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3.66 AVERAGE
3.66 AVERAGE
Beautifully written and therefore easy to read. Good story, credible characters .
This is a beautifully subtle portrait of a marriage in later age (Gerry's and Stella's ages are never stated, except at one point Stella is, at 65, considered too old for something she'd dreamed of doing). We witness (and recognise) their minor and major irritations with each other; the fact that love-making doesn't stop; we discover the things each is and isn't aware of in the other and the affection and the irritation each finds in the other and gives to the other. We watch the companionship and the separateness; the loneliness and the togetherness. We discover, with them, things remembered and things forgotten. Even though this book is about one weekend away in Amsterdam, there are two whole lives here, given to us in MacLaverty's economically expressive, looping back and forth, prose.
Midwinter Break ends neither happily nor unhappily, but there is hope. And these two lives will live on in your mind, I'm sure. They're in my mind as I write this and I know they'll turn up from time to time for a long time to come. They are both ordinary and extraordinary. They show us ourselves. And make us think about how we are in our own loneliness and togetherness. Beautifully done.
Midwinter Break ends neither happily nor unhappily, but there is hope. And these two lives will live on in your mind, I'm sure. They're in my mind as I write this and I know they'll turn up from time to time for a long time to come. They are both ordinary and extraordinary. They show us ourselves. And make us think about how we are in our own loneliness and togetherness. Beautifully done.
An astonishing, beautifully rendered portrait of a marriage unraveling in late middle age, MacLaverty's novel is destined to make my top 5 list for the year. His absolute control of his material is masterful, and how this failed to make the Booker longlist this year is beyond comprehension. Oddly, since the set-up (elderly couple going on holiday to sort out problems in their long marriage) reminded me initially of the 2014 movie 'Le Week-end', I pictured the actors from that (the estimable Jim Broadbent and Lindsay Duncan) as Gerry & Stella - and should a movie ever be made from this (and it would be excellent!), they wouldn't be the worst casting I can think of. Regardless, and despite the fact that the emphasis on Catholicism, alcoholism, and the Irish 'Troubles' has no real resonance for me, I found myself completely absorbed - to the point that I found myself chortling heartily in some parts and getting misty-eyed at others. Unhesitatingly recommended to all.
This is a book about a relationship between a retired married couple, and the fault lines which are coming to a head within their marriage. The book is set entirely in Amsterdam; as the title implies during a short holiday, but there are extensive flashbacks during which we learn of their troubled history in Northern Ireland.
The book details the 'crutches' which people use to survive their past traumas and current dilemmas, such as alcohol and religion. It is both funny and sad and ultimately quite satisfying, and provoked a lively and interesting discussion at my book club.
The book details the 'crutches' which people use to survive their past traumas and current dilemmas, such as alcohol and religion. It is both funny and sad and ultimately quite satisfying, and provoked a lively and interesting discussion at my book club.
From BBC Radio 4 - Book at Bedtime:
Bernard MacLaverty's first novel in sixteen years is a profound examination of human love, loss and faith.
A retired Northern Irish couple, Stella and Gerry Gilmore, fly from their home in Glasgow to Amsterdam for a long weekend: a holiday to refresh the senses, to do some sightseeing, to take stock. Their relationship seems safe, easy, familiar but over the course of a few days we discover the deep uncertainties that exist between them. Gerry, once an architect, is a heavy drinker who is set in his ways. Stella is tired of his lifestyle, worried about their marriage and angry at his constant undermining of her religious faith.
The novel has been described by Colm Toibin as: "...a work of extraordinary emotional precision and sympathy, about coming to terms - to an honest reckoning - with love and the loss of love, with memory and pain... This is a novel of great ambition by an artist at the height of his powers."
Reader: Frances Tomelty
Writer: Bernard MacLaverty
Abridger: Kirsteen Cameron
Producer: Kirsteen Cameron.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b090wy34
Bernard MacLaverty's first novel in sixteen years is a profound examination of human love, loss and faith.
A retired Northern Irish couple, Stella and Gerry Gilmore, fly from their home in Glasgow to Amsterdam for a long weekend: a holiday to refresh the senses, to do some sightseeing, to take stock. Their relationship seems safe, easy, familiar but over the course of a few days we discover the deep uncertainties that exist between them. Gerry, once an architect, is a heavy drinker who is set in his ways. Stella is tired of his lifestyle, worried about their marriage and angry at his constant undermining of her religious faith.
The novel has been described by Colm Toibin as: "...a work of extraordinary emotional precision and sympathy, about coming to terms - to an honest reckoning - with love and the loss of love, with memory and pain... This is a novel of great ambition by an artist at the height of his powers."
Reader: Frances Tomelty
Writer: Bernard MacLaverty
Abridger: Kirsteen Cameron
Producer: Kirsteen Cameron.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b090wy34
2 and a half stars just....
