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I love to read Jenny Offill's work. I find the flow of her words immediately arresting and intensely engaging - I open to any page and am swept along by the current.
I've recently read both [b:Dept. of Speculation|19635587|Dept. of Speculation|Jenny Offill|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1420568869l/19635587._SY75_.jpg|24237023] and [b:Last Things|22856199|Last Things|Jenny Offill|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1421709146l/22856199._SY75_.jpg|2455612] (in that order), and whereas it isn't entirely necessary to do so to appreciate what Offill can do with language, it definitely allowed me some perspective on her craft as I read this. That having been said, with this particular author's style and framework in mind, I viewed this one as a little bit differently.
Her hallmark, of course, is compression. To be honest, reading her work puts me more in the mind of reading poetry than it does a traditional novel. The writing is composed in un-indented, spaced blocks of text - I think of these as "stanzas" rather than paragraphs, both in presentation and in rhythm, with a uniquely emotional scansion beneath and between them.
In Weather, I felt frustrated by this technique: the personality of the protagonist extrudes from the page, as if begging you to enter into conversation with them while at the same time never allowing a chance to speak. I used to know someone like that: it was as if they were terrified to stop talking, afraid they'd never get the chance again.
In some ways, that works for the overall gestalt of the piece: it is about unpredictability, chaos, and the differences between a disaster and an emergency. The title works in a million different ways, and I grin every time I think of another way to describe the book that correlates with that beautiful title. It's about currents, the secret patterns of movements within movement, and the obsession of trying to track them, in order to get ahead of them or harness their energy.
(Fake) spoiler alert: it's not possible.
I think this is something that Offill does really well, and has done twice now, depicting the ebbs and flows of relationships (specifically those of the marital variety) and often between parent and child - and in Weather, between siblings.
Much of this novel felt like it could exist an extrapolation of Offill's other work - for me, Lizzie blurred into the protagonist from Dept. of Speculation, and both felt like possible futures for Grace, out of Last Things. This is what frustrated me the most about this book: the protagonist's thoughts didn't feel very different in tone. Dept. of Speculation worked because of its laser focus, its very regulated progression, and Last Things worked because of its wide-ranging and voracious curiosity, but Weather suffers in that Lizzie doesn't feel as developed.
Perhaps it's a casualty of the topic. Weather is something that happens to someone - it's an external force. Whether (ha! another one) for good or for ill, this phenomenon is out of our control, which robs the protagonist of much agency. Much of this story deals with the effects of things we cannot control, and how we react to disaster, yet in true Offill fashion, also deals with the converse: what is within our control. By the end of this story, it is intimated that perhaps that is a wider scope that we think.
Near to the end, the story veered into the political. There's no way this could have been avoided - to do so would have been disingenuous. Any narrative that discusses disasters and emergencies in this modern age would be remiss if it didn't concern the precarious situation we find ourselves in today.
Personally, I shy away whenever I read anything that is so contemporary that it references (even elliptically) the former president, and/or deals with the rising tide of hatred and division that has hit a high-water mark in our country. To her credit, Offill refrains from making too much commentary in that area, and uses it largely as backdrop, but there are moments where it feels a bit like the author is trying to make a point, using the narrative in a way that feels odd to me.
It's not that one can't use a story to make a point, but there's something about this story, and Offill's technique: she writes to show the naked vulnerability of the protagonist's thoughts, and in a very confessional way. It's like having access to this person's head, and their beautiful, sensitive insights. It feels like there's an implied trust between you, as a reader, and the person whose thoughts you're reading, and I guess to feel that they in any way have been yoked to a political purpose feels like I'm being manipulated.
I'm not saying that this is what Offill is intending with this story, but this hesitation on my part is what weakened my experience with this book, moreso than the others. In addition, the marital situation and drift felt very much like a retread of the same from Dept. of Speculation. Because of the format, as well as the similarity between Lizzie and the protagonist from the earlier novel, I didn't really feel that their evolution as a couple added much that was different to this narrative.
I am still dazzled by Offill's intellect, empathy, and linguistic acuity, and I will continue to read whatever she chooses to put out in the world. There is a lot that I loved in this book: the sibling relationship is by turns tender, charming, and deeply, deeply sad; the parent-child relationship is quirky and delightful, and the protagonist's relationship with her older mentor is sharply hilarious. As always, the metaphors and poetic observations are breath-taking.
I'll be curious to see how this ages, if the world doesn't evolve from the current emergency into a future disaster. If it does, and if I survive, at least I'll have learned from this how to make a candle out of a (oil-packed) can of tuna and a small piece of newspaper.
