What do you think?
Rate this book
Nine Island
Nine Island is an intimate autobiographical novel, told by J, a woman who lives in a glass tower on one of Miami Beach’s lush Venetian Islands. After decades of disaster with men, she is trying to decide whether to withdraw forever from romantic love. Having just returned to Miami from a monthlong reunion with an old flame, “Sir Gold,� and a visit to her fragile mother, J begins translating Ovid’s magical stories about the transformations caused by Eros. “A woman who wants, a man who wants nothing. These two have stalked the world for thousands of years,� she thinks.
When not ruminating over her sexual past and current fantasies, in the company of only her aging cat, J observes the comic, sometimes steamy goings-on among her faded-glamour condo neighbors. One of them, a caring nurse, befriends her, eventually offering the opinion that “if you retire from love . . . then you retire from life.
When not ruminating over her sexual past and current fantasies, in the company of only her aging cat, J observes the comic, sometimes steamy goings-on among her faded-glamour condo neighbors. One of them, a caring nurse, befriends her, eventually offering the opinion that “if you retire from love . . . then you retire from life.
244 pages, Paperback
First published September 13, 2016
40 people are currently reading
1,838 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 109 reviews
May 15, 2019
Initially I found Nine Island pretty exciting in the sense that the details of the narrator's life seemed very similar to mine—we seemed to be around the same age, living alone in apartments in big cities, with aging cats (although thankfully mine is currently in much better shape than hers is), both making a living shuffling papers around (although the narrator, also named Jane Alison, is a translator and novelist, and therefore more actualized in her career than I am). But Nine Island really showed me how different two people can be even if their outward circumstances are the same. Simply put, the Jane Alison of this novel is obsessed with finding a man. Everything else in her life, even her successes, has very little meaning to her as long as she's single.
Luckily for me (as a human being, not necessarily as a reader), I found this impossible to relate to and frankly pretty retro. I was astounded by Jane's "friend" K, who constantly texts her to nag about how she needs to find a relationship (so annoying!), by the way Jane would dress up and go hang out at bars by herself purely in the hope of meeting a man (so desperate, sorry!), the way Jane's mother makes her feel guilty for not having a man (so... guilt-tripping!). I'm not sure how it was meant to read, but to me it read as the most sad and claustrophobic thing ever. (Honestly, upon reflection, I think that may have been how it was supposed to read.) Jane keeps giving herself a hard time for being single, and I just kept thinking: Maybe you need to tell your mom to leave you alone, maybe you need to break up with K because she's the most annoying friend in the world, and most of all:
MAYBE YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MIAMI.
Jane Alison lives in some high-rise rental condo building (although I guess not everyone is a renter—some people own their condos). It's in Miami, right on the water. Hot all the time, lizards and bugs, lots of porn stars and shady businessmen and yachts and senior citizens. Hurricanes. Takes forever to walk anywhere and the sun beats down on you relentlessly. I guess to some people this is paradise, but except for being on the water this is my idea of hell. How isolating for a woman like Jane, in her forties and scholarly. Why did she want to live there in the first place?!? Bad idea, Jane! This Miami is not a place to start over, it's a place to wilt before you've even had time to fully blossom.
Having said that, this locale provides all of the plot of the novel; it's a regular Melrose Place with older people and more lizards. There's the drama of the leaky pool, the mutiny and takeover of the condo board, the mysterious couple across the way, the stranded duck and much more! (Well, a little more.) The way so much went on in such a small space was truly one of the most enjoyable things about this book.
And I did enjoy it, let's make that clear. Jane Alison was an interesting character, and I didn't really fault her for her retro attitudes; some women are just like that. The writing was somehow both sparse and lush at the same time, the words carefully chosen. Her insights into the highs and lows of beach life in Miami were penetrating. This is autofiction; who knows what's actually true and what just seems like it's true. But Jane Alison is a real human being, and for all its oddities Nine Island gets that across very well.
Edited to add: I can't believe I forgot to mention Ovid! Jane Alison is an Ovid expert and Ovid is all over this book. I loved that aspect of it.
