What do you think?
Rate this book


240 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2009
"But you love them all, and if there are six you don't spread it more thinly, somehow there's just more of it. When they're small they love you back, but of course later even if they still do it doesn't much show, and you just have to reckon with that, you can't expect demonstrations…"
"Back when the children were still there Alison somehow never envisaged a time when they would not be. Oh, she knew it would come—but she never considered the implications, tried out the idea of an emptied house, listened for silence. They went gradually, of course, so silence came gradually, and there were returns […]. She has got used to it. You can get used to much—she has known that for a long while."
"The garden swings grow moss; the sandbox is buried in dead leaves. It is all right, it is fine, everything is as it ever was, except different. Alison has faced down the passage of time, and emerged, if not triumphant, then afloat, on course."
"The house knows, and is silent, locking away what has been done and said and thought. No one quite remembers anymore how they know, it is as though the knowledge was not suppressed but arrived through some osmotic process, absorbed from Allersmead daily life, an insidious understanding that seeped from person to person."
"Not that there were conversations, exchanges, comments. No one has wished to discuss it; if ever the facts of the matter seemed to smolder dangerously, there would be a concerted move to stamp out the embers, to move away, to find safe territory elsewhere."
"I see three people for whom things had gone dramatically wrong, who probably should never have been together anyway. I see them muddling on, because no one could face up to doing otherwise. Condemned to cohabitation."
"He looks at her over his glasses, finger in the book. 'Why what?'
'Why did we get married?'
A brief silence.
'I seem to recall you were pregnant.'
'Oh, of course,' says Alison. 'I knew there was something.' She gets into bed, the tears rolling once more."
"But that Dad carried weight, way back. Oh dear me, yes. His tongue could scorch; he could make you feel more inadequate than you already knew that you were. The way he always won an argument, produced the definitive put-down. His scrutiny of a school report, handed back in meaningful silence."