I've recently read both [b:Dept. of Speculation|19635587|Dept. of Speculation|Jenny Offill|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1420568869l/19635587._SY75_.jpg|24237023] and [b:Last Things|22856199|Last Things|Jenny Offill|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1421709146l/22856199._SY75_.jpg|2455612] (in that order), and whereas it isn't entirely necessary to do so to appreciate what Offill can do with language, it definitely allowed me some perspective on her craft as I read this. That having been said, with this particular author's style and framework in mind, I viewed this one as a little bit differently.
Her hallmark, of course, is compression. To be honest, reading her work puts me more in the mind of reading poetry than it does a traditional novel. The writing is composed in un-indented, spaced blocks of text - I think of these as "stanzas" rather than paragraphs, both in presentation and in rhythm, with a uniquely emotional scansion beneath and between them.
In Weather, I felt frustrated by this technique: the personality of the protagonist extrudes from the page, as if begging you to enter into conversation with them while at the same time never allowing a chance to speak. I used to know someone like that: it was as if they were terrified to stop talking, afraid they'd never get the chance again.
In some ways, that works for the overall gestalt of the piece: it is about unpredictability, chaos, and the differences between a disaster and an emergency. The title works in a million different ways, and I grin every time I think of another way to describe the book that correlates with that beautiful title. It's about currents, the secret patterns of movements within movement, and the obsession of trying to track them, in order to get ahead of them or harness their energy.
(Fake) spoiler alert: it's not possible.
I think this is something that Offill does really well, and has done twice now, depicting the ebbs and flows of relationships (specifically those of the marital variety) and often between parent and child - and in Weather, between siblings.
Much of this novel felt like it could exist an extrapolation of Offill's other work - for me, Lizzie blurred into the protagonist from Dept. of Speculation, and both felt like possible futures for Grace, out of Last Things. This is what frustrated me the most about this book: the protagonist's thoughts didn't feel very different in tone. Dept. of Speculation worked because of its laser focus, its very regulated progression, and Last Things worked because of its wide-ranging and voracious curiosity, but Weather suffers in that Lizzie doesn't feel as developed.
Perhaps it's a casualty of the topic. Weather is something that happens to someone - it's an external force. Whether (ha! another one) for good or for ill, this phenomenon is out of our control, which robs the protagonist of much agency. Much of this story deals with the effects of things we cannot control, and how we react to disaster, yet in true Offill fashion, also deals with the converse: what is within our control. By the end of this story, it is intimated that perhaps that is a wider scope that we think.
Near to the end, the story veered into the political. There's no way this could have been avoided - to do so would have been disingenuous. Any narrative that discusses disasters and emergencies in this modern age would be remiss if it didn't concern the precarious situation we find ourselves in today.
Personally, I shy away whenever I read anything that is so contemporary that it references (even elliptically) the former president, and/or deals with the rising tide of hatred and division that has hit a high-water mark in our country. To her credit, Offill refrains from making too much commentary in that area, and uses it largely as backdrop, but there are moments where it feels a bit like the author is trying to make a point, using the narrative in a way that feels odd to me.
It's not that one can't use a story to make a point, but there's something about this story, and Offill's technique: she writes to show the naked vulnerability of the protagonist's thoughts, and in a very confessional way. It's like having access to this person's head, and their beautiful, sensitive insights. It feels like there's an implied trust between you, as a reader, and the person whose thoughts you're reading, and I guess to feel that they in any way have been yoked to a political purpose feels like I'm being manipulated.
I'm not saying that this is what Offill is intending with this story, but this hesitation on my part is what weakened my experience with this book, moreso than the others. In addition, the marital situation and drift felt very much like a retread of the same from Dept. of Speculation. Because of the format, as well as the similarity between Lizzie and the protagonist from the earlier novel, I didn't really feel that their evolution as a couple added much that was different to this narrative.
I am still dazzled by Offill's intellect, empathy, and linguistic acuity, and I will continue to read whatever she chooses to put out in the world. There is a lot that I loved in this book: the sibling relationship is by turns tender, charming, and deeply, deeply sad; the parent-child relationship is quirky and delightful, and the protagonist's relationship with her older mentor is sharply hilarious. As always, the metaphors and poetic observations are breath-taking.
I'll be curious to see how this ages, if the world doesn't evolve from the current emergency into a future disaster. If it does, and if I survive, at least I'll have learned from this how to make a candle out of a (oil-packed) can of tuna and a small piece of newspaper.