Este é o relato de alguns dos anos da vida de Quoyle, nascido em Brooklyn e criado numa série de enfadonhas cidades no Norte do estado de Nova Iorque.
Pele manchada de urticária, entranhas revolvidas por gases e cãibras, sobreviveu à infância. Na universidade pública, mão presa sobre o queixo, camuflou a angústia com sorrisos e silêncio. Foi tropeçando pelos vinte anos, trinta, aprendendo a separar os sentimentos que tinha da vida que levava, contentando-se com o nada.

The Shipping News, ao contrário daquilo que as sinopses, avaliações e parágrafos de abertura nos possam fazer prever, não é um romance sobre um homem falhado chamado Quoyle que, depois de enviuvar de uma mulher infiel, em mãos com duas filhas pequenas, parte em busca de uma nova vida na longínqua Terra Nova. Ou melhor, The Shipping News não é só um romance sobre um homem falhado chamado Quoyle que, depois de enviuvar de uma mulher infiel, em mãos com duas filhas pequenas, parte em busca de uma nova vida na longínqua Terra Nova: o nervo central do romance é precisamente essa Terra Nova inóspita, inclemente, dura, fria e mística que acolhe um pai e duas filhas no seu seio - e a forma como Proulx faz desta terra a personagem principal do seu romance é magistral:

Inda há poucos anos, primeira semana de Dezembro, tivemos ventos de uivar, vagas de dez metros a esbarrar na costa, parecia que o fundo do mar 'tava a vir ao de cima. Havias de ter visto o Billy lá sentado no canto dele a tremer, gelado do frio. E depois, uma semana ou duas mais tarde, a chuva mais cerrada que alguém já viu. Cheias e destruição. A barragem do Perdido rebentou. Nem sei quantos milhões de dólares de prejuízo fez. As tempestades de Dezembro são as mais matreiras, inconstantes e cruéis. A gente pode passar da brisa quente para a tempestade polar em dez minutos...

Terra Nova, terreno agreste, acolhe Quoyle um falhanço como solitário, [que] ardia por ser social, por saber que a sua companhia era um prazer para os outros, personagem algo repelente, apaixonado por uma mulher desprezível a quem, de alguma maneira, Terra Nova vai ser capaz de transformar num homem novo, atuando como âncora de um amadurecimento tardio (tão tardio que Quoyle está quase na meia idade) em que se confundem a descoberta do amor, da paternidade, do sentido de família e pertença, a conciliação entre o passado nostálgico e o futuro incerto numa ilha que está inscrita no sangue de antepassados resilientes:

(...)não te estou a dizer que a vida(...) qu'era fácil. Fáceis é que as coisas nunca foram(...), mas tinham as vacas, um pouco de feno, as framboesas, o peixe, as hortas de batatas, e no Verão, compravam farinha e toucinho ao mercador em Unha-de-Fateixa, e se era tempo de vacas magras, partilhavam tudo, ajudavam os vizinhos. É verdade que não tinham dinheiro pra nada, e o mar era perigoso e morriam homens, mas era uma vida que tinha as suas satisfações, alegrias que a gente de hoje já não compreende. Havia uma juntura das vidas, de toda a gente a trabalhar junta, e às vezes era suave, outras tinha lá os seus altos e baixos, mas as pessoas viviam todas por junto. O trabalho que se fazia e a vida que se levava eram a mesma coisa, não eram separadas como hoje em dia.

Em The Shipping News, a natureza é esta figura incontestada capaz de criar e destruir com igual propriedade, sem clemência perante forte ou fraco, o que traz uma certa justiça cega, mas poética, à vida de Quoyle:

A vida não se faz sem dor nem perda(...)se não souberem o que é a morte, como podem compreender a parte profunda da vida? As estações, a natureza, a criação...

