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Florid States
Ned Quinn's impulsive response to a lonely hearts ad draws him out of his self-imposed solitude into the Australian outback and an unexpected affair. But Quinn suffers from schizophrenia, and his developing relationship with Jennifer Duncan is threatened by the fears of the small valley community, and by the illness, which may overpower him at any time.
304 pages, Paperback
First published September 13, 1999
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
September 25, 2020
`I have a weakness for tangents.'
Ned Quinn, in Melbourne, responds to a lonely hearts advertisement in a magazine. The ensuing correspondence leads him to visit Jennifer Duncan in an isolated insular valley in rural Queensland. Jennifer and Quinn find a rhythm together in their lives, and are happy. The setting, by the banks of the Condamine, in the dusty Overton Valley, is also part of the story. The heat, the river and the isolation, each play a part in this powerful story of love and resilience, and of weakness, small-mindedness and cruelty.
Ned has schizophrenia. The label, even more than the disease itself, becomes a barrier in the small valley where unexplained difference is not welcomed. Jennifer and Quinn find unlikely allies and unexpected foes during a campaign to drive Quinn out. The pressure becomes too much for Quinn, and he becomes ill. Quinn's episodes of illness, with his flawed perceptions and alternate realities, create a barrier which few try to understand. And yet, Quinn is not the only person in the valley with flawed perceptions.
This is a bitter-sweet story. The writing is superb, the story moves quickly and the main characters are quirkily human. I enjoyed reading this novel although in many ways it made me sad.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
Ned Quinn, in Melbourne, responds to a lonely hearts advertisement in a magazine. The ensuing correspondence leads him to visit Jennifer Duncan in an isolated insular valley in rural Queensland. Jennifer and Quinn find a rhythm together in their lives, and are happy. The setting, by the banks of the Condamine, in the dusty Overton Valley, is also part of the story. The heat, the river and the isolation, each play a part in this powerful story of love and resilience, and of weakness, small-mindedness and cruelty.
Ned has schizophrenia. The label, even more than the disease itself, becomes a barrier in the small valley where unexplained difference is not welcomed. Jennifer and Quinn find unlikely allies and unexpected foes during a campaign to drive Quinn out. The pressure becomes too much for Quinn, and he becomes ill. Quinn's episodes of illness, with his flawed perceptions and alternate realities, create a barrier which few try to understand. And yet, Quinn is not the only person in the valley with flawed perceptions.
This is a bitter-sweet story. The writing is superb, the story moves quickly and the main characters are quirkily human. I enjoyed reading this novel although in many ways it made me sad.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
August 23, 2011
Beautifully written. At times the gorgeous prose and the heroine's connection to the river made me feel the same way I felt reading Jean Giono's "Song of the World." As my son put it when he read Ginot for a college lit class, "Wow, I wish I had written that." Ginot's novel made him stop and re-read sentence after sentence, in awe. Usher's prose has the same impact on me. Usually if I have to stop and re-read, it's because an author is being obscure. Here it's because the words are so lovely I want to wallow in them, like Jennifer in the Condamine. The river is like a character itself, but even with all the meaning and metaphor packed into this novel, "Florid States" never reads like some literary assignment from a classroom professor. It's pure pleasure.
The characters are vividly drawn and so real, you'd swear Rod Usher knew your next door neighbor and grew up in the same small town you did.
I hesitate to say much about the plot (spoiler alerts. When a schizophrenic is lured from his self-imposed, "safe" isolation by a Lonely Hearts ad in a magazine, he finds true love on a hot dusty acreage alongside the river, and peace in the work of planting a garden, but all of it threatened by small-town prejudice against mental illness. Acts of vandalism on Jennifer's property make it clear that Ned is not welcome--and Ned will do anything to spare Jennifer the fate of being railroaded out of the community. The story is full of surprises and twists that shock the reader, but on reflecting, we see the inevitability of every deed.
I identify with Ned and applaud Usher's insight into the workings of a disordered mind. Ned's disassembly in chapter-one is brilliantly written. His dialogue with his psychiatrist is haunting, comical and all too real. The way he meets Jennifer is a perfect illustration of Jungian synchronicity.
This novel needs to be reprinted, made available as an e-book and enjoyed by millions of new readers.
The characters are vividly drawn and so real, you'd swear Rod Usher knew your next door neighbor and grew up in the same small town you did.
I hesitate to say much about the plot (spoiler alerts. When a schizophrenic is lured from his self-imposed, "safe" isolation by a Lonely Hearts ad in a magazine, he finds true love on a hot dusty acreage alongside the river, and peace in the work of planting a garden, but all of it threatened by small-town prejudice against mental illness. Acts of vandalism on Jennifer's property make it clear that Ned is not welcome--and Ned will do anything to spare Jennifer the fate of being railroaded out of the community. The story is full of surprises and twists that shock the reader, but on reflecting, we see the inevitability of every deed.
I identify with Ned and applaud Usher's insight into the workings of a disordered mind. Ned's disassembly in chapter-one is brilliantly written. His dialogue with his psychiatrist is haunting, comical and all too real. The way he meets Jennifer is a perfect illustration of Jungian synchronicity.
