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A review by alailiander
Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellmann
4.0
The fact that the first thing I did after finishing this book was stare at the words ‘The End’ for 5 stunned seconds, the fact that the second thing I did was go back to the beginning and remind myself if it started with a capital letter or with ‘the fact that…’, the fact that reading stream-of-consciousness writing is exhausting – you don’t know when to blink – when to breathe, break, I mean, the fact that I’ve never read anything like this before and I can’t imagine I’m likely to again, the fact that I’m glad I kept going though, the fact is it wasn’t easy.
Yeah, no, I’m not doing that. I know, a bit pander-y really.
... the fact that we like Julie & Julia, only we just hate the Julie bits, the fact that why couldn’t they have just made a movie about Julia Child,
Ducks, Newburyport is a pretty incredible book. The form is bonkers, the story… I didn’t see it coming, but man it went some great places and at least one place so bonkers that I actually LOL-ed. At the same time, this is a work of staggering, decimating, heartbreaking social and political truths that are heavier (for that matter, so is the book for that matter – you try holding the behemoth tomb up to read for two hours straight, go ahead, I dare ya! than I thought I could bear. About 5 times per page. For 1,000 pages. It is just so much book, literally and metaphorically. I’ve never read a book that so zealously tested my mental and emotional stamina. The dense form of the prose and the general lack of context are mentally exhausting, and the near laundry lists of terrible crimes that happen daily across the US. How do we carry on when there is so much of that and so little of the good stuff some days?
... the fact that I don’t remember much, and everything I do remember makes me sad,
I went into this one excited by the challenge (such hubris, my friends) and was pretty into it – it felt so true: the culture, most of the references (and you could easily chalk the rest up to age, upbringing, and regional variation), but then I heard the author is British. I struggled with that. What had felt like commiseration suddenly felt like judgement. And, what tiny shred of national pride or something that still flickers inside me just wanted to fight back. “Oh yeah, tell me about racism. How’s your Brexit going?” It was kneejerk, and it isn’t really how I approach fiction – it isn’t true that you can only write what you know. But, this is home and this is politics and no matter how constantly frustrated I am by America right now, it is still hard to hear it disparaged by someone without that same stake in it. [Not that it actually matters: but I did go on and read more about her specific relationship to the US and it helped me read her writing this book as coming from a personal investment in the subject matter, and that was really helpful for me in carrying on with it.]
… the fact that if we all blow ourselves to smithereens, at least Pepito has existed, and that is good, the fact that it’s just plain good he was in the world,
There are many subjects covered here, and none answered, which I suppose is truer than the alternative. And, may I just say.
I didn’t know how much it would be about motherhood, particularly the mother–daughter relationship, and I really enjoyed that journey. Especially alongside that of the lioness.
... the fact that I'd really like to be reading Persuasion right now instead of latticing pies, the fact that I never seem to get past Anne’s first reunion with Captain Wentworth lately, because Jake interrupts, the fact that all the older kids were the same, the fact that I have to hide out like Anne Frank almost, to read anything, the fact that I should have a little closet to go to, with a chair, a lamp, and a lock on the door, the fact that I guess it’s called a bathroom,
My one complaint – and I will die on this hill – is this: It is just so completely implausibly impossible that this woman has 4 four youngish children and never once had a recent animated Disney movie song lyric pass through her brain. No. I imagine that Ellman and Galley Beggar just didn’t want to pay a crapola ton of money to Disney, and yeah, I get that – but this is just so unbelievable that it actually pains me.
Yeah, no, I’m not doing that. I know, a bit pander-y really.
... the fact that we like Julie & Julia, only we just hate the Julie bits, the fact that why couldn’t they have just made a movie about Julia Child,
Ducks, Newburyport is a pretty incredible book. The form is bonkers, the story… I didn’t see it coming, but man it went some great places and at least one place so bonkers that I actually LOL-ed. At the same time, this is a work of staggering, decimating, heartbreaking social and political truths that are heavier (for that matter, so is the book for that matter – you try holding the behemoth tomb up to read for two hours straight, go ahead, I dare ya! than I thought I could bear. About 5 times per page. For 1,000 pages. It is just so much book, literally and metaphorically. I’ve never read a book that so zealously tested my mental and emotional stamina. The dense form of the prose and the general lack of context are mentally exhausting, and the near laundry lists of terrible crimes that happen daily across the US. How do we carry on when there is so much of that and so little of the good stuff some days?
... the fact that I don’t remember much, and everything I do remember makes me sad,
I went into this one excited by the challenge (such hubris, my friends) and was pretty into it – it felt so true: the culture, most of the references (and you could easily chalk the rest up to age, upbringing, and regional variation), but then I heard the author is British. I struggled with that. What had felt like commiseration suddenly felt like judgement. And, what tiny shred of national pride or something that still flickers inside me just wanted to fight back. “Oh yeah, tell me about racism. How’s your Brexit going?” It was kneejerk, and it isn’t really how I approach fiction – it isn’t true that you can only write what you know. But, this is home and this is politics and no matter how constantly frustrated I am by America right now, it is still hard to hear it disparaged by someone without that same stake in it. [Not that it actually matters: but I did go on and read more about her specific relationship to the US and it helped me read her writing this book as coming from a personal investment in the subject matter, and that was really helpful for me in carrying on with it.]
… the fact that if we all blow ourselves to smithereens, at least Pepito has existed, and that is good, the fact that it’s just plain good he was in the world,
There are many subjects covered here, and none answered, which I suppose is truer than the alternative. And, may I just say
Spoiler
Lucy Ellmann, when you took those cubs away from the lioness I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forgive you because those interjections were the only relief from anything in this book, and I really wanted to give up on it then. It was all too much. But, now, I take it back, and thank you for that whole storyline. It was so worth it. Every minute. Even the awful onesI didn’t know how much it would be about motherhood, particularly the mother–daughter relationship, and I really enjoyed that journey. Especially alongside that of the lioness.
... the fact that I'd really like to be reading Persuasion right now instead of latticing pies, the fact that I never seem to get past Anne’s first reunion with Captain Wentworth lately, because Jake interrupts, the fact that all the older kids were the same, the fact that I have to hide out like Anne Frank almost, to read anything, the fact that I should have a little closet to go to, with a chair, a lamp, and a lock on the door, the fact that I guess it’s called a bathroom,
My one complaint – and I will die on this hill – is this: It is just so completely implausibly impossible that this woman has 4 four youngish children and never once had a recent animated Disney movie song lyric pass through her brain. No. I imagine that Ellman and Galley Beggar just didn’t want to pay a crapola ton of money to Disney, and yeah, I get that – but this is just so unbelievable that it actually pains me.