Luckily for me (as a human being, not necessarily as a reader), I found this impossible to relate to and frankly pretty retro. I was astounded by Jane's "friend" K, who constantly texts her to nag about how she needs to find a relationship (so annoying!), by the way Jane would dress up and go hang out at bars by herself purely in the hope of meeting a man (so desperate, sorry!), the way Jane's mother makes her feel guilty for not having a man (so... guilt-tripping!). I'm not sure how it was meant to read, but to me it read as the most sad and claustrophobic thing ever. (Honestly, upon reflection, I think that may have been how it was supposed to read.) Jane keeps giving herself a hard time for being single, and I just kept thinking: Maybe you need to tell your mom to leave you alone, maybe you need to break up with K because she's the most annoying friend in the world, and most of all:
MAYBE YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MIAMI.
Jane Alison lives in some high-rise rental condo building (although I guess not everyone is a renter—some people own their condos). It's in Miami, right on the water. Hot all the time, lizards and bugs, lots of porn stars and shady businessmen and yachts and senior citizens. Hurricanes. Takes forever to walk anywhere and the sun beats down on you relentlessly. I guess to some people this is paradise, but except for being on the water this is my idea of hell. How isolating for a woman like Jane, in her forties and scholarly. Why did she want to live there in the first place?!? Bad idea, Jane! This Miami is not a place to start over, it's a place to wilt before you've even had time to fully blossom.
Having said that, this locale provides all of the plot of the novel; it's a regular Melrose Place with older people and more lizards. There's the drama of the leaky pool, the mutiny and takeover of the condo board, the mysterious couple across the way, the stranded duck and much more! (Well, a little more.) The way so much went on in such a small space was truly one of the most enjoyable things about this book.
And I did enjoy it, let's make that clear. Jane Alison was an interesting character, and I didn't really fault her for her retro attitudes; some women are just like that. The writing was somehow both sparse and lush at the same time, the words carefully chosen. Her insights into the highs and lows of beach life in Miami were penetrating. This is autofiction; who knows what's actually true and what just seems like it's true. But Jane Alison is a real human being, and for all its oddities Nine Island gets that across very well.
Edited to add: I can't believe I forgot to mention Ovid! Jane Alison is an Ovid expert and Ovid is all over this book. I loved that aspect of it.
February 8, 2017
There isn't much to this novel � in that it's short, and in that it's pretty plotless � but what is there is rather wonderful. The narrator is only identified as J.; she's a middle-aged writer living in a crumbling Miami apartment block with an assortment of eccentric neighbours. Much of the story is composed of her contemplation of relationships: is it time she gave up on love and sex? She is single and childless, and a resurrected relationship with her first love, whom she calls Sir Gold, has recently ended. Friends tell J. she should try again � and again � to meet someone, but she only seems to encounter a parade of unsuitable suitors, 'deadbeats', from 'Par-T-Boy' with his indecipherable patter, to the 'awful sexy monster' of an ex she calls 'the Devil'.
J. has a gloriously musical narrative voice, the rhythm of which makes even the most rote observations beautiful. Her life meanders along with little incident (mostly). She visits her elderly mother; cares for her ailing cat; becomes concerned about the fate of a duck she finds stranded, its wing broken; takes daily walks in the sticky Floridian climate; lusts after young men she passes in the street; watches the residents of the apartments opposite hers; works on translations of Ovid as she lounges by the pool. Whatever she is doing, thinking, observing, she is never less than delightful to spend time with.
Nine Island is a warm, melodious, funny meditation on � well, so many things. Love, change, living alone, literature, getting older, your pets getting older, your parents getting older. It's a deceptively small book that glitters like a gemstone.
| | |
J. has a gloriously musical narrative voice, the rhythm of which makes even the most rote observations beautiful. Her life meanders along with little incident (mostly). She visits her elderly mother; cares for her ailing cat; becomes concerned about the fate of a duck she finds stranded, its wing broken; takes daily walks in the sticky Floridian climate; lusts after young men she passes in the street; watches the residents of the apartments opposite hers; works on translations of Ovid as she lounges by the pool. Whatever she is doing, thinking, observing, she is never less than delightful to spend time with.
Nine Island is a warm, melodious, funny meditation on � well, so many things. Love, change, living alone, literature, getting older, your pets getting older, your parents getting older. It's a deceptively small book that glitters like a gemstone.
| | |
December 15, 2016
“I’m not old yet, but my heart is sick with old desire,�
I'm hovering between a 3 and 4 star but I'll bump it up to a 4 due to its originality, this is narrative poetry, the words glide on the page and before you know it you've been swept up in it's lyrical beauty. Rich evocative descriptions that are also short, tight and snappy every sentence a treasure trove of gold. Introspective thoughtful observant nuggets. I could list so many sentences that sang to me and made my heart revel in this delightful internal monologue, a woman questioning her worth as an older redundant? woman. Her descriptions of her little slice of Miami make this book visually alive. Her descriptions of her surroundings are my favourite part as the plot is meandering more observations than anything, with the theme of loneliness, aging and her imaginations of fantasy, reminiscing of lost youth and sexual vigour.
