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A review by sarahsadiesmith
Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellmann
5.0
Reasons to read a book that is half a million words long, consists of 8 very long sentences, has 1000 pages that get really tiring to hold, contains no paragraphs, no chapters and is for all intents and purposes a dense wall of words that at times you think is going to collapse on top of you. The fact is, very few people will even try, but the reason you should is the thing is a masterpiece. No two ways about it. But it takes effort, at times it feels like one of those really difficult jigsaws, an impossipuzzle, except you’ve no picture to follow and you’re trying to do it with the pieces all back to front. And you need to give it a while for you to get your footing, it is difficult and disconcerting and if you’re the sort that abandons a book if it doesn’t capture you within 50 pages, this one isn’t for you. But if you can hold out eventually you’ll catch onto the rhythm of the prose, you’ll see wee patterns, you’ll find the humour, the insight, details will emerge and you’ll find yourself captivated.
The novel is written as a stream of consciousness, specifically of a middle aged mother of 4 from Ohio who bakes pies, there is a story that runs in parallel told from the perspective of a mountain lion, (of course) and it accounts for perhaps 5% of the text but is of itself really very powerful. And not surplus to requirement. It seems on the surface this book is an array of gimmicks, but nothing feels in the least contrived.
So what is it about? It’s very hard to pin it to any one thing, the narrative jumps from one topic of focus to another, and initially this is confusing but it soon becomes mesmerising, because who of us don’t do the same? We live in a time where there are so many facts, and news articles and endless topics of conversation, political discourse, environmental disaster, police barbarity, subjugation of minorities, opinions on beauty, on clothes, on how to be, on consumerism, capitalism and 100 millions things in between and this book covers them all, all from the perspective of our unnamed narrator, although I’m not sure narrator is quite the correct term here. We’re more just inside her head as opposed to there being a linear narrative you’d traditionally find in novels. It spirals back to some topics quite frequently, Donald Trump does not come off well (and nor should he, super callous fragile racist sexist nazi POTUS will forever be my favourite description of him) but it’s not like a republican/democrat thing, she’s none too fond of Hilary either, climate change is handled very well, scientific facts are interspersed with our narrators horror on what this means, there’s an overwhelming sense conveyed regarding the failures of mankind, and really you can’t say it isn’t true, man has ruined the planet, wiped out uncountably many species and it’s not done yet, it doesn’t take Greta to tell you man really is the scourge of the planet, not all men, and not just men. It’s a scathing indictment of modern America, particularly with respect to gun culture, and the inherent racial prejudice when it comes to police brutality. And yet, there is a deep abiding sense of hope in this novel, somehow we’ll all be okay in the end.
There’s a little more I want to write, so bear with me another minute or two. I’ve already covered some fairly big topics that this book is about, but it is a massive book so it shouldn’t be surprising it covers a lot, and it’s covered in depth. But in no small way this book is about mothers and daughters, their complex relationship, and this isn’t something I’m too fond in writing about to be honest but I shall try, our narrator has never quite gotten over the death of her mother, she muses on this frequently, how it broke her, and all her own complicated feelings about her mother, childhood memories can be funny, the things you remember and don’t and she’s able to look at this from the perspective of being a daughter but also of being a mother, wondering what her children will retain, and lose, her own daughter is in that awkward adolescent stage and experiencing that changes some of her own feelings from when she was that age. It is a nuanced portrayal of something that is very difficult to depict.
And the other thing is you know the saying how you never really know what someone is thinking, this is that, our pie baking middle aged mother is on the surface shy and anxious and will avoid confrontation, and does something I know too well, where you bear a conversation so as to be polite despite finding your conversee a complete unmensch. Yet her inner monologue is not what you’d expect, but we all, or most of us (maybe not the ones I sometimes have to try not to lose my temper mid conversation with, conversation may be a stretch it’s usually just a one sided monologue, invariably about their child/spawn of Satan #sorrynotsorry, reasons I shouldn’t write when I’m grumpy), anyway, as I was saying, most of us have this rich inner life, and think of an array of things, thoughts spiral around constantly, that you really don’t ever have any idea what someone else is musing over at any given time.
On the subject of thoughts, our protagonist (again not the right word) tries to employ a lot of self censorship, Djibouti replaces expletives, she won’t even say ass, in her head, it’s referred to as my sit me down upon, my oh mys are pants and any number of other little quirks like this, it’s actually a really very funny book, I only covered the dark side of things in this review but every page of this novel will raise a little smile, between the self censorship, and immediately addressing ambiguity in her thoughts, along with some of the micro-stories, the way her brain jumps from one thing to another, you see the logic to it, and all the wordplay and it all comes together as really very humorous.
