My home is far away
The past is a foreign country...
Dawn Powell, why have I heard that name?
Maybe it is a name like Barbara Pym, or Doris Lessing, or Louise Erdrich, where you know they are a novelist, but you haven't read any of their books. You might be faintly curious, but there are thousands of other novels on your list of books to read, not to mention non-fiction, magazines and the daily paper. So you never get around to it. Until one day, you are looking in the library for something to read and you happen upon Powell. Her books are near next to Richard Powers', whose books you really like (especially Gain and Galatea 2.2) but there are no new Richard Powers books on the shelves, so you pick a Dawn Powell one. It is called My Home is Far Away and it is labelled "an autobiographical novel". A sepia-toned picture of three girls is on the cover and the back states that it is "one of the permanent masterpieces of childhood." so you check it out and go home to read it. Many hours later, but the same day, you finish the book, not having been able to put it down much. And you are glad you browsed the shelves the way you did.
Anyway, I encourage everyone to read this book. I an now on a quest to read her other novels, her letters, and her published diaries.
She was born in 1897 in Ohio (biographical information from the Dawn Powell web site here), the middle of three girls. Her mother died when she was young and after a few years her father remarried. Her new stepmother was so awful that all three sisters ended up running away from home to escape, Dawn ran away to her aunt's when she was only 13. After college, she moved to New York, got married and had a child. She wrote a number of novels, some rural novels of life in Ohio, and some witty urbane novels about life in New York City. My Home is Far Away is certainly one in the former category.
Maybe knowing it was autobiographical gave it an extra poignancy, thinking gosh, this really happened to these girls. They were pretty much ignored for five years between the death of their mother and the remarriage, and during this time were passed around to different relatives, none of whom really made them a priority. Then, when they were reunited with their father and his new wife, they were treated horribly. I can't remember the last time I cried when I read a novel, but this book really gripped me. There were a few parts where the descriptions dragged a little, but overall it was a very good book to read.
I was impressed by the details of every day life. Back when people only had one suit per season, lived in boarding houses, got consumption, and died from botched abortions. Back when you could take a streetcar ten miles to the next town (who knew?), or have a supper of bread and milk, run a millinery shop, live in a hotel, or get excited by your one birthday present, which was a pair of underwear. It was only the beginning of the last century, but it may have just as well been ancient Rome for all the similarities their lives had to ours.
I also noticed that crochet was mentioned at least five times in the book, describing some decorating detail, someone's purse, or the fact that the youngest daughter got taught how to crochet by a nice neighbor. Knitting was not mentioned at all, not was quilting.
Highly recommended.
Dawn Powell, why have I heard that name?
Maybe it is a name like Barbara Pym, or Doris Lessing, or Louise Erdrich, where you know they are a novelist, but you haven't read any of their books. You might be faintly curious, but there are thousands of other novels on your list of books to read, not to mention non-fiction, magazines and the daily paper. So you never get around to it. Until one day, you are looking in the library for something to read and you happen upon Powell. Her books are near next to Richard Powers', whose books you really like (especially Gain and Galatea 2.2) but there are no new Richard Powers books on the shelves, so you pick a Dawn Powell one. It is called My Home is Far Away and it is labelled "an autobiographical novel". A sepia-toned picture of three girls is on the cover and the back states that it is "one of the permanent masterpieces of childhood." so you check it out and go home to read it. Many hours later, but the same day, you finish the book, not having been able to put it down much. And you are glad you browsed the shelves the way you did.
Anyway, I encourage everyone to read this book. I an now on a quest to read her other novels, her letters, and her published diaries.
She was born in 1897 in Ohio (biographical information from the Dawn Powell web site here), the middle of three girls. Her mother died when she was young and after a few years her father remarried. Her new stepmother was so awful that all three sisters ended up running away from home to escape, Dawn ran away to her aunt's when she was only 13. After college, she moved to New York, got married and had a child. She wrote a number of novels, some rural novels of life in Ohio, and some witty urbane novels about life in New York City. My Home is Far Away is certainly one in the former category.
Maybe knowing it was autobiographical gave it an extra poignancy, thinking gosh, this really happened to these girls. They were pretty much ignored for five years between the death of their mother and the remarriage, and during this time were passed around to different relatives, none of whom really made them a priority. Then, when they were reunited with their father and his new wife, they were treated horribly. I can't remember the last time I cried when I read a novel, but this book really gripped me. There were a few parts where the descriptions dragged a little, but overall it was a very good book to read.
I was impressed by the details of every day life. Back when people only had one suit per season, lived in boarding houses, got consumption, and died from botched abortions. Back when you could take a streetcar ten miles to the next town (who knew?), or have a supper of bread and milk, run a millinery shop, live in a hotel, or get excited by your one birthday present, which was a pair of underwear. It was only the beginning of the last century, but it may have just as well been ancient Rome for all the similarities their lives had to ours.
I also noticed that crochet was mentioned at least five times in the book, describing some decorating detail, someone's purse, or the fact that the youngest daughter got taught how to crochet by a nice neighbor. Knitting was not mentioned at all, not was quilting.
Highly recommended.
posted by Shelly at 5:15 PM
1 Comments:
Sigh. Something else to add to my "to do" list.
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