Aceitar a lei natural, que se impõe acima da lei do homem, aceitar que a vida é tudo aquilo que foge do nosso controlo tanto como é aquilo que controlamos, reconhecer a força dos elementos acima de qualquer outra coisa, tomada de consciência que poderia e deveria atormentar qualquer um de nós, será para Quoyle uma epifania mais do que urgente:

Vocês sabem todos que a gente so cá está de passagem. Só andamos sobre estas pedras umas poucas de vezes, os nossos barcos a flutuar uma nica e depois têm de ir ao fundo. A água é uma flor escura e um pescador é uma abelha no coração dela.

No entanto, apesar da agressividade da paisagem, da inclemência dos elementos e da dureza dos homens, a forma como Proulx cria conforto a partir de um mundo caótico, perigoso e solitário atua como o cenário perfeito para o amadurecimento de Quoyle, permite criar uma história apaixonante e coerente em que a ligação à natureza, aos instintos primordiais, a terra, água, fogo e ar são peças centrais de uma redenção que muitos procuram, mas muito poucos encontram.

No fim de tudo, apenas fiquei de pé atrás com as opções de pontuação (muito estranhas!) desta edição. Pelo que sei, Proulx é conhecida por usar de uma linguagem muito própria, mas não consegui perceber se isso chegava a tanto como aquilo que nos é oferecido pela tradução. Apesar de não ofuscar a obra, é desconfortável ter de reconhecer que há problemas a resolver (nesta ou na edição original) poi, por muito inovador que seja o estilo de um autor, há certas coisas que simplesmente não funcionam (ex. Serviu mais uma chávena de chá preto a Quoyle. Cuja língua estava áspera como a de um gato.).

n  «All’orizzonte gli iceberg sembravano prigioni bianche. Il mare un’immensa distesa di stoffa azzurra sgualcita.»n
«Giovane cronista lascia il nostro giornale e approda al Gammy Bird di Flour Sack Cove sull’isola di Terranova» (Mockingburg Record: DERUBATI DEL MIGLIOR CRONISTA).
Quoyle, apprendista giornalista, dopo varie vicissitudini, lascia la cittadina di Mockingburg, nello stato di New York e si trasferisce sull’isola di Terranova, da cui proviene la sua famiglia.
Lo accompagneranno in questo suo ritorno a casa, le figliolette Bunny e Sunshine e la frizzante zia Agnis.
«Come sapete, su questa terra noi siamo solo di passaggio. Percorriamo questi sentieri per un numero limitato di volte, le nostre barche navigano per un po’, ma sono destinate prima o poi ad affondare. ll mare è un fiore nero, e il pescatore è un’ape nel suo cuore. »
Non saprei spiegarne bene il motivo, sarà per le ambientazioni nordiche, per il rapporto con il mare dei personaggi, per l’essenzialità della narrazione, ma più volte sono andato col pensiero alla trilogia di Stefánsson.
Tanto freddo e tanto ghiaccio, ma la scrittura di Annie mi ha scaldato il cuore.
«Vecchio Mago ringrazia amici e amiche per il consiglio» (La Gazzetta del Profeta: ANNIE PROULX AD HOGWARTS: UNA SCRITTURA CHE ... RESUSCITA!).

The style took much getting used to because Proulx drops pronouns and verbs as it suits her and I swear must have made up some of these adjectives (ruvid, peckled, etc.). Her choppy sentences are sometimes appealingly blunt with memorable vocabulary, but might have more impact if interspersed with standard prose. (Sample: “Wondered which had changed the most, place or self? It was a strong place. She shuddered. It would be better now. Leaned on the rail, looking into the dark Atlantic that snuffled at the slope of the past.”)

The Dickensian characters are grotesques with ridiculous names (Petal Bear, Diddy Shovel, Bayonet Melville) and backgrounds. Quirky small-town folks doing quirky things … I can tolerate this for a while so long as there’s a plot and a plausible main character to care about. But Quoyle is such a sad sack and all the maritime Newfoundland detail failed to engage me. I did like his aunt, Agnis Hamm, a no-nonsense woman who runs her own upholstery business and named her old dog after her dead female lover.

I read the first 55 pages and skimmed to p. 179, but ultimately admitted defeat to my book club. If this is true to Proulx’s style in general, I won’t read her again. A shame, as this initially gave me John Irving and Howard Norman vibes.

