Honestly, this is the first book self has ever read which traces decades in the life of a house. An actual house. A house that exists somewhere in Czechoslovakia.
Self wonders if she’ll ever get to visit Czechoslovakia. For a while, it seemed like every American nascent novelist went to Prague to write a book.
But, anyhoo, self has encountered the SENTENCE OF THE SUMMER. And, considering that self read some really wonderful books, books like Wolf Hall and Sister Carrie, this is no ordinary praise (Come to think of it, self is reminded that last night, or perhaps in the wee hours of this morning, self dreamt she was living in castle. A castle from which she would imminently have to flee. For it was being besieged by some invading force. And self had to move down narrow circular stone staircases, and decide which items were the most essential ones, all in a great hurry)
Self is on p. 127 of The Glass Room. She can’t say she really loves this novel, and so far she doesn’t like any of the characters. There’s a “liberated” woman named Hana, and in this section she’s telling a friend about how she helped another woman escape from an unhappy marriage, and how the two, having boarded a train and made good their escape, fell into each other’s arms and freely abandoned themselves to their illicit love.
While listening to Hana tell her story, the friend, Liesel, who herself is married and has two children, who lives a very comfortable domestic life, observes with dispassion:
There was something shrill about her, as though the story of excitement and plotting was thinly painted over a deep fracture.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.