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I liked it. I like John Grisham. I like the way this story moved in a different way-- more slowly, more deeply, more leisurely than his other works. But it still moved, still had his trademark driven story-telling.
It was a very full, rich book. Many strands were woven and unraveled throughout. Some were tied back together, but some weren't. I wanted more when it was over.
SPOILER ALERT:
I have so many questions. What happened to Ricky? What about Libby and the baby? Did Cowboy ever get what was coming to him? Does Tally know that the man she ran off with murdered her brother? Will the Spruills ever know what happened to Hank? What will Gran and Pappy do alone on the farm? Will the Latchers stay and help? How do Luke and his parents fare in Michigan?
When a book ends like that, with so much left unanswered, I always feel strange when I finish the last page. It's hard to describe. Lonely comes close. Sad, certainly.
Why is that? I know it's just a story. These people aren't real. What happened to them next doesn't matter because nothing actually "happened" to them at all. They never existed. So why do I care so much about the unwritten chapters?
I've been talking with my 9th graders about the need humans have for closure. We were reading the Odyssey and talking about Penelope, who had been waiting at home for 20 years for her husband to return. It's been 10 years since the Trojan war ended and every other family has received either their soldier himself or word of his death. We try to imagine what Penelope, waiting, uncertain, must have felt like. Each passing day making her choose between reason and hope. We talked about Odysseus' father's complaints of never having a body returned to him, no physical proof of what he fears must have become of his beloved son.
We talked about if anyone has known someone who went missing and what that's like for a family, to be torn between hope and grief, every day not knowing whether to be waiting or mourning. I asked them which they think would be harder to cope with, a disappearance or a sudden death. There's no way to know, no way to really compare, but the inability to embrace the grieving process, we could all admit, would surely be unbearable and completely debilitating.
I suppose it's that same relationship with closure, although on a microscopic and trivial level, that allows me to sob shamelessly at a tragic ending, close the book, take a deep breath, and go about my business. Yet a story has an ambiguous ending, and it haunts me for days.
Could this be taught to 9th graders? I think so. Mild cursing, but nothing prohibitive. Some iffy parts where 7 year old watches 17 year old girl bathing. (By the way, anyone else think Tally's got some issues? Letting a 7 year old watch her bathe and dragging him along on her exploits... Interesting to compare the way she's presented to the reader through the eyes of the adoring child, but how different would she come across if presented from a peer's perspective?
It was a very full, rich book. Many strands were woven and unraveled throughout. Some were tied back together, but some weren't. I wanted more when it was over.
SPOILER ALERT:
I have so many questions. What happened to Ricky? What about Libby and the baby? Did Cowboy ever get what was coming to him? Does Tally know that the man she ran off with murdered her brother? Will the Spruills ever know what happened to Hank? What will Gran and Pappy do alone on the farm? Will the Latchers stay and help? How do Luke and his parents fare in Michigan?
When a book ends like that, with so much left unanswered, I always feel strange when I finish the last page. It's hard to describe. Lonely comes close. Sad, certainly.
Why is that? I know it's just a story. These people aren't real. What happened to them next doesn't matter because nothing actually "happened" to them at all. They never existed. So why do I care so much about the unwritten chapters?
I've been talking with my 9th graders about the need humans have for closure. We were reading the Odyssey and talking about Penelope, who had been waiting at home for 20 years for her husband to return. It's been 10 years since the Trojan war ended and every other family has received either their soldier himself or word of his death. We try to imagine what Penelope, waiting, uncertain, must have felt like. Each passing day making her choose between reason and hope. We talked about Odysseus' father's complaints of never having a body returned to him, no physical proof of what he fears must have become of his beloved son.
We talked about if anyone has known someone who went missing and what that's like for a family, to be torn between hope and grief, every day not knowing whether to be waiting or mourning. I asked them which they think would be harder to cope with, a disappearance or a sudden death. There's no way to know, no way to really compare, but the inability to embrace the grieving process, we could all admit, would surely be unbearable and completely debilitating.
I suppose it's that same relationship with closure, although on a microscopic and trivial level, that allows me to sob shamelessly at a tragic ending, close the book, take a deep breath, and go about my business. Yet a story has an ambiguous ending, and it haunts me for days.
Could this be taught to 9th graders? I think so. Mild cursing, but nothing prohibitive. Some iffy parts where 7 year old watches 17 year old girl bathing. (By the way, anyone else think Tally's got some issues? Letting a 7 year old watch her bathe and dragging him along on her exploits... Interesting to compare the way she's presented to the reader through the eyes of the adoring child, but how different would she come across if presented from a peer's perspective?