There was lots to like about the story. I enjoyed the time that Stella and Gerry had wandering around Amsterdam. I enjoyed their cute couple moments - the kiss in the lift, the little in-jokes and intimacies that can only occur over time and with love. It was sad seeing this obvious once-love being destroyed by Gerry's alcoholism.
He wasn't an abusive, violent drunk. There was no need to be scared of Gerry or to fear him. He was a bumbling, deceptive, in-denial drunk. He was sloppy and mocking and selfish.
It was interesting to see how the major event in their marriage - Stella being shot whilst pregnant - was a turning point for all of them, in such different ways. After she had recovered, and the baby survived as well, they made the decision together to leave Ireland for the safer option of Scotland. However, at the time of the shooting, Stella vowed and said a prayer,
Spare the child in my womb and I will devote the rest of my life to YOU.
She viewed the survival of her son as a miracle that had to be atoned - a spiritual debt that had to be repaid - by good deeds, to improve the world through kindness and justice and equality.
Gerry simply saw Stella's survival and the birth of Michael as the miracle,
To him her presence was as important as the world. And the stars around it. If she was an instance of the goodness in this world then passing through by her side was miracle enough.
The tragedy being that he was just pissing all that goodness away.
Full review here - http://bronasbooks.blogspot.com.au/2018/03/midwinter-break-by-bernard-maclaverty.html
There was lots to like about the story. I enjoyed the time that Stella and Gerry had wandering around Amsterdam. I enjoyed their cute couple moments - the kiss in the lift, the little in-jokes and intimacies that can only occur over time and with love. It was sad seeing this obvious once-love being destroyed by Gerry's alcoholism.
He wasn't an abusive, violent drunk. There was no need to be scared of Gerry or to fear him. He was a bumbling, deceptive, in-denial drunk. He was sloppy and mocking and selfish.
It was interesting to see how the major event in their marriage - Stella being shot whilst pregnant - was a turning point for all of them, in such different ways. After she had recovered, and the baby survived as well, they made the decision together to leave Ireland for the safer option of Scotland. However, at the time of the shooting, Stella vowed and said a prayer,
Spare the child in my womb and I will devote the rest of my life to YOU.
She viewed the survival of her son as a miracle that had to be atoned - a spiritual debt that had to be repaid - by good deeds, to improve the world through kindness and justice and equality.
Gerry simply saw Stella's survival and the birth of Michael as the miracle,
To him her presence was as important as the world. And the stars around it. If she was an instance of the goodness in this world then passing through by her side was miracle enough.
The tragedy being that he was just pissing all that goodness away.
Full review here - http://bronasbooks.blogspot.com.au/2018/03/midwinter-break-by-bernard-maclaverty.html
I suppose we’re lucky to have each other to ignore.
Midwinter Break is a beautifully written story of a retired couple, Gerry an atheist and an architect and Stella a pious Catholic and teacher, from Northern Ireland but now living in Scotland, their one son grown-up with a child of his own and living far away in Canada.
The novel opens with a description of Gerry and Stella's bedtime routines, ones which highlight the problems at the core of their marriage Gerry's alcoholism and something in Stella's past leaving her with physical and both of them with mental scars - and how, in their flat, they each seek refuge from the other:
Gerry sat staring ahead. The television was off and the place silent. There was a cone of light above his head which left the rest of the room in darkness. He considered the sofa a defensible space. It had a concavity which fitted him exactly. Everything he needed was to hand – favourite books – music and film guides, CDs. His architecture books were shelved in the study. In the bathroom Stella had just gone through her pre-bed routine. He heard the snap of the bolt as she came out.
'Goodnight,' she said. She came to the end of the sofa smelling of toothpaste and finger-waved a little before going. 'Don't forget we have an early start.'
He waited until he heard the bedroom door close then went to the drinks cupboard. In the kitchen he filled the Kilkenny jug. Back at the cupboard he poured himself a whiskey in his favourite tumbler and topped it to the brim with water. He liked the heaviness of the Waterford crystal, the heft of it – it made the drink feel more substantial, more potent. He went back to the sofa and set the drink on the bookshelf. It glowed yellow in the light. The shelf was lower than the arm of the sofa so that if his wife came in again she would not see it. Not that he was trying to hide it from her – he would say to anyone and everyone, 'At night when Stella goes to bed I have a substantial dram and listen to music.' But with the glass out of sight she could not see the volume.
...
She said goodnight to Gerry and, on her way to the bedroom, passed their luggage in the hall. She switched on the late night news on the small radio beside her bed and got into her pyjamas. Quickly, because the bedroom air was cold. She saw no point in paying good money to heat a room all day for a minute's comfort last thing at night.