"Here is an account of Quoyle, born in Brooklyn and raised in a shuffle of dreary upstate towns." A great, huge, unloved lump of a man in his late thirties, uncomfortable in his own skin, a failure at most things he's attempted in life, recently made a widower by a car accident that claimed the life of his unfaithful wife, leaving him with two young daughters to raise. And to add insult to injury, he's just lost his 'on again/off again' job at the newspaper as well.
His aunt, Agnis Hamm, comes to help out and suggests that he make a clean break of things and start over--by moving with her and the kids to Newfoundland, to live in the old ancestral home out on Quoyle's Point. The house has been standing empty for the past forty years but maybe it is still habitable, and luckily, there's a job available at the weekly newspaper, writing a column on the shipping news. It's "A watery place. And Quoyle feared water, could not swim." But in the end, he is desperate enough to give it a try.
Newfoundland is a harsh but beautiful island where the weather can change in an instant, the sea waiting to claim the life of the unwary or unlucky. The land, the weather, the sea are as much characters in the story as the local people who are eccentric, tough, weather-beaten, hard-working, and resilient but also accepting, friendly and willing to help.
The tale of the family's adventures kept me riveted. There is even a little touch of the gothic: hints of a dark past and crazy relatives, strange weavings left on doorsteps, lights briefly glimpsed in the dead of night. And maybe Quoyle doesn't really know his aunt all that well. But there's also a great deal of laugh-out-loud humor in this story--the kind that makes you want to share with another by reading aloud.
Proulx's writing style is quirky--often using short, choppy, fragments of sentences; i.e: in describing Quoyle, "Features as bunched as kissed fingertips. Eyes the color of plastic. The monstrous chin, a freakish shelf jutting from the lower face." It's one of the first things I noticed about her writing style and quite liked.
This book is one of the best I've read this year. I'm only sorry it took me so long to discover it but I'm a firm believer in the belief that books come to you at the right moment, when you can fully appreciate them. I urge you to read this one soon!

This is by E. Annie Proulx, so all the characters are named things like "Tobogganlips McCupboardcake" and everyone endures a series of darkly humorous, preciously rendered misfortunes. Though the movie was nothing to write home about either, I actually liked it better than the book, for the enjoyable scenery, half-decent performances, and dearth of skull-shatteringly dippy prose.

It's not like it's the worst thing I've ever read, and I never entertained the thought of quitting mid-book with any real seriousness. I did, however, do a lot of groaning and eye-rolling, both favorite pastimes of mine so in the end it wasn't a total loss.

I chose this book because it won a Pulitzer Prize. I found it to be somewhat depressing. What I enjoyed about it was how Annie Proulx made me see Newfoundland and the fishing industry thorough her vivid description. I also enjoyed the way Quoyle found himself and became a real journalist once he returned to his roots.

This book is so unlike the majority of books that I read that it came as a pleasnt surprise.

I really,really like Margaret Atwood and found more than a passing resembalence to her work in Proulx's writing style.

It came in the form of the vivid descriptions, inward looking/intense characterisations, introspective human feeling and everyday circumstances of highs/lows - despair/elation - the whole gamut of human emotion. This and the Canadian link, of course...

I have never seen the movie [I'm told that it's simply ok... nothing special], but had always intended to read this Pulitzer Prize winning novel - I am so pleased that I have made the time now and I am disappointed that I did not do so sooner. This, I am sure, will be a future feature on my multiple re-reads shelf.

Quoyle, Bunny, Sunshine, Petal, Agnis Hamm, Tert Card, Wavey Prowse, The Gammy Bird, No Name Cove, Beaufield Nutbeem, Jack Buggitt, Billy Pretty, Bayonet Melville, Grace Moosup and Mavis Bangs... these names alone conjour images of another world... a world of poetry, romanticism and imagination - the names are almost classic-cartoon in their meatiness.

Proulx carried me off to Newfoundland... I felt the isolation, I experienced the cold... I understood the emotions. It was all so skilful and beautifully written - it had me hooked - and it never let go for one second.

