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la_pirata 's review for:
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry
by Rachel Joyce
Ah, Harold Fry. An unforgettable journey in two ways, up the length of England, and into the heart of a very ordinary man who has faced extraordinary hardship. The audiobook experience was enhanced tremendously by being graced with the incomparable Jim Broadbent as its narrator, and the execution of the story is - like the actor's reading - pitch perfect. There are bits where you can feel the author pulling on the puppet strings just a little too hard, but overall the characters of Harold, Maureen, Queenie Hennesy and even the Girl at the Garage just "feel" like real people. You find yourself rooting for them, suffering with them, and thinking about them even when the book is over. The sweep of this novel is so huge that it's begging for a movie; but if it ever gets made, I sincerely hope they don't cheapen the thing by trying to turn the friendship between Harold and Queenie into a "romance". it's a much more rare thing than that, rare and beautiful, just like Harold Fry and his unlikely pilgrimage.
A further thought: After reading a few negative reviews centering on disappointment over the slow pace and lack of action, I want to say a couple of words in praise of the author's use of language. There are some very lovely phrases and images that made me think, "aaah"-- like at the end of a good poem. Rachel Joyce is especially good at describing people, weather and scenery in succinct and refreshing ways.
'The morning sky was a single blue, combed through with cloud, while a slip of moon still loitered behind trees.'
'He stood at the window, staring at the black scope of sky, and thought of his father glaring at the front door the day his mother left, as if persistence alone was enough to make it swing open and reveal her. He had set a chair there and two bottles. Hours he seemed to sit.
"She'll be back," he had said, and Harold had lay in his bed, his body so taut with listening he felt he was more silence than boy. In the morning, her frocks were strewn like empty mothers all over the small house.'
I mean, wow. For my taste, good, solid prose styling, with some neat flourishes, like the 'empty mothers' image in the second paragraph, go a long way toward making up for any storytelling flaws.
A further thought: After reading a few negative reviews centering on disappointment over the slow pace and lack of action, I want to say a couple of words in praise of the author's use of language. There are some very lovely phrases and images that made me think, "aaah"-- like at the end of a good poem. Rachel Joyce is especially good at describing people, weather and scenery in succinct and refreshing ways.
'The morning sky was a single blue, combed through with cloud, while a slip of moon still loitered behind trees.'
'He stood at the window, staring at the black scope of sky, and thought of his father glaring at the front door the day his mother left, as if persistence alone was enough to make it swing open and reveal her. He had set a chair there and two bottles. Hours he seemed to sit.
"She'll be back," he had said, and Harold had lay in his bed, his body so taut with listening he felt he was more silence than boy. In the morning, her frocks were strewn like empty mothers all over the small house.'
I mean, wow. For my taste, good, solid prose styling, with some neat flourishes, like the 'empty mothers' image in the second paragraph, go a long way toward making up for any storytelling flaws.