Before getting into bed she turned off the electric blanket. Now and again she'd fallen asleep with it still on. By the time Gerry came to bed she felt and looked awful. 'Like fried bacon,' was the way he described her.
She loved this hour to herself – this separation at the end of every day. Her hot-water bottle, the electric blanket, the radio voices. Gerry, out of action, in another room listening to music on his headphones. Having a nightcap, no doubt. Or two or three.
The storm doors locked, the windows bolted. The place safe. Sometimes after the news she read for a while in the silence. The sound of a page turning. The absence of talk. But of late she'd been too tired to read, even to hold a book. Hardbacks were out of the question. There was a tipping point when she knew she was going to 'get over'. Her head would go down on the pillow, her hand creep out from under the covers to get rid of the book or to switch off the radio. The duties and the menus and the lists melted away. Responsibilities were such that nothing could be done at this hour. They were hidden behind a curtain but would return with a swish first thing in the morning. And before she knew, she was sound asleep.
And yet when he comes to bed:
In the bedroom the breathing was long and slow. He walked around to his own side. In his absence she had moved to the middle. The warm cave, with the person lying soft at its centre. His pillows seemed to fall naturally into the gap between his cheek and shoulder. The cave was redolent with cotton smell. He aligned himself to her. Her heel to his instep, knee to back of knee, bum to lap. They were as soft, stacked chairs. Momentarily the steady breathing stopped. She was aware of his arrival and softly ground herself backwards against him. In response he put his arm over her. Her pyjama jacket had ridden up and his now cool fingers accidentally touched the scar on her stomach. Hollow like another navel, a skin pucker. With another one behind her to match. Marked fore and aft, she was.
The bags are packed for a midwinter break to Amsterdam, one which Stella has planned for a confrontation of sorts with Gerry and a visit to the peaceful refuge of the Begijnhof (a place I haven't visited, but I have often been to the similar and very moving Begijnhof in Bruges), a quiet oasis in the middle of the city
As the novel progresses, we learn (by a perhaps unnecessarily drawn out revelation) what happened in Stella's past and why she is so keen to visit the Begijnhof.
But we also learn that the quote that opens my review is not true at all - both Stella and Gerry are in fact aware of each other's respective hurt.
Recommended.
Midwinter Break is a beautifully written story of a retired couple, Gerry an atheist and an architect and Stella a pious Catholic and teacher, from Northern Ireland but now living in Scotland, their one son grown-up with a child of his own and living far away in Canada.
The novel opens with a description of Gerry and Stella's bedtime routines, ones which highlight the problems at the core of their marriage Gerry's alcoholism and something in Stella's past leaving her with physical and both of them with mental scars - and how, in their flat, they each seek refuge from the other:
Gerry sat staring ahead. The television was off and the place silent. There was a cone of light above his head which left the rest of the room in darkness. He considered the sofa a defensible space. It had a concavity which fitted him exactly. Everything he needed was to hand – favourite books – music and film guides, CDs. His architecture books were shelved in the study. In the bathroom Stella had just gone through her pre-bed routine. He heard the snap of the bolt as she came out.
'Goodnight,' she said. She came to the end of the sofa smelling of toothpaste and finger-waved a little before going. 'Don't forget we have an early start.'
He waited until he heard the bedroom door close then went to the drinks cupboard. In the kitchen he filled the Kilkenny jug. Back at the cupboard he poured himself a whiskey in his favourite tumbler and topped it to the brim with water. He liked the heaviness of the Waterford crystal, the heft of it – it made the drink feel more substantial, more potent. He went back to the sofa and set the drink on the bookshelf. It glowed yellow in the light. The shelf was lower than the arm of the sofa so that if his wife came in again she would not see it. Not that he was trying to hide it from her – he would say to anyone and everyone, 'At night when Stella goes to bed I have a substantial dram and listen to music.' But with the glass out of sight she could not see the volume.
...
She said goodnight to Gerry and, on her way to the bedroom, passed their luggage in the hall. She switched on the late night news on the small radio beside her bed and got into her pyjamas. Quickly, because the bedroom air was cold. She saw no point in paying good money to heat a room all day for a minute's comfort last thing at night.
Before getting into bed she turned off the electric blanket. Now and again she'd fallen asleep with it still on. By the time Gerry came to bed she felt and looked awful. 'Like fried bacon,' was the way he described her.
She loved this hour to herself – this separation at the end of every day. Her hot-water bottle, the electric blanket, the radio voices. Gerry, out of action, in another room listening to music on his headphones. Having a nightcap, no doubt. Or two or three.
The storm doors locked, the windows bolted. The place safe. Sometimes after the news she read for a while in the silence. The sound of a page turning. The absence of talk. But of late she'd been too tired to read, even to hold a book. Hardbacks were out of the question. There was a tipping point when she knew she was going to 'get over'. Her head would go down on the pillow, her hand creep out from under the covers to get rid of the book or to switch off the radio. The duties and the menus and the lists melted away. Responsibilities were such that nothing could be done at this hour. They were hidden behind a curtain but would return with a swish first thing in the morning. And before she knew, she was sound asleep.