She's obviously inspired heavily by Ovid as a lot of references are littered throughout and gives it a strong literary style, it's not an easy read and it's not a book that can be read with distractions. It's a book that warrants your undivided attention as there is so much there to absorb. Some passages I had to reread as it's not the style I'm accustomed to after awhile though I got a little fatigued with the narrative style and looked forward to reading a straight novel again, so I'm guessing this is a book that requires a certain type of reader who likes their books slightly off centre that's easy to read but demands some concentration.
I'm hovering between a 3 and 4 star but I'll bump it up to a 4 due to its originality, this is narrative poetry, the words glide on the page and before you know it you've been swept up in it's lyrical beauty. Rich evocative descriptions that are also short, tight and snappy every sentence a treasure trove of gold. Introspective thoughtful observant nuggets. I could list so many sentences that sang to me and made my heart revel in this delightful internal monologue, a woman questioning her worth as an older redundant? woman. Her descriptions of her little slice of Miami make this book visually alive. Her descriptions of her surroundings are my favourite part as the plot is meandering more observations than anything, with the theme of loneliness, aging and her imaginations of fantasy, reminiscing of lost youth and sexual vigour.
She's obviously inspired heavily by Ovid as a lot of references are littered throughout and gives it a strong literary style, it's not an easy read and it's not a book that can be read with distractions. It's a book that warrants your undivided attention as there is so much there to absorb. Some passages I had to reread as it's not the style I'm accustomed to after awhile though I got a little fatigued with the narrative style and looked forward to reading a straight novel again, so I'm guessing this is a book that requires a certain type of reader who likes their books slightly off centre that's easy to read but demands some concentration.
June 19, 2019
Alison heads a creative writing program, so it’s no surprise that the writing is impeccable. But given a protagonist who’s translating and reshaping Ovid’s Metamorphoses to give them more of a feminist/#metoo flavor, the book should have been more engaging than it was. I loved the recast stories but it took me three fourths of the book to stop feeling antagonistic toward the protagonist, a 50 something white woman who holds life at a distance and, in reflecting on her life and future, thinks almost exclusively in terms of her lovers and sexuality. We finally get some insight into her issues near the end, but I wish some of that material had come earlier.
October 15, 2016
3.5 rounded up. This was a quick read and I think it'd be great for women's book clubs--lots of talking points.
While it's not in the same style, this type of novel reminds me of books in that you're in the head of an older (not old, maybe 40s?) woman who is considering whether or not to give up on romantic love. Silly question. What she's really doing is asking if she should settle for loser guys where no love is lost anyway.
Two things I really liked: One, J (no names are used, only first initals) is translating Ovid. I have no idea of any of his works and I thought most of the stories she mentions are Greek myths. So I feel a little intellectually taller after finishing this.
Two, J actually uses all the amenities of her Miami high rise apartment--she swims in the pool, walks, sits on the balcony, etc. I see so many places like that where NO ONE is ever in the pool, spa, lobby, rooftop lounge and think, why are they spending the big bucks to live there?
I wasn't thrilled about the ending, but that's how it goes sometimes.
While it's not in the same style, this type of novel reminds me of books in that you're in the head of an older (not old, maybe 40s?) woman who is considering whether or not to give up on romantic love. Silly question. What she's really doing is asking if she should settle for loser guys where no love is lost anyway.
Two things I really liked: One, J (no names are used, only first initals) is translating Ovid. I have no idea of any of his works and I thought most of the stories she mentions are Greek myths. So I feel a little intellectually taller after finishing this.
Two, J actually uses all the amenities of her Miami high rise apartment--she swims in the pool, walks, sits on the balcony, etc. I see so many places like that where NO ONE is ever in the pool, spa, lobby, rooftop lounge and think, why are they spending the big bucks to live there?
I wasn't thrilled about the ending, but that's how it goes sometimes.
