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Lovesong
Seeking shelter in a Parisian cafe from a sudden rainstorm, John Patterner meets the exotic Sabiha and his carefully mapped life changes forever. Resonant of the bestselling Conditions of Faith, Alex Miller's keenly awaited new novel tells the deeply moving story of their lives together, and of how each came undone by desire.
Strangers did not, as a rule, find their way to Chez Dom, a small, rundown Tunisian cafe on Paris' distant fringes. Run by the widow Houria and her young niece, Sabiha, the cafe offers a home away from home for the North African immigrant workers working at the great abattoirs of Vaugiraud, who, like them, had grown used to the smell of blood in the air. But when one day a lost Australian tourist, John Patterner, seeks shelter in the cafe from a sudden Parisian rainstorm, the quiet simplicities of their lives are changed forever. John is like no-one Sabiha has met before - his calm grey eyes promise her a future she was not yet even aware she wanted. Theirs becomes a contented but unlikely marriage - a marriage of two cultures lived in a third - and yet because they are essentially foreigners to each other, their love story sets in train an irrevocable course of tragic events.
Years later, living a small, quiet life in suburban Melbourne, what happened at Vaugiraud seems like a distant, troubling dream to Sabiha and John, who confides the story behind their seemingly ordinary lives to Ken, an ageing, melancholy writer. It is a story about home and family, human frailties and passions, raising questions of morals and purpose - questions have no simple answer.
Lovesong is a simple enough story in many ways - the story of a marriage, of people coming undone by desire, of ordinary lives and death, love and struggle - but when told with Miller's distinctive voice, which is all intelligence, clarity and compassion, it has a real gravitas, it resonates and is deeply moving. Into the wonderfully evoked contemporary settings of Paris and Melbourne, memories of Tunisian family life, culture and its music are tenderly woven.
Strangers did not, as a rule, find their way to Chez Dom, a small, rundown Tunisian cafe on Paris' distant fringes. Run by the widow Houria and her young niece, Sabiha, the cafe offers a home away from home for the North African immigrant workers working at the great abattoirs of Vaugiraud, who, like them, had grown used to the smell of blood in the air. But when one day a lost Australian tourist, John Patterner, seeks shelter in the cafe from a sudden Parisian rainstorm, the quiet simplicities of their lives are changed forever. John is like no-one Sabiha has met before - his calm grey eyes promise her a future she was not yet even aware she wanted. Theirs becomes a contented but unlikely marriage - a marriage of two cultures lived in a third - and yet because they are essentially foreigners to each other, their love story sets in train an irrevocable course of tragic events.
Years later, living a small, quiet life in suburban Melbourne, what happened at Vaugiraud seems like a distant, troubling dream to Sabiha and John, who confides the story behind their seemingly ordinary lives to Ken, an ageing, melancholy writer. It is a story about home and family, human frailties and passions, raising questions of morals and purpose - questions have no simple answer.
Lovesong is a simple enough story in many ways - the story of a marriage, of people coming undone by desire, of ordinary lives and death, love and struggle - but when told with Miller's distinctive voice, which is all intelligence, clarity and compassion, it has a real gravitas, it resonates and is deeply moving. Into the wonderfully evoked contemporary settings of Paris and Melbourne, memories of Tunisian family life, culture and its music are tenderly woven.
354 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2009
39 people are currently reading
949 people want to read
About the author
Alex Miller
28 books150 followersAlex Miller is one of Australia's best-loved writers, and winner of the Melbourne Prize for Literature 2012.
Alex Miller is twice winner of Australia's premier literary prize, The Miles Franklin Literary Award, first in 1993 for The Ancestor Game and again in 2003 for Journey to the Stone Country. He is also an overall winner of the Commonwealth Writers' Prize, in 1993 for The Ancestor Game. His fifth novel, Conditions of Faith, won the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction in the 2001 New South Wales Premier's Awards. In 2011 he won this award a second time with his most recent novel Lovesong. Lovesong also won the People's Choice Award in the NSW Premier's Awards, the Age Book of the Year Award and the Age Fiction Prize for 2011. In 2007 Landscape of Farewell was published to wide critical acclaim and in 2008 won the Chinese Annual Foreign Novels 21st Century Award for Best Novel and the Manning Clark Medal for an outstanding contribution to Australian cultural life. It was also short-listed for the Miles Franklin Award, the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction, the ALS Gold Medal and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize. Alex is published internationally and widely in translation. Autumn Laing is his tenth novel.
Alex Miller is twice winner of Australia's premier literary prize, The Miles Franklin Literary Award, first in 1993 for The Ancestor Game and again in 2003 for Journey to the Stone Country. He is also an overall winner of the Commonwealth Writers' Prize, in 1993 for The Ancestor Game. His fifth novel, Conditions of Faith, won the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction in the 2001 New South Wales Premier's Awards. In 2011 he won this award a second time with his most recent novel Lovesong. Lovesong also won the People's Choice Award in the NSW Premier's Awards, the Age Book of the Year Award and the Age Fiction Prize for 2011. In 2007 Landscape of Farewell was published to wide critical acclaim and in 2008 won the Chinese Annual Foreign Novels 21st Century Award for Best Novel and the Manning Clark Medal for an outstanding contribution to Australian cultural life. It was also short-listed for the Miles Franklin Award, the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction, the ALS Gold Medal and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize. Alex is published internationally and widely in translation. Autumn Laing is his tenth novel.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 204 reviews
February 2, 2020
Tunisia, France, Australia.
