Karen uses a first person, present tense frame around a past tense narrative that often sounds omniscient--a terrific risk that I love, getting omniscient effects out of a first person narrator, a gambit the novel shares with one of my favorites, The Great Gatsby. This approach is sometimes referred to as inference; it's the narrator taking on an omniscient mode as he or she infers what might have been going on in another character's head. If it works, the reader can actually forget it's a first person novel, and, even when the reader remembers who is telling the story, it can be satisfying to watch the writer making these choices, and speculate why, and how reliable the information given is meant to be. It adds a layer of complexity that provokes thought. From time to time, the narrator, daughter of protagonist Irini Doyle, steps in, reminding the reader of her presence, and gives glimpses of her method and reasons for writing this account of the one year, 1947, when her mother play played baseball for the Sweetwheat Sweethearts (named for their breakfast cereal sponsor). This quote will give a sense not only of the narrator's method and intent, but also of her delightful voice:
"The story I want to tell now is a story my mother told to me. It takes place in a time before I was born, a time I must work to imagine. When my mother told it to me, it was a very short story. I have been forced to compensate not only for its gentle outlook, but also for her spare narration.
"You would do well therefore to keep always in mind that this is a story told by two liars. It is possible, our fictional impulses being so opposite, that we may arrive together at something clear-eyed and straightforward, the way two negative numbers multiplied together produce a positive value. If this happens it will be by accident. It is not my intention. I will go so far as to say I would consider it a disappointment."
That "I must work to imagine" also goes for the job of the writer, so there is a doubling effect of purpose and meaning here. Cognitive music, Harold Bloom calls it, and this is something I prize in fiction.
As for that delightful voice, it's everywhere evident; there's an abundance of wit and humor--I could turn to almost any page and find several examples of a writer at the top of her form. The moon, seen one night by Irini--but described for us, remember, by Irini's daughter--is "untouched by boots and nationalism, and made up only of poetry and metaphor and cold, reflected light." This begins a wonderful segment where the youthful, hopeful, aching-to-leave-her-small-town-but-devoted-to-her-father Irini, still looking up at the sky at night, is her daughter's launchpad for this passage: "The sky was brighter in 1947. This must be why our parents' songs are so celestial: 'Stardust," and ... "Shine On Harvest Moon," and so on and so on. In Magrit, where there were few houses and no street lights at all, the stars were crowded into every corner of the sky, thick as summer clover.... It is only us and only now, after all those centuries, finally drowning them into silence with our own innumerable lights."
Another character is described as a quiet woman, "but this was probably not so much a function of shyness as it was of lack of practice. She was an avid reader, which is almost the same thing as having friends." Irini's father, "Never drank liquor in the morning on a workday. It was a point of pride with him." It goes on like this, wry and sharp, throughout the novel.
One last thing to note: the baseball they play takes a back seat to the rest of life here; in fact, it might be more accurate to say that baseball takes the bed of the truck, it's that far in the background. This is not A League of Their Own. Rather, it's a daughter's account of her mother, long after her mother is dead, and an account of her mother's era, an attempt to explain both to herself in a satisfying way.
And the author's as well. Karen is on record with an interviewer as agreeing that the book's central question is, How did that generation, confronted with the Holocaust and the atomic bombing of two civilian targets, race riots, and lynchings, maintain a hopeful innocence about the world and humanity, while her own generation's "tendency toward despair, pessimism, and whining seems a more sensible reaction to the facts as they have been presented to us. But I very much admire the other [generation's] response."