September 12, 2016
4.78 stars
Hey, here's a new book I actually appreciated (which is saying something for me). With its short chapters, lush sensory descriptions, and confessional tone, this book feels like a meditation. A meditation on what it means and feels like to be alone. The doubts and questions, the justifications and desires and hopes. All of it. A meditation on finding love and life in strange and often unexpected places.
A quiet book, but one with a deep resonance.
Hey, here's a new book I actually appreciated (which is saying something for me). With its short chapters, lush sensory descriptions, and confessional tone, this book feels like a meditation. A meditation on what it means and feels like to be alone. The doubts and questions, the justifications and desires and hopes. All of it. A meditation on finding love and life in strange and often unexpected places.
A quiet book, but one with a deep resonance.
June 25, 2016
Possibly the best book I've read this year. Poetic without overreaching, raw, gorgeous, sad, invigorating.
February 20, 2022
4.5
Ovid - I’m coming for you.
Ovid - I’m coming for you.
June 20, 2018
Meglio rimanere sole? La vita di J. È sospesa, fugge dall’amore ma non può nemmeno smettere di cercarlo, il bisogno d’amare ed essere amati è troppo forte. Leggendo entriamo in una dimensione immaginifica, tra ricordi, sogni ad occhi aperti, esperienze presenti e racconti tratti dalla Metamorfosi di Ovidio, racconti in cui donne si tramutano in alberi, ruscelli, pietre...ed è la stessa pelle di J. Ad essere indurita, corteccia spessa resa così dalle delusioni. Un libro che suona, fluisce e rimane impresso. Leggete la recensione per saperene di più , link sopra. Dico solo che Nneditore si conferma una delle mie case editrici preferite
March 3, 2017
Just finished reading “Nine Islandâ€� by Jane Alison. I want to firstly thank Jane Alison and Catapult Publishing for a print copy I won on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ.com. Secondly, this is not usually a genre I would normally read, but that being said…I was quite surprised how much I enjoyed this read. It was beautifully written, humorous, touching and heartfelt. A very poetic and introspective prose.
Synopsis (from cover): Nine Island is an intimate autobiographical novel, told by J, a woman who lives in a glass tower on one of Miami Beach’s lush Venetian Islands. After decades of disaster with men, she is trying to decide whether to withdraw forever from romantic love. Having just returned to Miami from a month long reunion with an old flame, “Sir Gold,� and a visit to her fragile mother, J begins translating Ovid’s magical stories about the transformations caused by Eros. “A woman who wants, a man who wants nothing. These two have stalked the world for thousands of years,� she thinks.
When not ruminating over her sexual past and current fantasies, in the company of only her aging cat, J observes the comic, sometimes steamy goings-on among her faded-glamour condo neighbors. One of them, a caring nurse, befriends her, eventually offering the opinion that “if you retire from love . . . then you retire from life.�
Synopsis (from cover): Nine Island is an intimate autobiographical novel, told by J, a woman who lives in a glass tower on one of Miami Beach’s lush Venetian Islands. After decades of disaster with men, she is trying to decide whether to withdraw forever from romantic love. Having just returned to Miami from a month long reunion with an old flame, “Sir Gold,� and a visit to her fragile mother, J begins translating Ovid’s magical stories about the transformations caused by Eros. “A woman who wants, a man who wants nothing. These two have stalked the world for thousands of years,� she thinks.
When not ruminating over her sexual past and current fantasies, in the company of only her aging cat, J observes the comic, sometimes steamy goings-on among her faded-glamour condo neighbors. One of them, a caring nurse, befriends her, eventually offering the opinion that “if you retire from love . . . then you retire from life.�
December 11, 2016
This (non-fiction?) book is putatively "up-my-alley" (a translator of Ovid repurposes his works on love in her effort to explore and cope with her own sexuality as menopause sets in), but in the final analysis it fell flat for me. The Ovidian references were either too subtle or clever, or were too weightless to garner intrigue (which is what Ovid advises us to develop if we are to be successful at love!). Like Ovid, Alison writes with tongue in cheek about her misadventures--but unlike Ovid, her "character" J desires connection (rather than conquest) to serve as an antidote to her loneliness.
July 4, 2018
Due stelle e mezzo
Un libro dinamico e pieno di colori. Dal giallo del sole di Miami, che si specchia nel blu del mare, al colore grigioÌý della solitudine e poi al nero della morte. Alcuni capitoli sono composti da poche righe soltanto e il continuo saltare da i racconti di Ovidio, agli incontri galanti, alle conversazioni con i vicini, mi ha creato qualche problema. La frammentazione ha rallentato la lettura e ammetto, qualche volta, di aver perso il filo del discorso.