Sabiha from Tunisia captured the hearts, minds and souls of at least four men. Through her grandmother's legacy, she sang her stories to those men who frequent Chez Dom café in France where she lived with her aunt Horia, after the sudden passing of Horia's husband Dom Pakos. Dom's gift was the gift of happiness. He had it from his mother. His ease and generosity of manner could strike a smile from the sourest soul.
By taking the wrong train, a young John Patterner entered the café as well as the story in 1966. It was a rainy day outside and he was looking for shelter. A metaphorical beginning to a new chapter in the café's story. He was an Australian teacher on his way to Scotland. He would not return to Australia for seventeen years.
Our real protagonist is a retired author named Ken, who returned from Florence and caught the eye of a beautiful exotic women in a new pastry shop in Melbourne, called Figlia Fiorentino. The building used to be a dry cleaners. The new pastry shop was a delightful replacement of the previous chemical smells permeating the surroundings. The sweet smells of freshly baked pastries would become a metaphorical change in Ken's personal life.
A few days later Ken would meet the now much older John Patterner who was a good story teller, and Ken, the good listener. This is how Sabiha and her legacy became a novel. Ken: How was I to articulate the delicate complexities that must give weight and depth and beauty to Sabiha's story, those things that so easily elude us?
Sabiha was like the North African briouats she made and enchanted her customers with. Layers of filo wrapped around sweet almond paste and orange flower water, dipped in boiling honey still hot from the oven. This magical smell replaced, and enticed, the customers of Chez Doms, where the nearby abattoirs of Vaugirard pervaded the locality with nose-tingling smells. In Melbourne Sabiha's briouats replaced the dry cleaner's sharp chemical legacy. In short, Sabiha was magic in several men's lives. She changed everyone's environment she came in contact with.
This plot has so many nuances, and even more pathos to explore. It is character-driven with perhaps too many introspective dialogue and long stretches of conversation thrown in. The story started on an intriguing note but fizzled out into a dreary, almost tedious experience. Half way into the book I wanted to get it over with. However, I put it aside and did something else for a while instead. Finished it the next day.
Ken: The truth, if I can deal with the truth for a moment, is that the very best and the very worst of things, those primal things that make us human, have remained unchanged, the good and evil.
A fascinating, heartfelt experience. Something different. I loved it.
Sabiha from Tunisia captured the hearts, minds and souls of at least four men. Through her grandmother's legacy, she sang her stories to those men who frequent Chez Dom café in France where she lived with her aunt Horia, after the sudden passing of Horia's husband Dom Pakos. Dom's gift was the gift of happiness. He had it from his mother. His ease and generosity of manner could strike a smile from the sourest soul.
By taking the wrong train, a young John Patterner entered the café as well as the story in 1966. It was a rainy day outside and he was looking for shelter. A metaphorical beginning to a new chapter in the café's story. He was an Australian teacher on his way to Scotland. He would not return to Australia for seventeen years.
Our real protagonist is a retired author named Ken, who returned from Florence and caught the eye of a beautiful exotic women in a new pastry shop in Melbourne, called Figlia Fiorentino. The building used to be a dry cleaners. The new pastry shop was a delightful replacement of the previous chemical smells permeating the surroundings. The sweet smells of freshly baked pastries would become a metaphorical change in Ken's personal life.
A few days later Ken would meet the now much older John Patterner who was a good story teller, and Ken, the good listener. This is how Sabiha and her legacy became a novel. Ken: How was I to articulate the delicate complexities that must give weight and depth and beauty to Sabiha's story, those things that so easily elude us?
Sabiha was like the North African briouats she made and enchanted her customers with. Layers of filo wrapped around sweet almond paste and orange flower water, dipped in boiling honey still hot from the oven. This magical smell replaced, and enticed, the customers of Chez Doms, where the nearby abattoirs of Vaugirard pervaded the locality with nose-tingling smells. In Melbourne Sabiha's briouats replaced the dry cleaner's sharp chemical legacy. In short, Sabiha was magic in several men's lives. She changed everyone's environment she came in contact with.
This plot has so many nuances, and even more pathos to explore. It is character-driven with perhaps too many introspective dialogue and long stretches of conversation thrown in. The story started on an intriguing note but fizzled out into a dreary, almost tedious experience. Half way into the book I wanted to get it over with. However, I put it aside and did something else for a while instead. Finished it the next day.
Ken: The truth, if I can deal with the truth for a moment, is that the very best and the very worst of things, those primal things that make us human, have remained unchanged, the good and evil.
A fascinating, heartfelt experience. Something different. I loved it.
February 22, 2015
From the beginning we know the ending of this book, although not how it came to be, or why it is as it is. At first I really liked this story, but from about half-way through I became a little impatient with it.