I’ve written all this knowing that there are very few people who are going to pick up this book, it’s too long, too modern, too odd, too difficult and it’s all of these things but the only thing it’s too much of is that it’s too good, you’ll get very attached to our pie maker, you’ll want to know what she thinks, you’ll see that it’s not just you, that even when you try to suppress the bad thoughts, or things we don’t want to think about, they always have a way of creeping back in. And you are going to really really want tarte tatin.
The novel is written as a stream of consciousness, specifically of a middle aged mother of 4 from Ohio who bakes pies, there is a story that runs in parallel told from the perspective of a mountain lion, (of course) and it accounts for perhaps 5% of the text but is of itself really very powerful. And not surplus to requirement. It seems on the surface this book is an array of gimmicks, but nothing feels in the least contrived.
So what is it about? It’s very hard to pin it to any one thing, the narrative jumps from one topic of focus to another, and initially this is confusing but it soon becomes mesmerising, because who of us don’t do the same? We live in a time where there are so many facts, and news articles and endless topics of conversation, political discourse, environmental disaster, police barbarity, subjugation of minorities, opinions on beauty, on clothes, on how to be, on consumerism, capitalism and 100 millions things in between and this book covers them all, all from the perspective of our unnamed narrator, although I’m not sure narrator is quite the correct term here. We’re more just inside her head as opposed to there being a linear narrative you’d traditionally find in novels. It spirals back to some topics quite frequently, Donald Trump does not come off well (and nor should he, super callous fragile racist sexist nazi POTUS will forever be my favourite description of him) but it’s not like a republican/democrat thing, she’s none too fond of Hilary either, climate change is handled very well, scientific facts are interspersed with our narrators horror on what this means, there’s an overwhelming sense conveyed regarding the failures of mankind, and really you can’t say it isn’t true, man has ruined the planet, wiped out uncountably many species and it’s not done yet, it doesn’t take Greta to tell you man really is the scourge of the planet, not all men, and not just men. It’s a scathing indictment of modern America, particularly with respect to gun culture, and the inherent racial prejudice when it comes to police brutality. And yet, there is a deep abiding sense of hope in this novel, somehow we’ll all be okay in the end.
There’s a little more I want to write, so bear with me another minute or two. I’ve already covered some fairly big topics that this book is about, but it is a massive book so it shouldn’t be surprising it covers a lot, and it’s covered in depth. But in no small way this book is about mothers and daughters, their complex relationship, and this isn’t something I’m too fond in writing about to be honest but I shall try, our narrator has never quite gotten over the death of her mother, she muses on this frequently, how it broke her, and all her own complicated feelings about her mother, childhood memories can be funny, the things you remember and don’t and she’s able to look at this from the perspective of being a daughter but also of being a mother, wondering what her children will retain, and lose, her own daughter is in that awkward adolescent stage and experiencing that changes some of her own feelings from when she was that age. It is a nuanced portrayal of something that is very difficult to depict.
And the other thing is you know the saying how you never really know what someone is thinking, this is that, our pie baking middle aged mother is on the surface shy and anxious and will avoid confrontation, and does something I know too well, where you bear a conversation so as to be polite despite finding your conversee a complete unmensch. Yet her inner monologue is not what you’d expect, but we all, or most of us (maybe not the ones I sometimes have to try not to lose my temper mid conversation with, conversation may be a stretch it’s usually just a one sided monologue, invariably about their child/spawn of Satan #sorrynotsorry, reasons I shouldn’t write when I’m grumpy), anyway, as I was saying, most of us have this rich inner life, and think of an array of things, thoughts spiral around constantly, that you really don’t ever have any idea what someone else is musing over at any given time.
On the subject of thoughts, our protagonist (again not the right word) tries to employ a lot of self censorship, Djibouti replaces expletives, she won’t even say ass, in her head, it’s referred to as my sit me down upon, my oh mys are pants and any number of other little quirks like this, it’s actually a really very funny book, I only covered the dark side of things in this review but every page of this novel will raise a little smile, between the self censorship, and immediately addressing ambiguity in her thoughts, along with some of the micro-stories, the way her brain jumps from one thing to another, you see the logic to it, and all the wordplay and it all comes together as really very humorous.
I’ve written all this knowing that there are very few people who are going to pick up this book, it’s too long, too modern, too odd, too difficult and it’s all of these things but the only thing it’s too much of is that it’s too good, you’ll get very attached to our pie maker, you’ll want to know what she thinks, you’ll see that it’s not just you, that even when you try to suppress the bad thoughts, or things we don’t want to think about, they always have a way of creeping back in. And you are going to really really want tarte tatin.