A woman can be a picture of peace and inner grief.

She can be a wife, a great and dear mother to many people, yet still hide the heavy shadow of loneliness like a shadow behind every second of her life.

A story intertwined on a bed of stones, what a beautiful and strange story.

The stony notebook of memories, written by Carol Shields, my favorite writer in the field of women's literature, is a narrative of a woman's life that (in my opinion) her life has been more strangely and painfully woven from the threads of events.

A woman who I feel has never reached out to herself, and Desi Goodwill was lost and forgotten in the whirlpool of Mrs. Flett's existence.

My heart wanted someone in the story to take Desi's hand and pull her out of the person she was inside...

Some parts of the book:

"Desi Flett (formerly Goodwill), by accident, carelessly, inattentively, or because of a lack of courage and opportunity, never experienced the excitement and challenge of some things during her long life, things like oil painting, skiing, canoeing, river swimming, using a diamond jewel.......therapy group, massage, stinginess, special respect for the firmness of the mattress, never drove a car, never bought a lottery ticket. On the other hand, no one ever hit her in the face or body, no one ever sighed, and no one ever put their reading glasses on the difference in her head........And although there were people in her life who loved her, but she never heard the sentence "I love you, Desi" (this simple phrase) being spoken."

"Something has become clear to her - something that is very simple, something that she seems to have always known but never put into words. And that is that death occurs at a moment when we are still alive. Life continues until that final dark wall, and one end meets the other. Not even a breath separates them."

"Suddenly her body has become the only thing that matters, and how disappointed she is. And how many years of living in a body that is constantly moving forward, indicating loneliness, and not even when sleeping or when connecting with another body is there any relief from the weight of this body..."

+The story is not sad, it is more beautiful. The writer Carol Shields, with regard to my previous experience of the book "Unless", always has something more to tell about this story.

This is the second book I've read within the last month where the author writes with an obsessive focus on an obese woman. (The first one was Saul Bellow in The Bellarosa Connection.) Bellow and Shields both go on and on, seemingly without end, about just how incredibly enormous their two female characters are. These books were published in 1989 and 1993 respectively, and the characters they are writing about are living in the early or mid-20th century.

As I delved into the descriptions of these supposedly colossal figures, I couldn't help but reflect on the current situation of obesity in America in 2023. And I found myself wondering: just how obese could these fictional women truly be? It seems to me that Bellow and Shields are merely playing in the obesity minor leagues.

Sure enough, when I reached the photo insert of the supposedly massive Mercy Stone following page 176, I saw a woman who was stout and wide-hipped, but probably weighed at most 170 - 180 lbs. (The average American woman weighs 171 lbs.)

Shields' protagonist is Daisy, the daughter of the giantess Mercy Stone. Daisy is as ordinary as can be. However, the way Shields writes about bodies and flesh is lush and opulent. Body parts are described as meat, or fruit, or seafood.

On page 8, we learn that Mercy is so fat that her husband didn't even know she was pregnant, and it's not clear if she did either. But suddenly she feels unwell. Daisy narrates: \\"...my mother's thighs, like soft white meat (veal or chicken or fatty pork come to mind) rub together under her cotton drawers....there are double and triple ruffles of fat around her ankles and wrists, and these ridged extremities are slick with perspiration.\\"

On page 17, Daisy says: \\"My mother, as I have already said, was an extraordinarily obese woman, and, with her jellylike features, she was rather plain... My mother was large-bodied, heavy fleshed.\\"

On page 23, Mercy gives birth to Daisy on her kitchen floor and then dies: \\"...her large soft trunky knees drawn up, and her woman's parts exposed. Like seashells or a kind of squashed fruit.\\" Daisy then narrates the aftermath: \\"...the pulsing, mindless, leaking jelly of my own just-hatched flesh...\\"

The descriptions continue throughout the book, painting a vivid picture of the characters' bodies and the passage of time.