I found the main character, Sabiha, difficult to relate to, as her greatest desire in life is very different to any of mine, although I still felt an empathy for her in her struggles with her dream. I felt as though the author made more of events in the story than he needed to - I was ready to move on and felt irritated by the fact that he was still harping on about certain things.
I thought the story was clever, and the way it was written was also interesting.
Overall, I enjoyed this read, and would happily read more of this author. I listened to this as an audiobook, but I don’t feel that listening to it affected my response to the story (as I sometimes find audiobooks can do).
I found the main character, Sabiha, difficult to relate to, as her greatest desire in life is very different to any of mine, although I still felt an empathy for her in her struggles with her dream. I felt as though the author made more of events in the story than he needed to - I was ready to move on and felt irritated by the fact that he was still harping on about certain things.
I thought the story was clever, and the way it was written was also interesting.
Overall, I enjoyed this read, and would happily read more of this author. I listened to this as an audiobook, but I don’t feel that listening to it affected my response to the story (as I sometimes find audiobooks can do).
October 1, 2012
Alex Miller’s beautiful Lovesong is anything but a simple love story. Ken, a retired novelist returns home from an extended stay in Venice to find his neighborhood changed. There is a new pastry shop run by Sabiha, a lovely woman with an air of sorrow. Ken befriends her husband, John, and listens as John tells their story.
In Paris many years earlier, John took a wrong train and then was caught in a sudden rainstorm. Taking shelter in a nearby café, he met Sabiha, a chance encounter that would change the course of their lives. They marry, run the café, live happily enough. However, John always intended to return to Australia and resume his career as a teacher. Sabiha, feeling that once she moved to Australia she would never leave, refused to go until she was able to take her child to Tunisia to meet her father. However, the two remain childless—and in limbo. As time passes, John’s regret over his failed plans is matched in intensity by Sabiha’s terror of aging. When she learns her father is dying, the idea that she might die childless becomes unbearable.
This personal crisis is set in the larger complex situation of two people from different cultures making a life together in a third. There is no question that John and Sabiha love each other; nonetheless, they are at an impasse that could destroy their marriage. There is an elegiac note throughout Lovesong. As usual, Miller’s language is deceptively spare, slowly building in emotional power. The climax, while not unexpected, is deeply moving.
As Ken listens to John tell their story, he finds himself irresistibly drawn to its narrative possibilities. Lovesong becomes more than a love story; it becomes a novel about the nature of stories. For Sabiha, a story is about company. For John, it’s an act of confession. But it’s therapeutic qualities benefit the listener as much as the teller, as Ken attests. A story is also a gift. Ken considers John’s story to be too much a “gift from the gods” for him to pass it up—even when he learns that John has ambitions to write it himself. This raises the question that is not precisely answered: just who owns a story?
Lovesong is the kind of novel that will have you thinking—and feeling—long after you finish it.
In Paris many years earlier, John took a wrong train and then was caught in a sudden rainstorm. Taking shelter in a nearby café, he met Sabiha, a chance encounter that would change the course of their lives. They marry, run the café, live happily enough. However, John always intended to return to Australia and resume his career as a teacher. Sabiha, feeling that once she moved to Australia she would never leave, refused to go until she was able to take her child to Tunisia to meet her father. However, the two remain childless—and in limbo. As time passes, John’s regret over his failed plans is matched in intensity by Sabiha’s terror of aging. When she learns her father is dying, the idea that she might die childless becomes unbearable.
This personal crisis is set in the larger complex situation of two people from different cultures making a life together in a third. There is no question that John and Sabiha love each other; nonetheless, they are at an impasse that could destroy their marriage. There is an elegiac note throughout Lovesong. As usual, Miller’s language is deceptively spare, slowly building in emotional power. The climax, while not unexpected, is deeply moving.
As Ken listens to John tell their story, he finds himself irresistibly drawn to its narrative possibilities. Lovesong becomes more than a love story; it becomes a novel about the nature of stories. For Sabiha, a story is about company. For John, it’s an act of confession. But it’s therapeutic qualities benefit the listener as much as the teller, as Ken attests. A story is also a gift. Ken considers John’s story to be too much a “gift from the gods” for him to pass it up—even when he learns that John has ambitions to write it himself. This raises the question that is not precisely answered: just who owns a story?
Lovesong is the kind of novel that will have you thinking—and feeling—long after you finish it.
June 15, 2011
It starts off promising but deterioates page by page. Lovesong also seems an inappropriate title - 'the epitome of selfishness' or 'screwing the spineless' would be more accurate. Only love for the self in this one.
February 21, 2017
This is my first review. Primarily; as this book frustrated me more than any other, and secondly; my understanding of its themes and point eludes me, and I feel the need to vent...
It's a story about an allegedly famous writer returning from a self-imposed retirement overseas, to find a pastry shop where the laundromat once was. He becomes obsessed with the Tunisian lady of the store, Sabiha, and via means explained later begins learning of her tale from her Australian husband, John.
It's written well, but I just didn't understand the why of any of it. Why Sabiha loved John, and why John loved Sabiha? Why John seemed to lack any motivations of any kind? Why Sabiha was her father's favourite daughter? Why she seemed to be vacant of any defining characteristics in her personality with the exception of the primary plot point of the book; something which is more akin to the desire for a material possession than something that is a unique part of who she is as a person.