Un libro dinamico e pieno di colori. Dal giallo del sole di Miami, che si specchia nel blu del mare, al colore grigioÌý della solitudine e poi al nero della morte. Alcuni capitoli sono composti da poche righe soltanto e il continuo saltare da i racconti di Ovidio, agli incontri galanti, alle conversazioni con i vicini, mi ha creato qualche problema. La frammentazione ha rallentato la lettura e ammetto, qualche volta, di aver perso il filo del discorso.
October 1, 2016
An absolutely great novel! My favorite book of 2016. Go read it. It's smart and funny and full of wonderful stuff.
July 2, 2020
Somewhere between three and four stars for me. Ovid is kind of a weirdo.
February 2, 2020
Such an intimate portrait of a slice of the lives of J, of Miami, and of Ovid even though I know so little about any of them. I’m not sure how to describe this but to quote the author, Jane Alison ‘Will do it three times because three points confirm a line.�
March 21, 2025
4.5 stars
read this sooooo fast which was both good and bad
taking a little more time with it would've maybe been good but also i got really lost in it
crying over the cat and the pool
read this sooooo fast which was both good and bad
taking a little more time with it would've maybe been good but also i got really lost in it
crying over the cat and the pool
February 12, 2017
The setting of this autobiographical novel,Ìýis the Venetian Islands, of south Miami. A place I had never heard of. (Why, we read books, right?)
The narrator, known simply as “J�, (presumably the author) is a middle-aged woman, living alone, with her elderly cat, in a crumbling high-rise. She shares with the reader, her sharp observations, about her tumultuous love life, her colorful neighbors, her ailing mother and her sexual fantasies.
I was not sure, this would be my sort of thing, but I was swept along with her bright, insightful prose and her vivid descriptions of steamy Miami. I am glad I stuck with it.
The narrator, known simply as “J�, (presumably the author) is a middle-aged woman, living alone, with her elderly cat, in a crumbling high-rise. She shares with the reader, her sharp observations, about her tumultuous love life, her colorful neighbors, her ailing mother and her sexual fantasies.
I was not sure, this would be my sort of thing, but I was swept along with her bright, insightful prose and her vivid descriptions of steamy Miami. I am glad I stuck with it.
December 20, 2016
Outstanding. Ovid's tales of transmogrification set the tone for this very smart, funny, offbeat novel that muses on the male gaze, the female gaze, love, lust, loneliness, self-sufficiency, and how hard it is to care for even—or maybe especially—what you love. Including—maybe especially—yourself. It's also gorgeously descriptive, making me almost wish I'd waited a couple of months to read it in Miami, where it's set. But no matter... it's also a good antidote to a New York cold spell in December, not just tropical but generally thawing. Definitely one of my favorites of the year.
June 23, 2017
Written while on pg 164
I can't wait for this book to be over. If it wasn't a fairly short book, this would probably be a DNF (do not finish). I am vaguely interested in the future of the duck...but not the main character. If there is no future or a bad future for the duck, this book will be a complete loss.
Book tries really hard to be an artsy, poignant one. The only thing memorable is a quote as to whether book pulp is still turned into fireworks.
I have a nominee for such book pulp. My apologies to the author.
---
At end of story...at least the duck isn't dead.
I can't wait for this book to be over. If it wasn't a fairly short book, this would probably be a DNF (do not finish). I am vaguely interested in the future of the duck...but not the main character. If there is no future or a bad future for the duck, this book will be a complete loss.
Book tries really hard to be an artsy, poignant one. The only thing memorable is a quote as to whether book pulp is still turned into fireworks.
I have a nominee for such book pulp. My apologies to the author.
---
At end of story...at least the duck isn't dead.
February 14, 2019
Should the Ovid-loving loner narrator, J, retire from love and romance? We meet her as she's driving back to Miami Beach from a month spent with an old lover, whom she seems to love, who has decided at that month's end, that he wants to keep his life as it is, meaning without her in it. She lives in a high rise in Miami Beach, worries about her mother who has a condition that has altered her balance, translates Ovid, swims, shops for groceries, walks, observes her neighbors in the bright sun surrounded by ocean. At times, lyrical, occasionally humorous, it captures the sense of a woman's invisibility after a certain age. At the beginning, I was engaged and entranced.
