyone can have a place? Wolf Bells is a story that is the sum total of the characters who inhabit it and the questions it raises about a world where the regulations of unfeeling bureaucracies, financial inequalities and societies that wrongly look down upon those who are different make existence a challenge for many. The rather idealistic experiment that is The House proposes communal and intergenerational living, where those who have the strength and vigor of youth but little money can utilize what they have to ease the life of others who lack what they have and have what they lack. In today's world, so many feel isolated...the elderly living in assisted living facilities, those with physical and/or emotional disabilities relegated to other places, and those whose finances are slim or precarious who find it hard at best to find housing at all...and wouldn't it be great if there were a way to integrate these sidelined groups so that they could form a community? This type of solution wouldn't be neat and tidy, as it certainly isn't here, but perhaps the messiness would be worth it if the end result were a caring community for all who lived together. The story is narrated from multiple perspectives, including that of the non-verbal James (which calls to mind Mark Haddon's novel featuring an autistic protagonist), and the reader comes to know the different individuals and their place within The House. Author Leni Zumas has focused the light of inquiry on the challenges of care for the elderly and differently abled in society today, as well as on the realities of the rising cost of housing, and as such there is a definite political bent to the tale...not a sledgehammer approach, but more than a slight allusion to the issues. The idealistic utopian dreams were a challenge to accept within the overall gritty nature of the world in which they were proposed (and in which we live), but overall I found it an intriguing and compassionate call for society to work to address these sorts of issues...much like the wolf bells, worn by shepherds to alert the flock to the presence of predators approaching. Readers of Téa Obreht, Richard Powers and Margaret Atwood as well as fans of Zumas' earlier novels should consider giving Wolf Bells a try. My thanks to NetGalley and Algonquin Books for allowing me access to this work of literary fiction in exchange for my honest review.
This is a gorgeous, gorgeous heartbreaker of a novel. Wolf Bells follows a motley cast of characters who live in the House, a dilapidated historic mansion owned by Caz. A former punk singer, Caz once led a carefree existence and now finds herself at the helm of an experiment in communal living. The House’s elderly residents receive care from the younger ones, who stay rent-free in exchange for helping out. This precarious arrangement is constantly threatened by finances, health issues, and clashing personalities, but hums along until the arrival of two runaways. Young Nola and her nonverbal cousin James arrive seeking refuge, and the moral dilemma of what to do with them changes the House and its inhabitants forever.
I loved this book and its beautiful prose as well as the urgent and knotty questions it raises about care, community, and moral obligation. The author’s note reveals Zumas’ lengthy reading list and her research for the novel, but the book wears its erudition lightly. Instead, it retains urgency and humor by grounding the narrative in the distinctive voices of the different characters living in the House. Zumas doesn’t shy away from portraying each characters’ flaws as well as their humanity, and the characters felt fully realized and three-dimensional. If Red Clocks established Zumas as an author capable of tackling dystopia and reproductive rights, Wolf Bells takes up instead the issue of utopia. As the novel asks, “what would the world look like if everyone had a place to belong?” In Wolf Bells, she offers no easy answers or solutions, but her exploration of this question is well worth reading and I was glad to be along for the journey.
Thanks to the publisher and to NetGalley for an early copy of this book.
You had to make noise, shake the bells, so the wolves would think twice. from Wolf Bells by Leni Zumas
We sideline the aged and infirm and children with special needs into institutions. What if able bodied adults without a home or family lived with the aged? Could they help each other to thrive? What if a child arrived, a refugee from a system that housed him but could not love or understand him?
Caz inherited a large house built by her sea captain great-grandfather. She and her best friend of over fifty years Vara had been a one-hit wonder punk band. Now they have created an intergenerational community in the House. The able bodied have free room and board for participating in the community. It is a community of eccentrics, misfits and the marginalized.
Nola brings her cousin James to seek refugee in the house. He had been restrained and mistreated by child services. Nola hoped to hide out until they could be reunited with James’s mother, her aunt.
James exhibits behavior that is disruptive and odd, but the residents show him great care and tenderness. Especially Marika, who had a brother like James.