Sabiha's aunt Houria and her husband Dom are probably the most rounded and relatable characters, yet they comprise a minuscule amount of the book.
There were no character arcs, no changed perceptions. No one developed. I could not empathise with any of the primary characters in spite of the long passages dedicated to their internal thoughts, which generally revolved around being ignorant, contemplating doing something, then not doing it, and no one in the book seeming to care about anything they were doing.
I'll leave it at that for now. I hope this isn't considered to contain spoilers. A book I tolerated and respected, but did not enjoy on really any level.
It's a story about an allegedly famous writer returning from a self-imposed retirement overseas, to find a pastry shop where the laundromat once was. He becomes obsessed with the Tunisian lady of the store, Sabiha, and via means explained later begins learning of her tale from her Australian husband, John.
It's written well, but I just didn't understand the why of any of it. Why Sabiha loved John, and why John loved Sabiha? Why John seemed to lack any motivations of any kind? Why Sabiha was her father's favourite daughter? Why she seemed to be vacant of any defining characteristics in her personality with the exception of the primary plot point of the book; something which is more akin to the desire for a material possession than something that is a unique part of who she is as a person.
Sabiha's aunt Houria and her husband Dom are probably the most rounded and relatable characters, yet they comprise a minuscule amount of the book.
There were no character arcs, no changed perceptions. No one developed. I could not empathise with any of the primary characters in spite of the long passages dedicated to their internal thoughts, which generally revolved around being ignorant, contemplating doing something, then not doing it, and no one in the book seeming to care about anything they were doing.
I'll leave it at that for now. I hope this isn't considered to contain spoilers. A book I tolerated and respected, but did not enjoy on really any level.
January 13, 2015
A beautiful style of writing. I enjoyed every word. The rhythm of the story, a north african harmony, coupled with a quiet yet intriguing pace, matched nicely with my desire to know what was going to happen next. I'm lucky to own the book, a traditional printed hardback, a lovely tangible thing. Great cover, well considered layout accompanying a really good story.
July 10, 2022
An engaging love story with a couple of unexpected events occurring. Ken, an ageing novelist, lives in Melbourne. His wife has died and his 38 year old daughter, Claire, is in love with a young stand up comedian. He befriends the local cafe proprietor, John Patterner. John tells Ken his life story.
The love story is about the relationship between John Patterner, an Australian teacher on holiday, who by chance in a Paris cafe, met Sabiha, a Tunisian. In addition, the novel is about the experience of an ageing writer who thought he had retired, becoming drawn into telling a story.
An enjoyable, interesting reading experience.
This book was shortlisted for the 2010 Miles Franklin Award.
The love story is about the relationship between John Patterner, an Australian teacher on holiday, who by chance in a Paris cafe, met Sabiha, a Tunisian. In addition, the novel is about the experience of an ageing writer who thought he had retired, becoming drawn into telling a story.
An enjoyable, interesting reading experience.
This book was shortlisted for the 2010 Miles Franklin Award.
February 26, 2011
Having read 'Journey to the Stone Country' in an Australian Literature course last year, I was interested to see how this one went. I did not see it as a "love song" but the rather bleak, slightly ironical fantasy of a middle-aged man. I would have liked more depth and humour in all of the main characters, although there was potential for kindness in some. The tentative treatment of others made me wonder whether their cruelty was meant to be seen as such. Promising settings for both felt dull and under-utilised. The rather cloying intimacies in both made me squirm, as did warm and fuzzy repetitions of "a drink of tea" in 'Journey to the Stone Country' and "sweet pastries" in 'Lovesong'. While prepared to get through novels such as these, I want more than domestic homily and characterisation. Australian literature seems a little bogged down with sentimental family sagas, fictionalised historical tragedies, and rather insipid soul searching. Try 'Carpentaria' by Alexis Wright and 'The Hunter' by Julia Leigh. And anything by Christos Tsiolkas. All that said, there are an awful lot of Australian novels yet to read, especially more recent ones.
December 24, 2011
Almost everyone gushes on how beautiful and evocative this book is. And how powerful the love is between Sabiha & John.
Really?
Sabiha loves Sabiha & most of all, Sabiha loves her imaginary little girl. All that pining for this long lost baby really got into my nerves. And I certainly didn't feel the love between the couple. John needed to be a man & have more of a spine.
That said, I did like the way the book is written but the story not so much. Probably a little more character development?
I thought Naomi (from Naomi) was the most selfish character in a book I've ever read but Sabiha comes a very very close second.
Really?
Sabiha loves Sabiha & most of all, Sabiha loves her imaginary little girl. All that pining for this long lost baby really got into my nerves. And I certainly didn't feel the love between the couple. John needed to be a man & have more of a spine.
That said, I did like the way the book is written but the story not so much. Probably a little more character development?
I thought Naomi (from Naomi) was the most selfish character in a book I've ever read but Sabiha comes a very very close second.
August 14, 2017
4.5 STARS. I loved this book. I was swept away by this story and all of its characters. The story is simply written (my favourite narrative style) but contains so many hidden depths about love, relationships and how far people will go to get what they want. Miller has never disappointed. His characters were believable, vulnerable, fragile and yet resilient (the full array of the human spirit) and I was disappointed to leave them behind.
