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I liked Song of the Lark better than both Oh Pioneers! and Death Comes for the Archbishop.
The first two thirds of Song--the Colorado and Chicago sections--I found engaging and rewarding. Once the protagonist moves to Germany, however, we are not allowed to follow her progress and development. We only hear of her through supporting characters.
Upon her return, we find out about her German experience in retrospect, but it is all talking heads. The latter part of the book seems to be mostly nostalgia, and little advancement.
It was interesting to me that the protagonist was open to Mexican society, as it were, but not above using the N word when referring to a domestic servant with whom she was vexed.
The epilogue--which might have just as easily been called a coda--was a delightful update of a character to whom we had been introduced in the early part of the novel. My only issue was that it resolved one of the great dramatic dilemmas of the novel in a rather offhand way. We deserved to know not only the resolution, but how it came about.
Recommended with minor reservations. I'm looking forward to My Antonia
The first two thirds of Song--the Colorado and Chicago sections--I found engaging and rewarding. Once the protagonist moves to Germany, however, we are not allowed to follow her progress and development. We only hear of her through supporting characters.
Upon her return, we find out about her German experience in retrospect, but it is all talking heads. The latter part of the book seems to be mostly nostalgia, and little advancement.
It was interesting to me that the protagonist was open to Mexican society, as it were, but not above using the N word when referring to a domestic servant with whom she was vexed.
The epilogue--which might have just as easily been called a coda--was a delightful update of a character to whom we had been introduced in the early part of the novel. My only issue was that it resolved one of the great dramatic dilemmas of the novel in a rather offhand way. We deserved to know not only the resolution, but how it came about.
Recommended with minor reservations. I'm looking forward to My Antonia
This is a novel about an artist, and here you see Cather’s vision of what art is, and what an artist has to sacrifice in order to fulfill her potential. The writing is gorgeous, as always. The first half of the novel is strongest, as we see Thea Kronberg growing up, finding her way. She’s the daughter of a preacher, in a small Colorado town named Moonstone. She shares her home with six siblings, and there’s never enough of anything to go around, so it’s not easy to carve out a niche as an individual.
However, Thea is very single-minded, and along the way, she finds people who see her as special, including her piano teacher, Professor Wunsch, and the town doctor, Howard Archie, who treats her for pneumonia as the novel begins. When she goes to Chicago to study piano further, her teacher there discovers her exceptional singing voice. In these pages, Thea brushes against romance, but never allows it to distract her from her destiny.
Here are some of my favorite passages:
< A few people were trying to make soft maples grow in their turfed lawns, but the fashion of planting incongruous trees from the North Atlantic States had not become general then, and the frail, brightly painted desert town was shaded by the light-reflecting, wind-loving trees of the desert, whose roots are always seeking water, and whose leaves are always talking about it, making the sound of rain. >
< They were now about thirty miles from Denver, and the mountains looked very near. The great toothed wall behind which the sun had gone down now separated into four distinct ranges, one behind the other. They were a very pale blue, a colour scarcely stronger than wood smoke, and the sunset had left bright streaks in the snow-filled gorges. >
< Whenever the Kronborgs wanted to do anything, even to buy a new carpet, they had to take counsel together as to whether people would talk. Mrs. Kronborg had her own conviction that people talked when they felt like it, and said what they chose, no matter how the minister’s family conducted themselves. But she did not impart these dangerous ideas to her children. Thea was still under the belief that public opinion could be placated; that if you clucked often enough, the hens would mistake you as one of themselves. >
However, Thea is very single-minded, and along the way, she finds people who see her as special, including her piano teacher, Professor Wunsch, and the town doctor, Howard Archie, who treats her for pneumonia as the novel begins. When she goes to Chicago to study piano further, her teacher there discovers her exceptional singing voice. In these pages, Thea brushes against romance, but never allows it to distract her from her destiny.