Read
February 18, 2018Alison's prose is beautiful in this story of oddly matched elements: a solitary translator of Ovid at work in a gradually crumbling high-rise apartment in decadent Miami. The translator-narrator's pastime includes observing/spying on other occupants of her high-rise as well as those nearby, a narrative strand that plays as Rear Window without the murder, though incisively detailed all the same.
October 18, 2019
This book is less a novel than a meditation. Not much occurs, but the prose is rich in thought and vivid in imagery. Everything has a kind of resonance, especially as the narrator plays voyeur to the people in her apartment building and in the ones she can see from her windows.
An interesting meditation on whether a woman disappointed in love should withdraw from romantic life. The question is not resolved but it is considered from many facets.
An interesting meditation on whether a woman disappointed in love should withdraw from romantic life. The question is not resolved but it is considered from many facets.
August 2, 2018
"E forse questo è sufficiente. È sufficiente avere ricevuto un po' di amore, un tempo. Anche se non ha funzionato a lungo. Forse è sufficiente averne avuto in passato, e adesso vivere solo con i suoi frammenti, e non c'è proprio niente di male se dedichi l'amore che ancora ti resta a un vecchio gatto, o a un'anatra, ai pochi cari amici, a tua madre. Sull'arca non tutti sono in coppia."
June 30, 2021
This book has got it all for me: writing about writing. Leading women. Metamorphosis. A cat. A duck. The alphabet. A bean-shaped pool and a hurricane. Venice (or rather, Venetian islands). A book that’s yet to be finished.
I wish I had taken this with me to the beach earlier this month—it’s the perfect beach read if you’re into having your heart restarted after prolonged numbness.
I wish I had taken this with me to the beach earlier this month—it’s the perfect beach read if you’re into having your heart restarted after prolonged numbness.
February 19, 2023
“Seemed best to only read, today. Look at the water, the sky.�
I love the cover of this one, but the lack of plot made it difficult to enjoy. The narrator exudes loneliness, which is definitely an emotion every human being can relate to, but her narration didn’t hold my interest or attention.
I love the cover of this one, but the lack of plot made it difficult to enjoy. The narrator exudes loneliness, which is definitely an emotion every human being can relate to, but her narration didn’t hold my interest or attention.
April 30, 2021
My kind of beach read, i.e., one that involves Ovid translations, crumbling Miami apartments, and a tinge of Nicholson Baker Mezzanine vibes
April 20, 2019
To be honest I bailed after 4% into it. Just didn’t grab me enough to want to continue it.
March 9, 2025
The compelling protagonist of this book is a translator of Greek mythology and is working on Ovid. She sees representations of the characters from the myths and stories she is translating while living in a tall apartment building in Miami with quirky neighbors and a disintegrating swimming pool. The protagonist is caring for an aging mother, an aging cat, and an out of place duck. The author’s writing is precise and clear.
July 21, 2024
read this on a plane and just cried and cried
Read
October 26, 2017“Someone must have fucked her up, he said, staring at her hard. Somebody really screwed her. Maybe, I thought. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to let anyone in. What’s wrong with that? Who made it obligatory?�
“Walking over the bridge, past the marina, along a shady block of restaurants and bars, to Publix, which looks like a silver space-shell and is full of porn stars and fabricated beauties strolling the aisles in shoes not made for human feet. Their silhouettes seen from the coffee aisle, down near the illuminated fruits, are extreme. Their natural predators prowl the aisles, spying around boxes of soup.�
“He stepped closer, cracked open his whiskey mouth, and tongued a lip to think, peering up and down at me.�
“Well, it’s true: you started out knowing what you were made of and knowing you wanted to stay like that—stone—but then out of the blue one day somebody split you, and where you’d been solid now was a space.�
“So there you are, hankering for a small moment of pleasure of the sort you once had with a husband you really did love as well as you could and with a devil you should never have touched but he was hard to refuse, and of course with the one, the one who first split open your stupid young heart and you have never, ever, forgotten him, especially when he sailed back your way thirty years later and said Ahoy!, making you think that just maybe a miracle could happen and you would not remain the single-celled freak you seem to be, the paramecium or euglena you seem to be…�
“I nodded, and we gazed at the melting sun, the water tin-bright, not the green-blue paradise, and I didn’t have the heart to mention the difference between my mother and her mother, and me.�
“We sat side by side and studied the images on the screen as the neurologist clicked through them, beautiful, grainy gray images shifting slightly at each click like paint-on-glass, islands and bayous and eddies moving behind the bone of her nose. How lovely, my mother murmured, and, looking at the swirls and pools, I wondered which held the traces of her dancing the cancan in Indonesia, striding down a Delaware beach, riding the Metro at dawn to teach at Federal Triangle and riding it home again at dusk, twirling over the brown-and-gold rug, spilling her wine or martini, licking the tongue of one of those men at the kitchen table, being hit by another and driving in rage over a Los Angeles freeway, all the traces of the husbands and men and other husbands and men, and tending her plants, willfully killing her plants, finding a dead hummingbird and keeping it in the freezer to look at now and then, all the traces somewhere in the beautiful myriad wholrs and labyrinths of this brain we watched shift on the screen.�
Oh, wow. The physical descriptions of the brain next to these memories is such a wonderful juxtaposition.