And yet when he comes to bed:
In the bedroom the breathing was long and slow. He walked around to his own side. In his absence she had moved to the middle. The warm cave, with the person lying soft at its centre. His pillows seemed to fall naturally into the gap between his cheek and shoulder. The cave was redolent with cotton smell. He aligned himself to her. Her heel to his instep, knee to back of knee, bum to lap. They were as soft, stacked chairs. Momentarily the steady breathing stopped. She was aware of his arrival and softly ground herself backwards against him. In response he put his arm over her. Her pyjama jacket had ridden up and his now cool fingers accidentally touched the scar on her stomach. Hollow like another navel, a skin pucker. With another one behind her to match. Marked fore and aft, she was.
The bags are packed for a midwinter break to Amsterdam, one which Stella has planned for a confrontation of sorts with Gerry and a visit to the peaceful refuge of the Begijnhof (a place I haven't visited, but I have often been to the similar and very moving Begijnhof in Bruges), a quiet oasis in the middle of the city
As the novel progresses, we learn (by a perhaps unnecessarily drawn out revelation) what happened in Stella's past and why she is so keen to visit the Begijnhof.
But we also learn that the quote that opens my review is not true at all - both Stella and Gerry are in fact aware of each other's respective hurt.
Recommended.
Gerry is a retired architect and lecturer. His wife Stella used to be a teacher. Like the author himself, they are Irish but have lived for a long time in Glasgow. Their marriage is a long-lived one and, to all appearances, they are close and in love. Yet, their relationship is growing hollow, drained by Gerry's alcoholism and Stella's increasing exasperation at his constant criticism of her committed Catholic faith. Things come to a head during a brief stay in Amsterdam - the "Midwinter Break" of the title - where we learn that the marriage is also darkened by the shadow of the Irish troubles.
Reading Bernard MacLaverty is like watching a master craftsman at work. Consider the following description of a busy coffee-shop:
Coffee places were so noisy. This one sounded like they were making the Titanic rather than cups of coffee - the grinder going at maximum volume, screaming on and on - making enough coffee grounds for the whole of Europe while another guy was shooting steam through milk with supersonic hissing. A girl unpacked a dishwasher, clacking plates and saucers into piles. A third barista was banging the metal coffee-holder against the rim of the stainless steel bar to empty it - but doing it with such venom and volume that Gerry jumped at every strike. Talking was impossible. It was so bad he couldn't even hear if there was muzak or not. And still the grinder went on and on trying to reduce a vessel of brown-black beans to dust. Stella had to yell her order.
In a few lines of deceptively simple description, MacLaverty conjures up the scene in uncanny detail, while also giving us an inkling of his protagonists’ thoughts and inner turmoil.
The same keen sense of observation is brought to bear on the couple’s marriage and on the subjects of old age, sectarian violence, alcoholism and faith. These are the catalysts for the couple's drifting apart, even though there is much to show that at heart they do care for each other. As for the author’s attitude towards religion, I liked the fact that, despite no longer being a believer let alone a practising Catholic, he treats Stella’s faith with both understanding and delicacy.
This is, in many ways, a brilliant novel. But be prepared – because of its subjects, I found it also unremittingly bleak
Reading Bernard MacLaverty is like watching a master craftsman at work. Consider the following description of a busy coffee-shop:
Coffee places were so noisy. This one sounded like they were making the Titanic rather than cups of coffee - the grinder going at maximum volume, screaming on and on - making enough coffee grounds for the whole of Europe while another guy was shooting steam through milk with supersonic hissing. A girl unpacked a dishwasher, clacking plates and saucers into piles. A third barista was banging the metal coffee-holder against the rim of the stainless steel bar to empty it - but doing it with such venom and volume that Gerry jumped at every strike. Talking was impossible. It was so bad he couldn't even hear if there was muzak or not. And still the grinder went on and on trying to reduce a vessel of brown-black beans to dust. Stella had to yell her order.
In a few lines of deceptively simple description, MacLaverty conjures up the scene in uncanny detail, while also giving us an inkling of his protagonists’ thoughts and inner turmoil.
The same keen sense of observation is brought to bear on the couple’s marriage and on the subjects of old age, sectarian violence, alcoholism and faith. These are the catalysts for the couple's drifting apart, even though there is much to show that at heart they do care for each other. As for the author’s attitude towards religion, I liked the fact that, despite no longer being a believer let alone a practising Catholic, he treats Stella’s faith with both understanding and delicacy.
This is, in many ways, a brilliant novel. But be prepared – because of its subjects, I found it also unremittingly bleak