On page 29, we read: \\"...by age ten she was \\"heavy,\\" at twenty she was elephantine...\\"

On page 34, Mercy marries a man who is unmatched in uxoriousness. At work in the quarry, he thinks of nothing but \\"the creases and secrets of her body, her fleshy globes and clefts...\\"

On page 192, Daisy is now (in the 1930s) married to a much older man, the son of the woman who adopted her as an infant. \\"The ramp of her husband's elongated thighs, her own buttocks - like soft fruit spreading out beneath her on the firm mattress....\\" He has an \\"elderly tallow-colored body...\\"

On page 280, now an elderly woman, Daisy wears turquoise pant suits that \\"conceal the fissured broken flesh of her once presentable calves. Her lipsticked mouth - a crimped posy - snaps open, gapes, trembles, and draws tight. Her eyes have sunk into slits of marbled satin.\\" The seagulls on the beach witness her \\"appalling jowls\\" and \\"slack upper arms that jiggle as she walks\\". At night she watches Johnny Carson, \\"baffled by the mean hard outline of his mouth, a mouth that looks as though it were drawn on his face with pen and ink...\\"

On page 305, as decrepit as Daisy is, there's someone even more so. On a visit to the Orkney Islands to find out where Daisy's father-in-law is buried, they discover he's still alive. He's the oldest man in the British Isles: 115 years old. She visits him and describes him as: \\"A tissue of skin. A scaffold of bone; well, more like china than bone.\\" He opens his mouth, \\"which was not a mouth at all but a puckered hole without lips or teeth.\\" His claim to fame is that he has memorized all of Jane Eyre. Out of his puckered hole he ekes a sentence and a half. \\"There was no possibility - he paused here - of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery -\\"

On page 310, we read: \\"An x-ray of her left knee reminds her just how insubstantial she is....an envelope of flesh, glassine.\\" \\"Her ancient feet poking out at the side of the sheet have an oyster-like translucence...\\"

Finally, on page 312, Daisy is getting closer to death. Outside the hospital is the \\"pale concrete Florida architecture, pink, green, lavender, like frosted petits fours shaped by a doughy hand and set out to stiffen and dry.\\"

This detailed exploration of the characters' bodies and the passage of time through Shields' lush and often grotesque descriptions makes for a fascinating and somewhat disturbing read. It forces the reader to confront not only the physicality of the characters but also their mortality and the changing nature of beauty and identity.

Overall, while the focus on obesity and the detailed descriptions of bodies may be off-putting to some, it also adds a layer of depth and complexity to the story that would otherwise be lacking. Shields uses these descriptions to explore themes such as love, marriage, family, and the human condition in a unique and thought-provoking way.

Whether or not one enjoys this style of writing, it's clear that Shields is a talented author who is not afraid to push boundaries and explore the darker aspects of human nature.

So, if you're looking for a book that will make you think and challenge your perceptions, Happenstance might just be the one for you.

Just be prepared for some rather graphic and detailed descriptions of bodies and flesh along the way.

This book presents a profound exploration of the human experience, pitting the incomprehensibility of life against our unquenchable thirst to make sense of it. Shields vividly showcases the various ways in which life is enshrouded in mystery.

She juxtaposes these mysteries with the diverse methods we employ to impose order upon them. However, it becomes evident that the order we create merely skims the surface of the mysteries, failing to penetrate their true depth. For instance, one's genealogy is but a representation of one's heritage, an attempt to order it. Nevertheless, this ordering helps us grapple with the enigma of our origins. Similarly, psychology orders aspects of our mind for study and discussion, enabling us to wrap our thoughts around the astonishing mystery of our own awareness.

Ultimately, Shields reveals that the great mysteries of life elude our complete understanding. Encouragingly, she does identify one area where we seem to find a resolution to this conflict. She posits that if we can discover our singular vocation, an occupation that deeply touches our personal mystery, we can bring that mystery into the order of our daily endeavors.

Aside from this heavy-duty commentary on the human condition, Shields also offers a captivating portrait of the 20th Century in this book. She utilizes the changing position of women in society to illustrate how the century evolved in the West. Her conclusion depicts the modern Western woman as standing alone, like an orphan, without a clear source of support.

I had never before considered the fact that men have millennia of examples of their gender to draw upon for support as they forge ahead into the future, while the modern woman is, in many ways, at the beginning of her journey towards autonomy and thus lacks as many examples for encouragement. This observation by Shields was truly enlightening to me. Her protagonist, though tragically alone, exhibits remarkable bravery in her solitude.

I guess I simply cannot tolerate Pulitzer Prize winning books. Up until now, I haven't come across a single one that I've truly enjoyed. In fact, I was rather disappointed when the author passed away because I couldn't convey to her just how much I disliked this particular book.