March 26, 2010
A beautiful book, highly recommended, see my review
http://anzlitlovers.wordpress.com/201...
http://anzlitlovers.wordpress.com/201...
October 4, 2021
In suburban Melbourne, retired writer Ken is drawn to the new pastry shop run by enigmatic Sabiha and her Australian husband, John Patterner. As Ken gets closer to John, he becomes aware that John has a love story to tell - and he wants to tell it to Ken. So John narrates his tale of a chance visit to a small cafe in a Tunisian enclave of Paris, run by recently-widowed Houria and her niece Sabiha, where he falls in love with Sabiha. As their relationship develops into love and marriage, it takes on a tragic element as neither Sabiha's dreams of a child nor John's of a return to Australia seem to be coming to fruition. As John tells his story, Ken, disillusioned by his decision to retire, thinks that perhaps he has one more book to write...
A great tale, brilliantly-told and populated by larger-than-life characters, that had me pretty much gripped from beginning to end. Will certainly be looking for more books from this author - 9/10.
A great tale, brilliantly-told and populated by larger-than-life characters, that had me pretty much gripped from beginning to end. Will certainly be looking for more books from this author - 9/10.
April 12, 2015
Ken is a writer, who has retired and is a bit lost as to what to do to fill his time. Returning from a trip to Venice, he discovers that the inconsiderate adult daughter with whom he lives has not bought him milk to make tea. Feeling despair, he walks out into the streets of Carlton to the local supermarket. These streets have changed so much over his lifetime he can hardly even recognise the suburb or his place in it. Just when I was starting to think "Oh no, not another story about a white male angsting over his place in the world," Ken is distracted by a new bakery that has opened in his street. (note to Franzen et al. - they key to avoiding the boring discussions of white men who have lost their way is clearly pastry). Smelling of sugar and sweetness, the shop is inviting and warm. The woman behind the counter is arrestingly beautiful but Ken is certain he can see sadness in her eyes. He is intrigued and once again feels a part of the suburb in which he lives.
The woman behind the shop counter is married to a man, John. Ken sees John all over the place - in the library, in the pool, playing with his daughter, always reading. One day Ken asks John to join him for a cup of coffee and, over the pool-flavoured beverage, John starts to tell the story of how the couple arrived in Melbourne and the sadness in his beautiful wife's eyes.
I have made no secret of the fact that I find stories about middle-aged white men dealing with the problems of life and their place in it incredibly boring but John's story is not about himself. He takes us back to the Paris of 30 years ago; not the City of Love depicted so often in movies by its outskirts, the working class suburbs that drive the city. Houria and Dom run Cafe Dom, a small cafe that feeds the workers of the local abattoir their lunch. When Dom dies of a heart attack, Houria writes to her brother in El Djem. Her brother, understanding her deep and profound grief, send her his favourite daughter, Sabiha. Sabiha and Houria work together beautifully and Cafe Dom becomes a huge success. One wet and cold day, an Australian man seeks refuge from the weather in the Cafe. He and Sabiha fall in love.
I have just summarised the first 60-ish pages of the book. Despite the small amount of WMA (white male angst), it's a lovely story well told. The characters of Houria and Sabiha are well drawn and the foundation of their relationship is solid and feels true. However, after John meets Sabiha and they get married, the rest of the book is quite frankly stupid. The increasingly unlikable characters act in ridiculous and silly ways and, really, bored the crap out of me. Alex Miller is a beautiful writer and there are moments where the language in the novel is sublime but it wouldn't hurt him to actually chat to a woman or two, if only to realise it is possible that women can actually have more than one desire or skill just like men can. Two stars.
The woman behind the shop counter is married to a man, John. Ken sees John all over the place - in the library, in the pool, playing with his daughter, always reading. One day Ken asks John to join him for a cup of coffee and, over the pool-flavoured beverage, John starts to tell the story of how the couple arrived in Melbourne and the sadness in his beautiful wife's eyes.
I have made no secret of the fact that I find stories about middle-aged white men dealing with the problems of life and their place in it incredibly boring but John's story is not about himself. He takes us back to the Paris of 30 years ago; not the City of Love depicted so often in movies by its outskirts, the working class suburbs that drive the city. Houria and Dom run Cafe Dom, a small cafe that feeds the workers of the local abattoir their lunch. When Dom dies of a heart attack, Houria writes to her brother in El Djem. Her brother, understanding her deep and profound grief, send her his favourite daughter, Sabiha. Sabiha and Houria work together beautifully and Cafe Dom becomes a huge success. One wet and cold day, an Australian man seeks refuge from the weather in the Cafe. He and Sabiha fall in love.
I have just summarised the first 60-ish pages of the book. Despite the small amount of WMA (white male angst), it's a lovely story well told. The characters of Houria and Sabiha are well drawn and the foundation of their relationship is solid and feels true. However, after John meets Sabiha and they get married, the rest of the book is quite frankly stupid. The increasingly unlikable characters act in ridiculous and silly ways and, really, bored the crap out of me. Alex Miller is a beautiful writer and there are moments where the language in the novel is sublime but it wouldn't hurt him to actually chat to a woman or two, if only to realise it is possible that women can actually have more than one desire or skill just like men can. Two stars.