“And maybe that’s enough. To have had some love some time. Even if it worked only awhile. It’s enough to have had some once and now to live with just pieces of it, and it’s all right if you spend what you still have on an old cat or duck, a few friends, your mother. Not everyone is paired on the ark.�
“Are written words part of the problem? Translating, transmuting part of the problem? Did words swim alone in people’s heads before writing was invented—I mean, did words exist in silence before writing, or never until they’d been blown past the teeth? Home, was it different then? Or has everyone always been a private pool of silent swimming words?�
“Walking over the bridge, past the marina, along a shady block of restaurants and bars, to Publix, which looks like a silver space-shell and is full of porn stars and fabricated beauties strolling the aisles in shoes not made for human feet. Their silhouettes seen from the coffee aisle, down near the illuminated fruits, are extreme. Their natural predators prowl the aisles, spying around boxes of soup.�
“He stepped closer, cracked open his whiskey mouth, and tongued a lip to think, peering up and down at me.�
“Well, it’s true: you started out knowing what you were made of and knowing you wanted to stay like that—stone—but then out of the blue one day somebody split you, and where you’d been solid now was a space.�
“So there you are, hankering for a small moment of pleasure of the sort you once had with a husband you really did love as well as you could and with a devil you should never have touched but he was hard to refuse, and of course with the one, the one who first split open your stupid young heart and you have never, ever, forgotten him, especially when he sailed back your way thirty years later and said Ahoy!, making you think that just maybe a miracle could happen and you would not remain the single-celled freak you seem to be, the paramecium or euglena you seem to be…�
“I nodded, and we gazed at the melting sun, the water tin-bright, not the green-blue paradise, and I didn’t have the heart to mention the difference between my mother and her mother, and me.�
“We sat side by side and studied the images on the screen as the neurologist clicked through them, beautiful, grainy gray images shifting slightly at each click like paint-on-glass, islands and bayous and eddies moving behind the bone of her nose. How lovely, my mother murmured, and, looking at the swirls and pools, I wondered which held the traces of her dancing the cancan in Indonesia, striding down a Delaware beach, riding the Metro at dawn to teach at Federal Triangle and riding it home again at dusk, twirling over the brown-and-gold rug, spilling her wine or martini, licking the tongue of one of those men at the kitchen table, being hit by another and driving in rage over a Los Angeles freeway, all the traces of the husbands and men and other husbands and men, and tending her plants, willfully killing her plants, finding a dead hummingbird and keeping it in the freezer to look at now and then, all the traces somewhere in the beautiful myriad wholrs and labyrinths of this brain we watched shift on the screen.�
Oh, wow. The physical descriptions of the brain next to these memories is such a wonderful juxtaposition.
“And maybe that’s enough. To have had some love some time. Even if it worked only awhile. It’s enough to have had some once and now to live with just pieces of it, and it’s all right if you spend what you still have on an old cat or duck, a few friends, your mother. Not everyone is paired on the ark.�
“Are written words part of the problem? Translating, transmuting part of the problem? Did words swim alone in people’s heads before writing was invented—I mean, did words exist in silence before writing, or never until they’d been blown past the teeth? Home, was it different then? Or has everyone always been a private pool of silent swimming words?�
Displaying 1 - 30 of 109 reviews
Can't find what you're looking for?
Get help and learn more about the design.