I suspect that the shifts from first person to third person were intentional and perhaps meant to be artistic, but to me, it was just plain annoying. I could barely make it through the first chapter as I was completely fed up with the incessant explanations about how the character of Mercy was a large woman. (Seriously, I understand! She's fat! Can we please move on??) The same goes for Barker. (He's so boring! I get it already! Let's move along!) There was also an excessive amount of description when it came to the flowers. It felt like there was way too much filler, and it was a waste of my precious time to read.

And what's with those fake family pictures??? After having to endure a chapter that went into great detail about how morbidly obese Mercy Stone was, I was really angry that the picture provided of Mercy was nowhere near as huge as I had imagined. The woman in the picture was overweight, but not to the degree that I was led to believe by the text. Sorry...I'm not one of those shallow individuals who think being 20 pounds overweight makes someone "obese".

The type of book that others rigorously strive to imitate is truly a remarkable one. It is the elusive "turn of the century All American novel", which offers myriad glimpses into the realm of gorgeous post-millennial metafiction.

"The Stone Diaries"无疑inspired other works of immeasurable brilliance, such as T. C. Boyle's "World's End" and Coetzee's "Elizabeth Costello". It is a novel that is both heartbreaking and endearing, and, most importantly, quite accessible.

Although the Puig-like tricks, that is, the concessions to Latin American literature, are quite distinguishable, they add an interesting layer to the story.

The symbols of marble and hard rock, in contrast to the flimsy flowers and biology, are made eternal in this must-read novel. It serves as a true reminder of the pesky yet overpowering relationship between life and death, or the ethereal and the tangible.

This novel truly astonishes and leaves a lasting impression on the reader. It is a work that demands to be read and re-read, as it reveals new depths and meanings with each encounter.

What a colossal bore this is! It is typically post-modern with its knowing subversions.

Oh, look! There is no plot to speak of. And we are told that we can never really know anybody. (Isn't that a novel insight? Hardly!)

Oh, look again! Here is a character, Daisy, who is supposedly telling her own story in a novel that is mostly written in the third person. Not to mention the present tense! I should be grateful, I suppose, that Shields is at least fond of complete sentences and proper punctuation.

Daisy, our protagonist and putative diarist, might as well not exist. "Her" story barely touches on anything about her own life. Whether it's important or unimportant, we are given nothing to work with.

Why we are supposed to see this as her telling us her own story is completely opaque to me, especially given the predominance of the third person and all the things she could never possibly know. For example, the first 40-odd pages detail her birth to a woman who was ignorant of the fact that she was pregnant and who dies in childbirth.

Daisy constructs her own narrative of her past. How very post-modern of her. The irony of a symbol-laden novel repeatedly showing symbols lost and characters not understanding them is hard to miss as well.

I guess I just don't have much of a taste for post-modern fiction. It seems to me that it sacrifices coherence and meaningfulness for the sake of being "clever" and "subversive."

How many events can a life hold?

What is our life if not moments and events within time?

How different is our life through our own eyes and how different through the eyes of others?

Daisy's life began with pain and loss but developed very differently. She grew up, studied, got married, fell in love, became a mother, a housewife, a worker... She lived a good life.

In the Stone Diaries, then, Carol Shields tells us about life, about motherhood, pain and loss through the various characters that exist in Daisy's life. Each of them shows us something else. With alternations between first-person and third-person narration, she manages to make us know all the characters without getting tired at all.

The life of a woman, of any woman... of every woman...

"People imagine memory as the peaceful delta of a river, as calm waters. But the memories I have of myself are more like a stormy lake. The waves of it fall with force upon what I am now, upon the face I have become. A good and gentle face. A face that thinks of others."

No one on this 19:00 train from London to Edinburgh knows that I'm currently contemplating the entirety of my life right there in carriage B seat 5.

Someone once said that this book is like a sister book to John William's Stoner, and that couldn't be more accurate. However, it's truly more captivating because the main character is a woman. This book beautifully captures the various roles we women play throughout our lives. It shows how we adapt to our surroundings, but also the profound impact we have on the people around us.