Here are some of my favorite passages:
< A few people were trying to make soft maples grow in their turfed lawns, but the fashion of planting incongruous trees from the North Atlantic States had not become general then, and the frail, brightly painted desert town was shaded by the light-reflecting, wind-loving trees of the desert, whose roots are always seeking water, and whose leaves are always talking about it, making the sound of rain. >
< They were now about thirty miles from Denver, and the mountains looked very near. The great toothed wall behind which the sun had gone down now separated into four distinct ranges, one behind the other. They were a very pale blue, a colour scarcely stronger than wood smoke, and the sunset had left bright streaks in the snow-filled gorges. >
< Whenever the Kronborgs wanted to do anything, even to buy a new carpet, they had to take counsel together as to whether people would talk. Mrs. Kronborg had her own conviction that people talked when they felt like it, and said what they chose, no matter how the minister’s family conducted themselves. But she did not impart these dangerous ideas to her children. Thea was still under the belief that public opinion could be placated; that if you clucked often enough, the hens would mistake you as one of themselves. >
Thea Kronborg's voice is her ticket out of Colorado and onto the international opera circuit at the end of 19th century USA. Another of Willa Cather's strong, independent women who stepped OUT of the small town plan they were born into, and into individual greatness.
Beautifully written and definitely rich in detail. I found the story captivating, but very repetitive.
Sometimes books find you at just the right time. Last year, Home by Marilynne Robinson and Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner found me, both so important to me now. This year, The Song of the Lark did.
I think Willa Cather is fast becoming one of my favorite authors. There are so few that I know that have her power of conjuring up scenes and settings, and of capturing intangible emotion so perfectly. The way she writes - you're living it. Completely, one hundred percent, no holds barred.
And it's a breathtaking experience.
I also love how a book this "old" (it was published in 1915, and the story is set in the late 19th century) can feel so contemporary and modern.
But what I love most is Cather's way with words: the way she is able to convey feelings, emotions, and ideas that seemed intangible, until she somehow rendered them tangible. Seriously, the way she uses language to get certain sentiments across is unparalleled. I mean, listen to this:
"She ran for a long while about the white, moonlit streets, looking up at the stars and the bluish night, at the quiet houses sunk in the black shade, the glittering sand hills. She loved the familiar trees, and the people in those little houses, and she loved the unknown world beyond Denver. She felt as if she were being pulled in two, between the desire to go away forever and the desire to stay forever" (128).
God, so beautiful.
One more:
"It was a clear, frosty winter night. The great empty space over the water was restful and spoke of freedom. If she had any money at all, she would go away. The stars glittered over the wide black water. She looked up at them wearily and shook her head. She believed that what she felt was despair, but it was only one of the forms of hope. She felt, indeed, as if she were bidding the stars goodbye; but she was renewing a promise. Though their challenge is universal and eternal, the stars get no answer but that, - the brief light flashed back to them from the eyes of the young who unaccountably aspire" (240).
Wow. Just wow.
I could go on and on with these quotes, but I'll leave it at that.
I've also read few novels from this era with such sympathetic male characters, and such uncomplicated gender relations. Sure, it's still the late nineteenth century, so certain things are "not done," so to speak. And yes, Dr. Archie's infatuation with Thea from the time she is twelve (!) is mildly creepy for a modern reader, to say the least. But overall, Thea's interactions and relationships with the men in her life are free, lively, almost equal. I especially loved her connection to Fred. He never patronizes her, never treats her like she's fragile. He just loves her company, he loves exploring with her, being with her. It's probably one of the most refreshingly normal late-Victorian/Edwardian relationships I've read about.
Overall, I feel like there is so much in this book. It really warrants a second reading (which I'm sure I will, someday). Yes, this is a story about Thea following her passion for music, about hard work and dedication and rising from humble beginnings. In that sense, it's a very American novel.
But more than that, more than anything, this story is a paean to art - and to all that it can do.
I think Willa Cather is fast becoming one of my favorite authors. There are so few that I know that have her power of conjuring up scenes and settings, and of capturing intangible emotion so perfectly. The way she writes - you're living it. Completely, one hundred percent, no holds barred.
And it's a breathtaking experience.
I also love how a book this "old" (it was published in 1915, and the story is set in the late 19th century) can feel so contemporary and modern.
