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holdentwalker 's review for:
White Oleander
by Janet Fitch
“I’ll get to it eventually,” I said, not expecting to like White Oleander very much but recognising that it’s a bit of a modern classic and considered a deeply influential work of California literature. Well, eventually did come, and I read White Oleander.
I’m disappointed we don’t write novels like this very often anymore, novels that are deeply interested in pushing boundaries, showing something dirty, getting under your skin, and doing it in the most beautifully crafted prose you can imagine. It’s very Nabokov in that way.
White Oleander is about a mother and daughter relationship, which put me off reading it for a while because it didn’t really seem like the kind of story that would resonate with me, but I didn’t need it to; I was so infatuated with the raw emotion that it conjured, ultimately painting a tragedy that would make Shakespeare blush.
After her mother “allegedly” murders an ex-lover by poisoning him with white oleander, Astrid is in and out of foster care from the ages of 12 to 18. She integrates into three very different foster home environments that provide her with life-altering wisdom, but also substantial grief and trauma.
It’s difficult to know whether I should characterise this as a new favourite novel. I don’t think it’s super characteristic of my usual taste profile, so if I were to tell someone that this was one of my favourite books, I don’t think that would give an accurate description of the kind of novels I enjoy. But something must be said for the sheer talent and storytelling quality that this novel brings to the table.
I’m disappointed we don’t write novels like this very often anymore, novels that are deeply interested in pushing boundaries, showing something dirty, getting under your skin, and doing it in the most beautifully crafted prose you can imagine. It’s very Nabokov in that way.
White Oleander is about a mother and daughter relationship, which put me off reading it for a while because it didn’t really seem like the kind of story that would resonate with me, but I didn’t need it to; I was so infatuated with the raw emotion that it conjured, ultimately painting a tragedy that would make Shakespeare blush.
After her mother “allegedly” murders an ex-lover by poisoning him with white oleander, Astrid is in and out of foster care from the ages of 12 to 18. She integrates into three very different foster home environments that provide her with life-altering wisdom, but also substantial grief and trauma.
It’s difficult to know whether I should characterise this as a new favourite novel. I don’t think it’s super characteristic of my usual taste profile, so if I were to tell someone that this was one of my favourite books, I don’t think that would give an accurate description of the kind of novels I enjoy. But something must be said for the sheer talent and storytelling quality that this novel brings to the table.