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A review by robk
Enon by Paul Harding
4.0
When I first started reading Enon, by Paul Harding, I didn't know quite what to think. The narrative seemed fractured, almost schizophrenic, and I found the disjointed narrator frustrating. It felt like each paragraph was a separate vignette in a collage of confused anecdotes. I felt like Harding was trying to do with writing what the impressionists did with painting--and I wasn't liking it.
Then something happened. I don't know exactly what, but I must have just stepped back and let the master do his work. Eventually the narrative began to become discernible amidst the broad rambling strokes of story, and the narrator's tragic life became heartbreakingly plain. The fragmented thoughts built gradually, through the narrator's introspection, into deeply saddening explorations of grief, pain, and violence.
I read Harding's first novel, Tinkers several years ago and loved the poetic musings on mortality and family life, so I expected this book to be a continuation of the theme--especially since this story takes place in the same town, and the narrator is the grandson of the first book's protagonist. Now, maybe I am misremembering Tinkers, but this second book feels like a great thematic departure. Less about love and beauty and more about darkness and violence, though the book is not particularly graphic. Instead, it's about the violence inherent in the human condition and in grief and selfishness.
This was truly a sad book, but one that was beautifully written and powerful. Tragic with just enough hope to pull us through.
Then something happened. I don't know exactly what, but I must have just stepped back and let the master do his work. Eventually the narrative began to become discernible amidst the broad rambling strokes of story, and the narrator's tragic life became heartbreakingly plain. The fragmented thoughts built gradually, through the narrator's introspection, into deeply saddening explorations of grief, pain, and violence.
I read Harding's first novel, Tinkers several years ago and loved the poetic musings on mortality and family life, so I expected this book to be a continuation of the theme--especially since this story takes place in the same town, and the narrator is the grandson of the first book's protagonist. Now, maybe I am misremembering Tinkers, but this second book feels like a great thematic departure. Less about love and beauty and more about darkness and violence, though the book is not particularly graphic. Instead, it's about the violence inherent in the human condition and in grief and selfishness.
This was truly a sad book, but one that was beautifully written and powerful. Tragic with just enough hope to pull us through.