The problem was not that James was autistic. The problem was that society wasn’t built for him. from Wolf Bells by Leni Zumas
The character’s stories are slowly revealed, especially Marika’s, which becomes central to the novel. She was the sole survivor of her family when the Nazis took over Greece. She remembers how the women wore bells to attract the wolves away from the flocks. She understands the cost of protecting the innocent and powerless.
“To everyone this world wasn’t built for,” the author offers this story of deep humanity and hope.
What an amazing mess and just the kind of book I like with an exploration of chosen family, central characters who are seniors, ends that don’t tie up neatly…In the House, young people live rent free alongside the elderly and sick, but must help with their care and do chores to earn their stay. The residents are an interesting, dysfunctional bunch, each of them having lived very different lives: a Holocaust survivor, a young veteran, a graduate student, retired musicians turned teacher and nurse. They annoy each other but life rolls on in the old mansion. Over the course of a few days, this novels allows us glimpses of each resident’s life: their past, their role at the House and their response to the arrival of a pair of children, cousins who have run away from their CPS-appointed guardians.
A key theme of this book is childcare: What makes a parent good? What makes a parent unfit to keep their children? What resources are needed to care for children with disabilities? Who should care for children when parents lose custodial rights? Sprinkle in some religiosity and the discussion moves to what a “proper” family should look like and the [shady] ways in which that can be achieved through adoption.
The prose is poetic. The chapters reveal quick snapshots of the rooms in the house and the stories of the people in it and the people who had once been it. Puzzle pieces the author gently nudges you to put together but never enough for a full, clear picture. I like that I’m left wondering about the possibilities, although there are not many happy endings I can imagine. A short, but compelling read; a contemplation on the human condition and how we navigate community, relationships, life.
The House is a place where the young and the old gather together to care for each other. But not in a utopic, idyllic way; more in like a "I'll wipe your ass when you're sick and make you laugh when you're dying" type of a way. But that's the realest way in which we all need to be loved. The characters in this novel bring their whole (and broken) selves to each other: their bodily functions and fluids, their past anguishes and youthful iterations, their disgruntlements with the world, their deeply felt desire to be seen and understood.
Zumas weaves in the early 20th century history of The House and its forested, cliff-side setting with its inhabitants' own histories and landscapes. Her prose is recursive, settling into a predictable but nonetheless precise and pleasing rhythm. She blends sardonic humor with an almost uncanny awareness of what makes someone human, of what makes a community tick. There's a tenderness underneath the cursing and the (literal) shit; Zumas's poetic prose along with her characters' vulnerabilities excavate that tenderness.
Zumas is radical in the most compassionate and visionary of ways. In a world in which we are increasingly only concerned about our own prosperity and survival, she challenges us to consider how wholly edifying it might be to give that all up for the sake of one another. It's a breathtaking proposition, really, and I love Leni for suggesting it.
compelling enough that it was difficult to stop reading but not mind-blowing. characterization was a bit too saccharine, appreciated the attempt to create complexity in what is fundamentally a deeply twee situation, but the author's subconscious compulsion to hew the characters to the parameters of their politics kept winning out. too short for what they were trying to do. giving protagonists some negative characteristics is not enough to make them complex. mechanical approach to depth, which is visible in characterization of the "antagonist" (and the consensus amongst the characters about the antagonist, which is deeply unrealistic).
good sense of humour (old british man was among my favourites) and clear compassion, but i urge them to go further with that compassion and take it to its very limits! compassion only for those you think are deserving of it is not true compassion.
found the depiction of the holocaust survivor offensive and a-historical. author should have done much more extensive sociological and psychoanalytic research before attempting something like that. in bad taste to wield such a character in service of your own personal views that have developed in conditions that are nothing near to those of genocide and warfare.
In her uncalm moments—Nola pictured her rage-crying when the caseworker said, “If you don’t feel guilty, you’re not doing it right. It’s the parents who don’t feel guilty that we worry about.” Through snot and tears Stell had screamed that she wanted to know why society was set up this way. Why did guilt and isolation earn you gold stars? Why wasn’t anyone actually helping them?