July 13, 2014
One of the things that caused me qualms reading Lionel Shriver's Big Brother was the narration: the way Edison, the big brother of the central character, is effectively silenced in the meditations of his sister on his obesity and her response to that. A similar issue arises in this novel too, which tells the story of Sabiha and John, both migrants--from Tunisia and Australia, respectively--running a bistro in Paris. Now in Australia, John tells his story to Ken, a retired novelist, whose interpretation of Sabiha and John's love story, their quest to conceive a child, and the events around that, is the final layer of narration.
Perhaps this exposition of fictional strategies is in fact an ethical gesture to remind us of the necessary partiality of any narration, but what struck me, as Ken relates his struggle with John over the right to tell this particular story, is the picture of Sabiha that emerges: an embodiment of idealised femininity: exotic houri, natural mother. I wonder how the story may have changed had Sabiha been the narrator? I don't think it would be any less partial--if an inevitably different part. Mostly I wonder how Sabiha's behaviour towards Bruno, the fresh fruit and vegetable supplier to the bistro, would have been rendered; how would Sabiha's exploitation of Bruno have changed her character from pure being, wholly absolved by naming her Carlton bakery after him, to--well, to what?
Ken manages to romanticise the sadness he interprets in Sabiha's eyes, but there I see the effects of the myths surrounding motherhood: an acknowledgement of the material consequences of the conviction that women are only complete if they have given birth. I think, I hope, that Sabiha finally sees that.
Perhaps this exposition of fictional strategies is in fact an ethical gesture to remind us of the necessary partiality of any narration, but what struck me, as Ken relates his struggle with John over the right to tell this particular story, is the picture of Sabiha that emerges: an embodiment of idealised femininity: exotic houri, natural mother. I wonder how the story may have changed had Sabiha been the narrator? I don't think it would be any less partial--if an inevitably different part. Mostly I wonder how Sabiha's behaviour towards Bruno, the fresh fruit and vegetable supplier to the bistro, would have been rendered; how would Sabiha's exploitation of Bruno have changed her character from pure being, wholly absolved by naming her Carlton bakery after him, to--well, to what?
Ken manages to romanticise the sadness he interprets in Sabiha's eyes, but there I see the effects of the myths surrounding motherhood: an acknowledgement of the material consequences of the conviction that women are only complete if they have given birth. I think, I hope, that Sabiha finally sees that.
February 26, 2010
Generally I liked this book, but it didn't get me thinking quite as much as when I read "The ancestor game" for my book club (a book which was a much harder read, I have to say). The story flows well, but I found the plot a little shallow. I didn't really like the main character, Sabiha, who seemed very caught up in her own needs and feelings without any thought for her husband, John. Sabiha came to Paris from Tunisia as an adult to help her Aunt Houria in her cafe so she does come from a different background than John, who is an Australian travelling the world when they meet. Still, they are together for 15 years when the main part of the story happens and they don't really seem to want to address the issues that are causing dissatisfaction in their lives. Maybe that is the point - that we often don't articulate what is important to us to our partners and thus it is no wonder that we may feel fed up when they don't understand us as well as we think they should. It's a nice read rather than a thought provoking one in my opinion.
August 10, 2017
I was totally unprepared for this novel. The title is 'Lovesong' but there is actually a glaring red-light part of the plot that would have stopped me from ever picking up this book. It is one thing that I would usually avoid reading in a novel; .
I do not care for the characters either... there was no one particularly to empathise with or at least not for me. I also feel rather conflicted with my feelings towards Sabiha as she yearned desperately for a child of her own. Not just for a child though, a daughter that she knew to be hers. And in her desperation, it drove her to the move I most disapproved of. The conflict for me is that I feel rather mean-spirited to disliking her for I have 2 beautiful boys myself. Still... I'm not sure how one is to recover from that!
Beautiful prose though and I would have loved it if I could just empathise with the characters better.
I do not care for the characters either... there was no one particularly to empathise with or at least not for me. I also feel rather conflicted with my feelings towards Sabiha as she yearned desperately for a child of her own. Not just for a child though, a daughter that she knew to be hers. And in her desperation, it drove her to the move I most disapproved of. The conflict for me is that I feel rather mean-spirited to disliking her for I have 2 beautiful boys myself. Still... I'm not sure how one is to recover from that!
Beautiful prose though and I would have loved it if I could just empathise with the characters better.
June 9, 2012
2 stars is a bit generous for this novel. I had to absolutley force myself to keep reading as it was just so damned boring, dragged out and repetitive. I felt like I was reading some contrived trashy novel (aka Danielle Steele), not a supposed literary novel from an acclaimed author. The characters weren't convincing, the dialogue was contrived, the length of the novel was about 250 pages too long. This was my first Alex Miller novel, and I think it may be my last! The only positive thing about this novel is that some of the langauge is evocative. And I like sparse sentences, but they really do need to be interspersed with longer, flowing sentences. I felt like the sparce way he writes didn't flow, it just jolted my brain. Anyway, rant over.
