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A review by emmastens
After This by Alice McDermott
3.0
After This is not the book that the paperback blurb promises it will be. Do not read this novel expecting that the plot will develop into a climax in which "the youngest, Clare, commits a stunning transgression after a childhood spent pleasing her parents"—in fact, do not read this novel expecting an explosive, stunning climax of any sort. This is not a juicy multi-generational drama. This is a novel about white Catholic middle-class people doing white Catholic middle-class things, and the gradual decline of that lifestyle's viability. This could be boring, if not for McDermott's refined, elegantly wrought prose.
This is a sparse, plot-light but time-rich novel: Virginia Woolf's influence looms heavily over the text, sometimes to a fault. Particularly towards the beginning of the novel, images of the wind that will eventually "scatter" the Keane children around the world feel too frequent and clunky, but as the novel progresses, McDermott learns how to distinguish herself from Woolf as opposed to imitating her, and this is where the novel improves. She distinguishes herself through class; after all, this is a middle-class novel, not an upper-class novel, and the daily habits and concerns can't quite be the same. The distinction between Woolf and McDermott is particularly evident in the following passage, in which the family patriarch attempts a [b:To the Lighthouse|59716|To the Lighthouse|Virginia Woolf|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1346239665l/59716._SY75_.jpg|1323448]:-esque reflection:
Her characters ponder their place in the world, but also where they'll take their next vacation, or how the building of the church is getting on. McDermott is at her most observant, and most thoughtful, when she pinpoints the middle-class lifestyle and the way it is shaped by the passage of time and the demands of American life. The gaps in her narrative can sometimes feel lazy instead of purposeful, and the style occasionally derivative, but the observations on middle-class life make this a worthwhile read.
This is a sparse, plot-light but time-rich novel: Virginia Woolf's influence looms heavily over the text, sometimes to a fault. Particularly towards the beginning of the novel, images of the wind that will eventually "scatter" the Keane children around the world feel too frequent and clunky, but as the novel progresses, McDermott learns how to distinguish herself from Woolf as opposed to imitating her, and this is where the novel improves. She distinguishes herself through class; after all, this is a middle-class novel, not an upper-class novel, and the daily habits and concerns can't quite be the same. The distinction between Woolf and McDermott is particularly evident in the following passage, in which the family patriarch attempts a [b:To the Lighthouse|59716|To the Lighthouse|Virginia Woolf|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1346239665l/59716._SY75_.jpg|1323448]:-esque reflection:
Man is immortal, John Keane thought, or he is not. And if he is, there’s the whole question of whom you pray to. If he’s not, then prayer is wishful thinking.
You either pray to the dead or you don’t.
But the real question before them this winter evening, the six men on the building committee, the pastor, the two priests, the architect, the account, and the dead, beloved pope who still smiled at them in oil from the end of the rectory dining room, was far simpler: Could they break ground in the spring?
Her characters ponder their place in the world, but also where they'll take their next vacation, or how the building of the church is getting on. McDermott is at her most observant, and most thoughtful, when she pinpoints the middle-class lifestyle and the way it is shaped by the passage of time and the demands of American life. The gaps in her narrative can sometimes feel lazy instead of purposeful, and the style occasionally derivative, but the observations on middle-class life make this a worthwhile read.