It was the description of Quoyle as a coil of rope which was followed with a quote from The Ashley Book of Knots saying
"A Flemish flake is a spiral coil of one layer only. It is made on deck, so that it may be walked on if necessary." that alerted me that this was something more than just another story.... it was something a lot more than that... it was several layers of many different stories.

There is no major plot in this book - it is forced along by the scenery, the seasons and the stunning-vivid characters and their extraordinary lives.

The ever-present one-line newspaper headline exclamations of Quoyle present us with excellent thought-gaps... apart from all else they are amusing too. "Newspaper reporter seems magnet for dead men!" epitomises the use of these and intonates the lack of seriousness with which Quoyle views himself and reflects how he views his life as a third-rate headline writer.

Your bookshleves are, believe me, incomplete without the inclusion of this book. I borrowed this copy from my local library but I am purchasing a copy tomorrow.... bravo... bravo.

A short time to get used to the unusual, staccato writing style, but then BAM took the bait and I was hooked but good.If you love words and language you must read this book. If you appreciate fully fleshed characters you'll come to know and care about, read this book. If you want to be transported to a new place, the isolated coast of Newfoundland, read this... well you get the idea. I've had this in my TBR list a while now, and think I was somewhat put off my the title. A well deserved Pulitzer Prize winner.

Update: Saw the motion picture with the stunning performance by Kevin Spacey-how did he get passed up for an Oscar nomination? Atmospheric Newfoundland captured and I actually liked some changes better than the book. Loved it

A novel that stands as a beacon of skillful storytelling, rich with complex characters and an atmosphere that captures the reader with an almost tangible sense of place. Awarding it a well-deserved 4-star rating acknowledges the book’s capacity to provide a deeply immersive reading experience, while still allowing room for the subtle imperfections that might hold some readers at bay.

Proulx’s narrative takes us to the stark and wind-swept coastline of Newfoundland, where the protagonist Quoyle, a down-and-out newspaperman, seeks refuge from his tumultuous past. The novel's power lies in its ability to weave together the harshness of the landscape with the resilience of the human spirit. Quoyle's transformation from a beleaguered soul to one who begins to find a semblance of purpose and belonging is rendered with exquisite detail and emotional depth.

The prose in "The Shipping News" is both rugged and beautiful, much like the Newfoundland setting itself. Proulx employs a terse, economical style that suits the environment of the novel perfectly. Her descriptions of the sea, the sky, and the rocky shores are vivid and evocative, often serving as a mirror to Quoyle's inner life. The authenticity of the setting is irrefutable, a character in its own right, impacting the lives of all who inhabit its pages.

The supporting cast of characters is just as richly drawn, from the tough and enigmatic Wavey to the array of townsfolk whose lives intersect with Quoyle’s in ways both significant and mundane. Proulx shows a masterful hand in creating a community that feels both real and symbolic, with each character adding to the novel's tapestry of redemption, identity, and belonging.

However, the reason "The Shipping News" might not resonate as a perfect read for all, hence the 4-star rating, can be attributed to the very qualities that make it stand out. The novel’s pace is deliberate and contemplative, which, while allowing for a deep dive into the text's richness, might not appeal to those who favor a more straightforward narrative thrust. The complexity of its structure, which includes flashbacks and vignettes, is ingeniously crafted but can sometimes become labyrinthine, demanding a level of engagement that not every reader is looking for.

Furthermore, the use of vernacular language and maritime jargon, while lending authenticity, might pose a barrier for some, requiring a patient and attentive reader to fully appreciate the nuances of the text.

In sum, "The Shipping News" is a poignant, intricate novel that offers a journey worth taking, rich with the flavors of life’s bleakness and beauty. The 4-star rating honors Annie Proulx’s exceptional craft, her profound understanding of humanity, and her ability to articulate the landscapes—both external and internal—that shape us. It's a novel that lingers, like the sea air, long after the last page is turned.

WRAPPING IT UP ON MY PATREON!