But what I love most is Cather's way with words: the way she is able to convey feelings, emotions, and ideas that seemed intangible, until she somehow rendered them tangible. Seriously, the way she uses language to get certain sentiments across is unparalleled. I mean, listen to this:
"She ran for a long while about the white, moonlit streets, looking up at the stars and the bluish night, at the quiet houses sunk in the black shade, the glittering sand hills. She loved the familiar trees, and the people in those little houses, and she loved the unknown world beyond Denver. She felt as if she were being pulled in two, between the desire to go away forever and the desire to stay forever" (128).
God, so beautiful.
One more:
"It was a clear, frosty winter night. The great empty space over the water was restful and spoke of freedom. If she had any money at all, she would go away. The stars glittered over the wide black water. She looked up at them wearily and shook her head. She believed that what she felt was despair, but it was only one of the forms of hope. She felt, indeed, as if she were bidding the stars goodbye; but she was renewing a promise. Though their challenge is universal and eternal, the stars get no answer but that, - the brief light flashed back to them from the eyes of the young who unaccountably aspire" (240).
Wow. Just wow.
I could go on and on with these quotes, but I'll leave it at that.
I've also read few novels from this era with such sympathetic male characters, and such uncomplicated gender relations. Sure, it's still the late nineteenth century, so certain things are "not done," so to speak. And yes, Dr. Archie's infatuation with Thea from the time she is twelve (!) is mildly creepy for a modern reader, to say the least. But overall, Thea's interactions and relationships with the men in her life are free, lively, almost equal. I especially loved her connection to Fred. He never patronizes her, never treats her like she's fragile. He just loves her company, he loves exploring with her, being with her. It's probably one of the most refreshingly normal late-Victorian/Edwardian relationships I've read about.
Overall, I feel like there is so much in this book. It really warrants a second reading (which I'm sure I will, someday). Yes, this is a story about Thea following her passion for music, about hard work and dedication and rising from humble beginnings. In that sense, it's a very American novel.
But more than that, more than anything, this story is a paean to art - and to all that it can do.
Had this been my first Willa Cather book instead of My Antonia, I would never have read anything else of hers. The first third is good, but then it feels like Cather abandoned her story to MAKE HER POINT with all the subtlety I usually associate with Ayn Rand. The characters become flat--her family barely gets one dimension in the later part of the book--and one has to slog through hundreds of pages of what it means to be an artist. Not even Cather can pull this off--I've never read anyone who could. As soon as an author descends into having to TELL rather than SHOW, the point is lost.
A long slog--even as an audio book.
A long slog--even as an audio book.
This is the weakest of Cather's Great Plains Trilogy. There's too much adoration of opera and singing technique, which is boring to read. And for as much time as Cather spent describing Thea Kronborg, I didn't come away with a great understanding of who she was and what she felt for other people.
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
medium-paced
Uf, Samur. Se me ha hecho muy difícil soportar a la Thea adulta y famosa que se convierte en una mujer absolutamente centrada en sí misma (todas sus conversaciones con Fred y Archie giran en torno a ella), insensible a las necesidades de los demás (yo estaría dentro de ese grupo de comadres de Moonstone que comentan cómo es posible que no se lleve a su tía a vivir con ella) y demasiado autocomplaciente y consciente de su propio talento. Thea es soberbia y egocéntrica, y entiendo por qué, comprendo que no es incoherente ni inverosímil, pero...en fin, ha sido difícil.
La Thea niña y adolescente de Moonstone y Chicago, en cambio, compensan para mí a la Thea adulta, porque el libro vuelve ahí a navegar en las aguas que Cather tan bien conocía y dominaba: las de lo pobres en pueblos pequeños, las de los pueblos pequeños en inmensos territorios. No es que haya sido una mala lectura, en absoluto, pero tanto énfasis en el talento sin igual de Thea me han dado un poco de cringe. Prefiero mis personajes un poco más mundanos, soy así de simple.
La Thea niña y adolescente de Moonstone y Chicago, en cambio, compensan para mí a la Thea adulta, porque el libro vuelve ahí a navegar en las aguas que Cather tan bien conocía y dominaba: las de lo pobres en pueblos pequeños, las de los pueblos pequeños en inmensos territorios. No es que haya sido una mala lectura, en absoluto, pero tanto énfasis en el talento sin igual de Thea me han dado un poco de cringe. Prefiero mis personajes un poco más mundanos, soy así de simple.