March 8, 2012
In fairness probably not the book to read after Alice Munro and Siri Hustvedt. First the bad stuff - it was one of those books where the last 40 pages just ruined it. I won't spoil the ending for anyone. The story will clearly resonate with some more than others, and I will say that if I had to hear the main male character say "I love you darling" one more time it really would have pushed me over the edge. Now the good stuff - some of the prose is just beautiful and I especially loved the evocation of the cafe and the life. It is a quick read but it now leaves me wondering if I want to explore Mr Miller. If it had not been for the last 40 pages then I would have given it 3 stars.
September 15, 2017
In the end I could only give this book a 2 star "its ok" rating. It started with much promise - engaging, interesting characters and evocative writing - but by half way it just became repetitive with no real development. The main female character - well, I just didn't like her. She became obsessive and singly minded to the point of annoyance. Alex Miller's writing was great but the story wasn't.
November 24, 2020
I was just a couple of pages in and was assaulted with descriptions of Sabiha as an “exotic-looking woman”, “she was dark”, “his darkly exotic wife” in quick succession. Is this racial microaggression on the part of the narrating character, Ken, necessary? In contrast, Sabiha later sings an Arabic song with a line that loosely translates to "I am the colour of the sands of the desert at evening". I am not asking for such a level of poetry from Ken but surely there are many other descriptive words that could have been used especially considering that Ken is a famous novelist of all people. I put my annoyance to one side and persisted on. And things got better. Through Ken, we are introduced to Sabiha and John and their love story.
Despite their initial whirlwind romance, Sabiha and John's relationship is progressively fractured by loneliness, lack of shared understanding and reality not being the life they pictured for themselves. This all happened in a slow burn with nothing much plot-wise happening for stretches of the book. Also, despite reading page after page of their deep-seated unhappiness, nothing changes and there is a lack of compromise and lack of action from the two main characters.
Then I got around halfway through and I wanted to throw the book to the other side of my room. I won’t spoil what happened but I was appalled even though I could see it coming. I like to give books a good chance in case the ending salvages things but it just got worse and worse. Both Sabiha and John irked me so much; selfishness on Sabiha’s behalf and John being an oblivious doormat. I really wanted to shake some sense into them. And all the attempted justification, deceit, denial and all-round emotional maturity of an adolescent from someone who is almost forty years old left a sour taste in my mouth. By this point I was just skimming through to get to the end. I felt that both characters were very two-dimensional, there was barely any character development and they’re not written in a way you can sympathise with.
And then Ken was back at it with “tragic beautiful exotic princess”. Really?
I also didn’t really get the point of having Ken getting to know John and hearing the unravelling of the story as well as the conversations between Ken and his daughter, Clare. There was potential there but the way his parts are written, it could have just been the story of John and Sabiha because I really didn’t feel it added anything of substance to the story.
The prose itself and Houria, one of the secondary characters, are about the only redeeming factors in this book and why I would give a rating of 1.5 stars – beautiful writing in parts but unfortunately a thoroughly disappointing story and characters.
Despite their initial whirlwind romance, Sabiha and John's relationship is progressively fractured by loneliness, lack of shared understanding and reality not being the life they pictured for themselves. This all happened in a slow burn with nothing much plot-wise happening for stretches of the book. Also, despite reading page after page of their deep-seated unhappiness, nothing changes and there is a lack of compromise and lack of action from the two main characters.
Then I got around halfway through and I wanted to throw the book to the other side of my room. I won’t spoil what happened but I was appalled even though I could see it coming. I like to give books a good chance in case the ending salvages things but it just got worse and worse. Both Sabiha and John irked me so much; selfishness on Sabiha’s behalf and John being an oblivious doormat. I really wanted to shake some sense into them. And all the attempted justification, deceit, denial and all-round emotional maturity of an adolescent from someone who is almost forty years old left a sour taste in my mouth. By this point I was just skimming through to get to the end. I felt that both characters were very two-dimensional, there was barely any character development and they’re not written in a way you can sympathise with.
And then Ken was back at it with “tragic beautiful exotic princess”. Really?
I also didn’t really get the point of having Ken getting to know John and hearing the unravelling of the story as well as the conversations between Ken and his daughter, Clare. There was potential there but the way his parts are written, it could have just been the story of John and Sabiha because I really didn’t feel it added anything of substance to the story.
The prose itself and Houria, one of the secondary characters, are about the only redeeming factors in this book and why I would give a rating of 1.5 stars – beautiful writing in parts but unfortunately a thoroughly disappointing story and characters.
September 27, 2017
Such an enjoyable read in so many ways and with a true sense of place. You could easily imagine why the young Australian school teacher chanced upon the Tunisian restaurant in an unfashionable part of Paris; I am certain it was the aromas of Sabiha's cooking. I really wanted to give this 3 and a half stars as I initially warmed to the characters especially the Australian John Patterner and his wife, the complex, tragic Sabiha. Cannot discuss the intricacies of the plot but I guess the tale Alex Miller tells is as old as time itself. The other place that he described so accurately is Carlton, an inner city Melbourne suburb. This was a novel that made me go out and find a home made Lebanese or Greek pastry shop and savour their sweet delights. There are also some very insightful comments made by the various characters that were worth underlining, in pencil only, of course. For example " Her art was a private conversation to keep herself sane." ( Page 111) And in relation to Sabiha serving in her Carlton shop: It was this woman's fine sense of courtesy to which the customers in her shop were responding. ( Page 7)
I have not read Alex Miller before but based upon this novel, I will seek out his other eight or so books.