Metaphors are one of the ways I judge an author's writing. Annie E. Proulx has some of the worst metaphors I've ever read - and so many of them. They are ridiculous, outré, and, crucially, bear bugger-all relevance to the thing they're about. For example: The ocean twitched like a vast cloth covering snakes. It's so distracting. Why are you making me think about cloth and snakes? This is the freezing cold North Atlantic FFS. How much too-hard can you try?

That sort of rubbish, added to an intentionally dull protagonist who wasn't made interesting by the writing, deserves less than three stars. But a good number of more interesting characters sprung up when the action reached Newfoundland, and it almost turned into the sort of middlebrowish, darkly cosy, semi-comic novel set in a cold place that I wanted to read in winter. However, I really shouldn't have waited so long to read this (I nearly did when it was all buzzy back in the 90s); that was way more buildup than it deserved. I won't be bothering with Proulx again.

Quoyle
A coil of rope

A Flemish flake is a spiral coil of one layer only.
It is made on deck, so that it may be
Walked on, if necessary.

THE ASHLEY BOOK OF KNOTS

Much like that coil of rope, our protagonist, Quoyle, has also been stepped on all his life. A great damp loaf of a body. At six he weighed eighty pounds. At sixteen he was buried under a casement of flesh. Head shaped like a crenshaw, no neck, reddish hair ruched back. Features as bunched as kissed fingertips. Eyes the color of plastic. The monstrous chin, a freakish shelf, jutting from the lower face. He stumbles into the newspaper business through a friend he meets one night in a laundromat in Mockingburg, New York. He is not very good at it. He also meets Petal Bear, a small woman he yearns for, they share a month of happiness , followed by six years of misery, two children and a multitude of scars, seared into his flesh from her indiscreet, two timing ways. Petal Bear does not value Quoyle or his children. Alone, without work, without a wife, on the heels of his father’s death, he decides to gather his children and follow his Aunt Agnis to his ancestral home on Newfoundland’s stark and majestic coast.

It is there, working for The Gammy Bird, a small newspaper, covering the shipping news, that Quoyle battles his inner demons and struggles to build a new life for himself and his daughters. But Quoyle is a man defeated, a man with no love of self. He even considers himself as a headline for one of his stories. Stupid Man Does Wrong Thing Once More. I wanted so badly for Quoyle to find some gumption, to love himself just a little. When an oil tanker docks a Killick-Claw, Quoyle writes an article about it. Before release, the entire tone of his article is rewritten by the managing editor, only this time Quoyle is incensed. “This is a column”, bellowed Quoyle. “You can’t change somebody’s column, for Christ’s sake, because you don’t like it! Jack asked me to write a column about boats and shipping. That means my opinion and description as I see it. This” – he shook the paper against the slab cheeks –“isn’t what I wrote, isn’t my opinion, isn’t what I see.” At last! I was so overcome with sheer joy that I leapt out of my deckchair, threw my arms in the air and let loose a resounding “YES”! (okay so my neighbours may think I am a little hinky)

This is a great story, with a cast of truly colourful characters but if you will bear with me for just a moment, I would like to talk about what this book, wrong or right, said to me.

You cannot leave your past behind, no matter where you travel, there too, it is.

Everyone is worthy, not all heroes are tall, dark, handsome, beautiful, sexy, confident or comfortable in their own skin.

You cannot run, but you can dig deep and you can find a new hope, a new joy in life.

Family is defined not only by blood but also by bond, by those who are there, in the dark and the light.

These homes of love we build, house many rooms, sanded and painted in the shades and colours of our life, furnished with those moments that, however inconsequential they may seem to others, have in fact, defined us.

Cover beauty is coveted and exploited; provides keys to all the right doors, but it is our inner selves, our own moral code that is the true compass to the coveted life of beauty, peace, happiness and love.


I am not going to lie. I love the fact that this story unfolds on the stark and beautiful, majestic coast of Newfoundland, a province in the land I call my own.

Very rarely do I change a rating on a book once I have set it, but in this case, how can I not. Trust me, this story is worthy of every one of those five stars.

Finally I would like to thank Steve who wrote an incredible, heartfelt review of this work that put it on my radar.