Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.55 AVERAGE
3.55 AVERAGE
Interesting but ultimately not as inventive as Baker's previous novel, Longbourn. I am somewhat prejudiced against World War II novels because there are so many of them and they all begin to sound the same to me and struggle to say anything new. I hope this would be an exception but I was disappointed. Still worth picking up if you have an interest in Samuel Beckett's early adulthood.
I’ve never DNFed a book before,but I can’t get through this.
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
When I started reading this book I didn't know it was a fictionalised account of writer Samuel Beckett's time in occupied France during World War Two. I noticed a couple of chapters in that I had no idea what the main character's name was and the not knowing began to irritate me. Irrational perhaps, but it certainly tainted my reading. In a moment of distraction, flicking through the pages of the book I came across the author note and discovered the Beckett connection. Things made much more sense from this point, and I felt able to let go and really try and connect with the characters.
Having got over my annoyance I could start appreciating Jo Baker's writing. The descriptions of post-war France, particularly Paris, are lyrical and poetic despite their bleakness. Lines like "the half-broken, skin-and-bones, scraping-by life of the place" clearly evoke the feeling that while the war may be over, life has not returned to how it was and probably never will in a city marked by obvious scars like bullet holes in the walls and piles of rubble, but also the less obvious - the missing friends, family and neighbours, and the memories carried by all.
Having got over my annoyance I could start appreciating Jo Baker's writing. The descriptions of post-war France, particularly Paris, are lyrical and poetic despite their bleakness. Lines like "the half-broken, skin-and-bones, scraping-by life of the place" clearly evoke the feeling that while the war may be over, life has not returned to how it was and probably never will in a city marked by obvious scars like bullet holes in the walls and piles of rubble, but also the less obvious - the missing friends, family and neighbours, and the memories carried by all.
adventurous
challenging
dark
informative
inspiring
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Writing that's a joy to read, life in occupation for Irish writer
adventurous
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Wow! This one was a slow burn for me. A little harder to find my way into than Longbourn but once I was hooked I couldn't put it down. One of those books where you think, "oh, I have five minutes -- where's my book?". Also made me want to dip into the literature of that time, the Beckett and the Joyce, etc.
This novel has made me want to go back and read everything Samuel Beckett did. It is a beautiful portrayal of Jo Baker's vision of what life may have been like for Beckett when he was in France during WW2. It is bleak though, but the bleakness makes those moments of kindness and friendship and love all the more poignant and I love it. It is quite literary and I would recommend following it with a light and cheery read!
I wasn't super into this Baker novel. I generally really enjoy Jo Baker's work, but I felt really disconnected from the main character as I was reading. The story and overall plot is very interesting and the details are all there, but the emotions are not.
If it was possible to give more than five stars to A Country Road, A Tree I would. I'd give it 100 stars, but only if 100 was the maximum. I'd give it as many stars as any rating system would allow. It deserves a thousand. Because it's extraordinary in every sense: the prose is exquisite (and laconic which suits its subject perfectly); the story unfolds without frills, but never once loses pace or tension; the observations and descriptions feel both familiar and unique. A Country Road, A Tree is a novel I would love to have written.
The author, Jo Baker, first came across Samuel Beckett's work while studying for an MA in Irish Writing at Queen's University, Belfast, but in this novel it feels as if she's known his work, and the man himself, all her life. She does that wonderful thing: she infers and expects her readers to get the references (some I did, some I didn't - it doesn't matter, the point is she never patronises or explains, just like her subject). And she never underlines, let alone explains, the connections between Beckett's life and his work. I think she only mentions one work, Murphy, by name but the inspirations, the roots of his future work permeate the novel. Even the main character is never named but, by what he does and who his friends are, his identity is clear (he is named in the acknowledgements which I very often read first, so perhaps I gave myself an unfair advantage, but referring to her main character without a name so suited this novel and the nature of the man's work itself). And the vivid descriptions of hunger, cold, fear and pain are so well done that I felt all these things myself, despite not suffering from any of them. And the - few, but perfect - descriptions of writing.
A few examples:
and, finally (but I could have quoted most of the novel):
The author, Jo Baker, first came across Samuel Beckett's work while studying for an MA in Irish Writing at Queen's University, Belfast, but in this novel it feels as if she's known his work, and the man himself, all her life. She does that wonderful thing: she infers and expects her readers to get the references (some I did, some I didn't - it doesn't matter, the point is she never patronises or explains, just like her subject). And she never underlines, let alone explains, the connections between Beckett's life and his work. I think she only mentions one work, Murphy, by name but the inspirations, the roots of his future work permeate the novel. Even the main character is never named but, by what he does and who his friends are, his identity is clear (he is named in the acknowledgements which I very often read first, so perhaps I gave myself an unfair advantage, but referring to her main character without a name so suited this novel and the nature of the man's work itself). And the vivid descriptions of hunger, cold, fear and pain are so well done that I felt all these things myself, despite not suffering from any of them. And the - few, but perfect - descriptions of writing.
A few examples:
'If one is not writing, one is not quite oneself, don't you find?'[a question to the protagonist from his neighbour, Anna Beamish].
And he thinks: the sweaty sleepless nights in Ireland, heart racing, battling for breath. Frank's gentle company the only thing that could calm him. The two things are connected: the writing and the panic. He just had not put them together, until now.
'It's like snails make slime,' she's saying. 'One will never get along, much less be comfortable, if one doesn't write.'
The cold wakes him. His eyes open on to blackness and he can't make sense of it. Then he sees the stars. He feels the press of the earth against him, pushing at his heels, heaving up against his shoulder blades. His fingers twine into the cold grass, his nails dig into the ground; he is clinging on at the spin of it, the stars hurtling past, the giddy distances, the sick rush of a fairground ride, sticking him flat-backed against this cold earth. ... They sit, side by side, stiff, dew-damp and cold. ... he lifts his wrist and peers, but can't make out the hands. He lifts it to his ear and hears it ticking. She shuffles close, hungry for warmth. He ... plants a blind, awkward kiss - it lands on unwashed, dirty hair.
and, finally (but I could have quoted most of the novel):
This waiting; this attentisme. It has become a deliberate decision. Everyone is waiting to see how grand events will fall before they'll take a position, or do anything about anything at all. This is the politics of passivity, and it makes sense. But it is unconscionable. It is not to be bourne.
More enjoyable, perhaps, if you are a Samuel Beckett fan.