This novel needs to be reprinted, made available as an e-book and enjoyed by millions of new readers.
December 10, 2011
The question I asked myself after finishing Rod Usher’s novel Florid States: how can such a dark story shine so much light on the human heart?
Usher’s novel carries us from the pit of florid psychosis to the battlements of star-crossed love. It finds a niche far above the mediocre prose that litters commercial bookshelves today. How has this book hidden itself from me for so long? Where were these characters while I struggled through my own real-life relationships and found that loving a complicated man is a learned skill, not an instinctive ability?
No one I know is schizophrenic. But experience with the disorder is not required to understand the heart of this novel’s conflict. Usher plumbs the depths of chemical psychosis just far enough to illuminate them, like a cavern guide shining a torch into a darkened chamber for the benefit of sightseers. His voice resonates with authenticity—this is one instance I hope an author is not writing from a place he knows, but if he isn’t, Usher’s prose does a fine job of convincing us otherwise.
From page one, Usher set us up to expect the worst. As narrators, Ned Quinn and Jennifer Duncan are as reliable as they can be under the circumstances. They both speak of foreboding: “[They] paid unconscious heed to fallen feathers, to the shapes of clouds, to the sudden cracking of dead wood. . .[e]ach quietly recorded dissonances and harmonies.”
A reader will quickly come to trust narrator insights and get caught up in the relentless psychological tension that drives each turn of the page. Ironies are subtle, never on the nose. For example, the same character who betrays Jennifer with small-minded prejudice falls straightaway into her own florid state—cause and effect, tit for tat. Yet this literacy device is beautifully executed; only in hindsight do we see the seamless framework Rod Usher built into the story.
For those who love to experience unfamiliar worlds--if only in their imagination—the Australian bush is as new and different as it gets for most of us. Rarely is a literary setting more vivid than Jennifer Duncan’s home on the Condamine. The river itself becomes a character in the novel, assigned its own personality and purpose. Usher doesn’t get caught up in descriptions by rote; he shares instead the effect each detail has on the story and characters, which creates a natural spillover for the reader. Each detail contributes to the atmosphere, never once making it seem that description was added because formula requires it.
This novel reminds me of The Thorn Birds, and maybe a little of The Notebook. Yet each of those novels has weaknesses unique to them which Florid States does not share. It’s a love story with teeth, an epic with timeless appeal. Most of all, it’s a darn good novel, one I recommend for any reader tired of predictable prose and paint-by-numbers storytelling.
Usher’s novel carries us from the pit of florid psychosis to the battlements of star-crossed love. It finds a niche far above the mediocre prose that litters commercial bookshelves today. How has this book hidden itself from me for so long? Where were these characters while I struggled through my own real-life relationships and found that loving a complicated man is a learned skill, not an instinctive ability?
No one I know is schizophrenic. But experience with the disorder is not required to understand the heart of this novel’s conflict. Usher plumbs the depths of chemical psychosis just far enough to illuminate them, like a cavern guide shining a torch into a darkened chamber for the benefit of sightseers. His voice resonates with authenticity—this is one instance I hope an author is not writing from a place he knows, but if he isn’t, Usher’s prose does a fine job of convincing us otherwise.
From page one, Usher set us up to expect the worst. As narrators, Ned Quinn and Jennifer Duncan are as reliable as they can be under the circumstances. They both speak of foreboding: “[They] paid unconscious heed to fallen feathers, to the shapes of clouds, to the sudden cracking of dead wood. . .[e]ach quietly recorded dissonances and harmonies.”
A reader will quickly come to trust narrator insights and get caught up in the relentless psychological tension that drives each turn of the page. Ironies are subtle, never on the nose. For example, the same character who betrays Jennifer with small-minded prejudice falls straightaway into her own florid state—cause and effect, tit for tat. Yet this literacy device is beautifully executed; only in hindsight do we see the seamless framework Rod Usher built into the story.
For those who love to experience unfamiliar worlds--if only in their imagination—the Australian bush is as new and different as it gets for most of us. Rarely is a literary setting more vivid than Jennifer Duncan’s home on the Condamine. The river itself becomes a character in the novel, assigned its own personality and purpose. Usher doesn’t get caught up in descriptions by rote; he shares instead the effect each detail has on the story and characters, which creates a natural spillover for the reader. Each detail contributes to the atmosphere, never once making it seem that description was added because formula requires it.
This novel reminds me of The Thorn Birds, and maybe a little of The Notebook. Yet each of those novels has weaknesses unique to them which Florid States does not share. It’s a love story with teeth, an epic with timeless appeal. Most of all, it’s a darn good novel, one I recommend for any reader tired of predictable prose and paint-by-numbers storytelling.
August 19, 2014
What a wonderful surprise this book is.
Beautifully written, this one goes straight to the heart. The characters were full and ripe, the situations completely believable, and best of all, the story made absolute sense. I felt a real connection to the outback, the river, and I learnt something about love, hope and hopelessness.
Beautifully written, this one goes straight to the heart. The characters were full and ripe, the situations completely believable, and best of all, the story made absolute sense. I felt a real connection to the outback, the river, and I learnt something about love, hope and hopelessness.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews