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A review by aprilmei
The Accidental Tourist by Anne Tyler
4.0
What a surprising treat of a book. Picked it up from the little free library box earlier this year just going by the title and cover illustration. Such developed, quirky characters and storyline, with unique perspectives on life observations. I'm a new fan and would like to read more of Anne Tyler's books, especially seeing that she won a Pulitzer Prize in 1988.
"He almost felt that Sarah was a ghost--that she was dead. In a way (he thought, turning off the faucet), she was dead, that young, vivid Sarah from their first enthusiastic apartment on Cold Spring Lane. When he tried to recall those days, any image of Sarah was altered by the fact that she had left him. When he pictured their introduction--back when they were barely out of childhood--it seemed nothing more than the beginning of their parting. When she had looked up at him that first night and rattled the ice cubes in her paper cup, they were already moving toward their last edgy, miserable year together, toward those months when anything either of them said was wrong, toward that sense of narrowly missed connections. They were like people who run to meet, holding out their arms, but their aim is wrong; they pass each other and keep running. It had all amounted to nothing, in the end. He gazed down at the sink, and the warmth from the dishes drifted gently up into his face." pg. 8
"But eventually he found himself conscious of his dreams--not borne along by them but tediously constructing them, quibbling over details. When it dawned on him that he was awake, he would open his eyes and squint at the clock radio. But it was only one a.m. At the latest, two. There were all those hours still to be survived." pg. 14
"Macon leaned back in his chair with his coffee mug cupped in both hands. The sun was warming the breakfast table, and the kitchen smelled of toast. He almost wondered whether, by some devious, subconscious means, he had engineered this injury--every elaborate step leading up to it--just so he could settle down safe among the people he'd started out with." pg. 58
"Her face was a type no longer seen--it wasn't just unfashionable, it had vanished altogether. How did women mold their basic forms to suit the times? Were there no more of those round chins, round foreheads, and bruised, baroque little mouths so popular in the forties?" pg. 59
"Lately, Macon had noticed he'd begun to view Sarah as a form of enemy. He'd stopped missing her and started plotting her remorsefulness. It surprised him to see how quickly he'd made the transition. Was this what two decades of marriage amounted to? He liked to imagine her self-reproaches. He composed and recomposed her apologies. He hadn't had such thoughts since he was a child, dreaming of how his mother would weep at his funeral." pg. 62-63
"He looked at her directly, hoping for flaws, and found them in abundance--a long, narrow nose, and sallow skin, and two freckled knobs of collarbone that promised an unluxurious body." pg. 101
"The trouble was, he decided, Julian had never had anything happen to him. His ruddy, cheerful face was unscarred by anything but sunburn; his only interest was a ridiculously inefficient form of transportation. His brief marriage had ended amicably. He had no children. Macon didn't want to sound prejudiced, but he couldn't help feeling that people who had no children had never truly grown up. They weren't entirely . . . real, he felt." pg. 109
"'When you think about it, it's funny,' she said. 'All that time Alexander was in the hospital seemed so awful, seemed it would go on forever, but now when I look back, I almost miss it. I mean there was something cozy about it, now that I recall. I think about those nurses gossiping at the nurses' station and those rows of little babies sleeping. It was winter and sometimes I'd stand at a window and look out and I'd feel happy to be warm and safe. I'd look down at the emergency room entrance and watch the ambulances coming in. You ever wonder what a Martian might think if he happened to land near an emergency room? He'd see an ambulance whizzing in and everybody running out to meet it, tearing the doors open, grabbing up the stretcher, scurrying along with it. "Why," he'd say, "what a helpful planet, what kind and helpful creatures." He'd never guess we're not always that way; that we had to, oh, put aside our natural selves to do it. "What a helpful race of beings," a Martian would say. Don't you think so?'" pg. 163
"Then he knew what mattered was the pattern of her life, that although he did not love her he loved the surprise of her, and also the surprise of himself when he was with her. In the foreign country that was Singleton Street he was an entirely different person. This person had never been suspected of narrowness, never been accused of chilliness; in fact, was mocked for his soft heart. And was anything but orderly." pg. 194
"'We didn't know how to have a childless Christmas anymore,' he said. 'I thought, "Well, after all, we managed before we had him, didn't we?" But in fact I couldn't remember how. It seemed to me we'd always had him; it's so unthinkable once you've got children that they ever didn't exist. I've noticed: I look back to when I was a boy, and it seems to me that Ethan was somehow there even then; just not yet visible, or something.'" pg. 210-211
"Also it wasn't Ethan. Not the real Ethan. Odd how clear it suddenly became, once a person had died, that the body was the very least of him. This was simply an untenanted shell, although it bore a distant resemblance to Ethan--the same groove down the upper lip, same cowlick over the forehead. Macon had a sensation like pressing against a blank wall, willing with all his being something that could never happen: Please, please come back inside. But finally he said, 'Yes. That is my son.'" pg. 292-293
"Thinking back on that conversation now, he began to believe that people could, in fact, be used up--could use each other up, could be of no further help to each other and maybe even do harm to each other. He began to think that who you are when you're with somebody may matter more than whether you love her." pg. 294
"The city of Paris, when he entered, was as wide and pale and luminous as a cool gray stare, and he admired the haze that hung over it." pg. 306
"'I suppose you realize what your life is going to be like,' she said. She climbed out of bed. She stood next to him in her nightgown, hugging her bare arms. 'You'll be one of those mismatched couples no one invites to parties. No one will know what to make of you. People will wonder whenever they meet you, "My God, what does he see in her? Why choose someone so inappropriate? It's grotesque, how does he put up with her?" And her friends will no doubt be asking the same about you.''That's probably true,' Macon said. He felt a mild stirring of interest; he saw now how such couples evolved. They were not, as he'd always supposed, the result of some ludicrous lack of perception, but had come together for reasons that the rest of the world would never guess." pg. 327
"And if dead people aged, wouldn't it be a comfort? To think of Ethan growing up in heaven--fourteen years old now instead of twelve--eased the grief a little. Oh, it was their immunity to time that made the dead so heartbreaking. (Look at the husband who dies young, the wife aging on without him; how sad to imagine the husband coming back to find her so changed.) Macon gazed out the cab window, considering the notion in his mind. He felt a kind of inner rush, a racing forward. The real adventure, he thought, is the flow of time; it's as much adventure as anyone could wish. And if he pictured Ethan still part of that flow--in some other place, however unreachable--he believed he might be able to bear it after all." pg. 329
Book: from the Little Free Library on 33rd Ave.
"He almost felt that Sarah was a ghost--that she was dead. In a way (he thought, turning off the faucet), she was dead, that young, vivid Sarah from their first enthusiastic apartment on Cold Spring Lane. When he tried to recall those days, any image of Sarah was altered by the fact that she had left him. When he pictured their introduction--back when they were barely out of childhood--it seemed nothing more than the beginning of their parting. When she had looked up at him that first night and rattled the ice cubes in her paper cup, they were already moving toward their last edgy, miserable year together, toward those months when anything either of them said was wrong, toward that sense of narrowly missed connections. They were like people who run to meet, holding out their arms, but their aim is wrong; they pass each other and keep running. It had all amounted to nothing, in the end. He gazed down at the sink, and the warmth from the dishes drifted gently up into his face." pg. 8
"But eventually he found himself conscious of his dreams--not borne along by them but tediously constructing them, quibbling over details. When it dawned on him that he was awake, he would open his eyes and squint at the clock radio. But it was only one a.m. At the latest, two. There were all those hours still to be survived." pg. 14
"Macon leaned back in his chair with his coffee mug cupped in both hands. The sun was warming the breakfast table, and the kitchen smelled of toast. He almost wondered whether, by some devious, subconscious means, he had engineered this injury--every elaborate step leading up to it--just so he could settle down safe among the people he'd started out with." pg. 58
"Her face was a type no longer seen--it wasn't just unfashionable, it had vanished altogether. How did women mold their basic forms to suit the times? Were there no more of those round chins, round foreheads, and bruised, baroque little mouths so popular in the forties?" pg. 59
"Lately, Macon had noticed he'd begun to view Sarah as a form of enemy. He'd stopped missing her and started plotting her remorsefulness. It surprised him to see how quickly he'd made the transition. Was this what two decades of marriage amounted to? He liked to imagine her self-reproaches. He composed and recomposed her apologies. He hadn't had such thoughts since he was a child, dreaming of how his mother would weep at his funeral." pg. 62-63
"He looked at her directly, hoping for flaws, and found them in abundance--a long, narrow nose, and sallow skin, and two freckled knobs of collarbone that promised an unluxurious body." pg. 101
"The trouble was, he decided, Julian had never had anything happen to him. His ruddy, cheerful face was unscarred by anything but sunburn; his only interest was a ridiculously inefficient form of transportation. His brief marriage had ended amicably. He had no children. Macon didn't want to sound prejudiced, but he couldn't help feeling that people who had no children had never truly grown up. They weren't entirely . . . real, he felt." pg. 109
"'When you think about it, it's funny,' she said. 'All that time Alexander was in the hospital seemed so awful, seemed it would go on forever, but now when I look back, I almost miss it. I mean there was something cozy about it, now that I recall. I think about those nurses gossiping at the nurses' station and those rows of little babies sleeping. It was winter and sometimes I'd stand at a window and look out and I'd feel happy to be warm and safe. I'd look down at the emergency room entrance and watch the ambulances coming in. You ever wonder what a Martian might think if he happened to land near an emergency room? He'd see an ambulance whizzing in and everybody running out to meet it, tearing the doors open, grabbing up the stretcher, scurrying along with it. "Why," he'd say, "what a helpful planet, what kind and helpful creatures." He'd never guess we're not always that way; that we had to, oh, put aside our natural selves to do it. "What a helpful race of beings," a Martian would say. Don't you think so?'" pg. 163
"Then he knew what mattered was the pattern of her life, that although he did not love her he loved the surprise of her, and also the surprise of himself when he was with her. In the foreign country that was Singleton Street he was an entirely different person. This person had never been suspected of narrowness, never been accused of chilliness; in fact, was mocked for his soft heart. And was anything but orderly." pg. 194
"'We didn't know how to have a childless Christmas anymore,' he said. 'I thought, "Well, after all, we managed before we had him, didn't we?" But in fact I couldn't remember how. It seemed to me we'd always had him; it's so unthinkable once you've got children that they ever didn't exist. I've noticed: I look back to when I was a boy, and it seems to me that Ethan was somehow there even then; just not yet visible, or something.'" pg. 210-211
"Also it wasn't Ethan. Not the real Ethan. Odd how clear it suddenly became, once a person had died, that the body was the very least of him. This was simply an untenanted shell, although it bore a distant resemblance to Ethan--the same groove down the upper lip, same cowlick over the forehead. Macon had a sensation like pressing against a blank wall, willing with all his being something that could never happen: Please, please come back inside. But finally he said, 'Yes. That is my son.'" pg. 292-293
"Thinking back on that conversation now, he began to believe that people could, in fact, be used up--could use each other up, could be of no further help to each other and maybe even do harm to each other. He began to think that who you are when you're with somebody may matter more than whether you love her." pg. 294
"The city of Paris, when he entered, was as wide and pale and luminous as a cool gray stare, and he admired the haze that hung over it." pg. 306
"'I suppose you realize what your life is going to be like,' she said. She climbed out of bed. She stood next to him in her nightgown, hugging her bare arms. 'You'll be one of those mismatched couples no one invites to parties. No one will know what to make of you. People will wonder whenever they meet you, "My God, what does he see in her? Why choose someone so inappropriate? It's grotesque, how does he put up with her?" And her friends will no doubt be asking the same about you.''That's probably true,' Macon said. He felt a mild stirring of interest; he saw now how such couples evolved. They were not, as he'd always supposed, the result of some ludicrous lack of perception, but had come together for reasons that the rest of the world would never guess." pg. 327
"And if dead people aged, wouldn't it be a comfort? To think of Ethan growing up in heaven--fourteen years old now instead of twelve--eased the grief a little. Oh, it was their immunity to time that made the dead so heartbreaking. (Look at the husband who dies young, the wife aging on without him; how sad to imagine the husband coming back to find her so changed.) Macon gazed out the cab window, considering the notion in his mind. He felt a kind of inner rush, a racing forward. The real adventure, he thought, is the flow of time; it's as much adventure as anyone could wish. And if he pictured Ethan still part of that flow--in some other place, however unreachable--he believed he might be able to bear it after all." pg. 329
Book: from the Little Free Library on 33rd Ave.