Wolf bells. The purpose was to draw the wolves toward you and away from the sick, slow, old, or very young stragglers who would have been, without this interference, easily picked off. Being chosen to wear the bells had been an honor, because it took courage: you weren’t safe from wolf attacks, merely better equipped to fend them off. Unlike an injured goat lagging after the others, the humans had rifles and leather greaves and skill. Marika’s grandmother had worn the bells well into her first pregnancy. Wolf bells protected all members of a herd, even those who couldn’t run, even those who were close to death—they could die in comfort, not drenched with terror in the jaws of a beast.
At the brink of a forest on a cliff above a river sits a steep, brown ship of a house. It was built by a sea captain, who had brought his wife to this place in 1919 in hopes of healing her. When she died, he buried her and built a house to remain near. Three generations later, his great-granddaughter is its caretaker, running it as an all-ages house, where elderly and disabled residents live alongside young people who help out in exchange for free rent. It's an experiment that's always teetering on the edge. Then two children, Nola and her cousin James, show up on the back porch. Even though the police are searching for the children, the decision is made to take them in. In "Wolf Bells" (Algonquin Books, $28), acclaimed author Lumi Zumas is writing about more than kinship or families. She's writing about true community, of caring for those who cannot or can no longer care for themselves, of providing a haven for all those who need it. She asks, "What would that world look like if everyone had a place to belong?" A thought-provoking read that challenges our ideas of community and family, which also is funny and heartwarming.
I have been waiting for a new novel by Leni Zumas since her brilliant RED CLOCKS in 2018. WOLF BELLS is a very different book, extremely lyrical and other-worldy, with a wide cast of characters and a fantastic setting. From the description: 'On a bluff above a river rises The House, where elderly and disabled residents live alongside young people who help out in exchange for free rent. The community is led by a former punk singer who never wanted to be responsible for anyone yet now finds herself the caretaker of this precarious collection of lives. It’s not a family, exactly, but it’s got the complicated, sometimes painful, sometimes hilarious, dynamics of kinship."
I loved the different generations and personalities the residents of The House brought to the life of the book. Zumas takes a hard but empathetic look at caregiving and what a better system could look like. Some of Zumas' incredible sentences would stop me in my tracks. She is a fantastic writer and this is a beautiful book. It's taught but packed with so many themes and narratives. Truly a work of art.
What a remarkable book in its shape and strategies. Situated. No sentence predictable or awkward.
"A TOOTHLESS SUN ROSE behind the mountains, its light slow to reach the roof above the rooms in which the dead and the living lay entwined. This land-house so like a sea-house—Mrs. Quimbee thought it was a retirement community, Mr. Rudd thought it was a nursing home, and to Adeline, it was the house she grew up in, overrun by strangers."
And often hilariously funny, this dialogue!
"Can you even buy a fart for under twenty-five dollars?" Kestrel said. Dish towel wadded on top of her head, Caz opened the fridge. "Your generation lacks imagination. Speaking of farts." Closed the fridge. "Tell Lasko your latest preferred adjectives for them." "Oh my God!" Kestrel said. "Well, currently my favorites include 'tawny,' 'hammy, 'brute,' and 'hollering." "Mine," Caz said, "are 'moany, 'jammy,' and 'fugue-like." "She's also partial," Kestrel whispered to Lasko, "to "laden' and 'hushed.'"" "Fair enough," he said. To hide his hot red face, he went out to snip some mint.
Leni Zumas's Wolf Bells is a poignant exploration of found family and the American crisis of care. Led by Caz, a former punk rocker, an intergenerational community of elderly, disabled, and marginalized residents lives in a large, run-down house. Younger inhabitants work in exchange for free rent, creating a "precarious collection of lives". The group's fragile harmony is upended by the arrival of two runaway children, Nola and her nonverbal, autistic cousin, James. As the authorities and financial pressures close in, the makeshift family must decide if their radical hospitality can survive. The narrative shifts perspectives, offering a layered look at each character's history and hopes. Zumas delicately tackles issues of trauma and systemic neglect through her memorable characters, including the Holocaust-survivor Marika. The result is a funny, tender, and deeply humane novel that asks urgent questions about what it means to belong.