At the very core of it all, who are we, separate from how others perceive us and the roles we play for them? Do we even truly belong to ourselves? The final chapter had an especially profound effect on me. On her deathbed, she is a mother, a grandmother, and a collection of grocery lists! Being a woman is truly crazy, and at its heart, it can be so lonely. Now, I find myself scared that I'm going to die alone, but aren't we all? It's a fear shared by many (including me, to be honest) that we are average, ordinary, and unremarkable. But aren't we all?

This is literally an insane book that, in theory, should have been so boring, but was actually incredibly gripping. I'm not sure if it's a lesson, a horror story, or just a true account of an average life. But it has definitely made me want to do more, especially of the things she didn't. The complexity of aging as a woman was also fascinating to read about. How her relationships changed and how people viewed her, which was clearly at odds with who she was. But you never really got to know her because you were reading what everyone else thought.

Anyways, I still have an hour and a half of this train ride left, so I think I'll just stare into space and lose myself in thoughts about Life and Life as A Woman.

I read this book over 20 years ago.

On a scale ranging from A to F, I would unhesitatingly give it an A+++.

What a truly unique book it is!

In the middle of the book, there are photos of the people in the novel, which adds a fascinating dimension to the reading experience.

I loved this book to such an extent that I simply had to obtain the first edition, which is published by Random House of Canada.

There is an inscription on the frontispiece that reads: For Bessie XXXX (I left her last name out): Take a touch of Manitoba back to Australia, Louise.

This inscription gives a sense of the personal connection and the special message that the author intended for the recipient.

Overall, this book holds a special place in my heart and remains one of my all-time favorites.

So boring I thought I might die.

It was such a dull and uneventful day. There was nothing interesting to do, no excitement to be found. I just sat there, feeling completely listless.

The minutes seemed to pass by so slowly, as if time itself had come to a standstill. I tried to find something to occupy my mind, but everything I thought of seemed equally unappealing.

I looked around the room, hoping to find some source of inspiration or entertainment. But all I saw were the same old things, the same familiar surroundings that had become so tiresome.

I let out a long sigh, wondering how much longer this boredom would last. I felt like I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of monotony.

Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, something finally happened to break the boredom. But for now, all I could do was endure the tedium and wait for something better to come along.

I read this book quite some time ago, and I have never been able to come up with an adequate review. It is simply a wonderful piece of literature.

It follows the life of Daisy Stone in exquisite detail through ten chapters: Birth in 1905, Childhood in 1916, Marriage in 1927, Love in 1936, Motherhood in 1947, Work from 1955 to 1964, Sorrow in 1965, Ease in 1977, Illness and Decline in 1985, and finally, Death.

Daisy's life is ordinary, yet it is utterly absorbing. As the years pass, the reader almost feels as if they have slipped inside her skin, sharing her experiences.

The book is filled with quotable lines. For example, "A thought comes into her head: that lately she doesn't ask herself what is possible, but rather what possibilities remain."

Another thought-provoking quote is, "How does a poet know when a poem is ended? Because it lies flat, taut; nothing can be added or subtracted. How does a woman know when a marriage is over? Because of the way her life suddenly shears off in just two directions: past and future."

The author also makes the point that "The larger loneliness of our lives evolves from our unwillingness to spend ourselves, stir ourselves. We are always damping down our inner weather, permitting ourselves the comforts of postponement, of rehearsals."

This book is a must-read for anyone who enjoys a well-written, engaging story that explores the human condition.

The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields is a remarkable literary work that introduces us to the life of Daisy Goodwill, a simple and ordinary woman born in 1905. The book chronicles her life from birth to death, employing a diverse range of forms such as narrative passages, letters, diary entries, and photos. Each chapter is named after the significant events in Daisy's life, providing a structured and engaging framework for the reader.

Daisy is an extremely relatable and genuine character. She experiences the common milestones of life, including marriage, having children, and working. She has an average intellect and ego, and her emotions fluctuate between happiness and sadness. The slow pace of the book emphasizes the ordinariness of her life, yet it also manages to capture the beauty and significance in the everyday. In the end, we are presented with a comprehensive picture of one woman's life, but we also gain valuable insights into gender roles, family, marriage, love, hope, and happiness. Despite the book being dedicated solely to Daisy, it still leaves us with questions, as she remains slightly out of reach. This is a beautiful aspect of the novel, as it reflects the reality that people always have hidden aspects. We can never truly know anyone completely, and it is fascinating to discover this in such an intimate character portrait.