I have not read Alex Miller before but based upon this novel, I will seek out his other eight or so books.
March 21, 2019
Different to most of my reading of late, most of the real stories of Houria, Sabina, John and Ken take place in their internal lives. Miller unfolds the lives of these characters, in their settings from Tunisia, Paris and finally in Carlton, little by little investing readers in their outcomes. Given their very different ways of viewing the world and what they are prepared to bring about their desired outcomes - and no doubt the equally differing reactions of his readers to what unfolds - there will be those who were captivated and those who are not. I certainly belong in the first category. Beautifully written.
June 25, 2021
This book just seemed to feel very melancholy the whole way through. It’s written well. I struggled with it at times purely due to my own morals and not finding the female particularly relatable and the male being frustratingly spineless. Wasn’t bad, wasn’t amazing, and I probably wouldn’t rush to recommend someone read it.
June 5, 2023
I hear a ghost whisper in my mind that maybe I have read this once before. But that’s ok, I still really enjoyed it. I loved the idea of two men becoming friends over coffee and one telling the other their life story. In part, set in Carlton so that’s a bit of fun. It was written beautifully, and narrated tenderly.
September 28, 2016
It was the cover of the book that first grabbed my attention followed by the tactile feel of the book with its rougher paper pages and uneven edges. Alex Miller is a fantastic writer and he didn't let me down with this story either. Set in Australia and narrated by an un-named (until the end of the book) writer who befriends John, a quiet man married to an exotic African woman who he met in a Café in Paris. The un-named writer then decides to write their story so we have lovely rich backflashes to Paris, how they meet, their life running the Café and the tragic consequences of his wife's obession with having a child - a daughter she has envisioned since she was a child herself.
All woven together with songs from her childhood in Africa where her grandmother would sing their stories to her, to her singing to her customers in the Paris Café and finally to her own daughter.
All woven together with songs from her childhood in Africa where her grandmother would sing their stories to her, to her singing to her customers in the Paris Café and finally to her own daughter.
September 26, 2014
This is my first book by Alex Miller and I really enjoyed it. It’s about John, who tells his story to an ageing writer Ken, of his time in Paris where by chance he meets this beautiful exotic African woman Sabihia. They instantly fall in love and then marry. After several years of marriage Sabihia is still unable to conceive the child that she has been longing for and this puts a huge shadow over John & Sabihia relationship.
This is a beautiful yet sometimes painful story to read. Even though I sympathised with Sabihia situation, I was devastated by her actions towards the end of the book and how one woman obsession can caused so much tragedy and heartache to the people in her life. It was gripping and so very well written.
This is a beautiful yet sometimes painful story to read. Even though I sympathised with Sabihia situation, I was devastated by her actions towards the end of the book and how one woman obsession can caused so much tragedy and heartache to the people in her life. It was gripping and so very well written.
January 19, 2013
Having taken this book away with me on holiday, and fallen under its spell in a languid, internet-free world, I was disappointed to the point of feeling quite cross by its degeneration close to the end of the story. Unlikelihood became downright improbability, and the seemingly carefully set up mystery of the long-standing antagonism between Nejib and Bruno was left unresolved - not tantalisingly, but in a completely unsatisfactory way. I'm left undecided as to whether John Patterner (meekly accepting his wife's infidelity) or the narrator Ken (spinelessly allowing a lazy slob of a stand-up comedian to sponge off him indefinitely as it makes Ken's daughter happy) is the more lamentable character. Such a shame for a novel which began, and for a long time continued, so beautifully.
September 27, 2017
Shortly after Ken (an author) meets John, John gets to chatting about his history: the time he spent in Paris (Ken and John now live in Australia), how he met his wife, Sabiha (an immigrant from Tunisia), and their life running a cafe before coming (returning, in John's case) to Australia. There is a small side-story with Ken and his daughter, as well.
I started off liking it, and it still ended ok, but I downgraded my rating slightly because I ended up not really liking any of the characters. I really disliked Sabiha more than anyone else, but I really didn't much like anyone, except maybe Ken. I have a hard time liking a book when I don't like the characters. It's not a fast-paced book.
I started off liking it, and it still ended ok, but I downgraded my rating slightly because I ended up not really liking any of the characters. I really disliked Sabiha more than anyone else, but I really didn't much like anyone, except maybe Ken. I have a hard time liking a book when I don't like the characters. It's not a fast-paced book.
July 27, 2016
Miller gently builds your respect and understanding for the love story between the main two characters but then adds a startling and painful twist. He makes you sympathise with someone that appears to have committed a wholly selfish act. I think it is surprising that a male author can portray a female character so accurately, as I think that few can do the same. The language is beautiful and the narrative of the story-teller - that is always present in Miller's books - works especially well here. The switch between past and present is clear. A beautiful book that you will still think about after you have finished.
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