HOUSEKEEPING in hotel

HOUSEKEEPING is a book that is a joy to read, simply by virtue of the carefully constructed yet flowing language employed by the author. It's a challenge for the reader to pace themselves so as not to pass by any of the innumerable shining passages that lie within. The novel speaks to the heart and soul about the transitory state that our lives exemplify, of our expectations and their consequences on our experiences of life.

There is a history of tragedy -- both real and as perceived by those on the outside -- in the family depicted. The story is told by Ruthie -- she and her sister Lucille (who is younger, but more socially aware and mature) have been orphaned. Their mother has delivered them to the home of their grandmother in the small, remote town of Fingerbone (great name!), then disappeared -- they learn later that she has driven in a friend's car off a cliff into the nearby lake, where their grandfather perished many years before when the train on which he was riding left the bridge and plunged into the icy waters.

Ruthie and Lucille are raised for a time by their grandmother. She is a reserved, slightly distant woman -- but she loves them in her own way, caring for them and seeing to their needs. At the beginning of chapter 2, on p. 29, the girls awaken to find her dead: '...after five years, my grandmother one winter morning eschewed awakening.' Enter their two great aunts, Lily and Nora, who move to Fingerbone from San Francisco (giving up their cherished lifestyle and home, as they remind the girls quite often) in order to care for Ruthie and Lucille. These two are some of the most gently comic characters I have run across in years -- perhaps because they remind me a bit of my own great aunts, with whom I spent a lot of time when I was a child. The conversations between them are priceless -- I actually had tears running down my cheeks from laughing. Lily and Nora don't last long -- they don't die, but they're simply not up to the task of caring for two young girls. The reality of it overwhelms them completely -- they begin to imagine every conceivable scenario of disaster and flee back to the city, having lured the girls' aunt Sylvie to take over for them.

Sylvie is a piece of work -- and her character and influence on the girls is the mighty engine that drives the rest of the story. She has long been separated from the rest of her family, traveling all over the country as a transient, 'riding the rails' from one place to another. She is a brilliantly-drawn character, gentle and thoughtful (if a bit odd -- although I hope for my own sake that trait never becomes a crime...). Neither of the girls not the good people of Fingerbone know quite what to make of her. She definitely has her own ideas about things -- she goes into deep, long silences, almost as if, for her, time doesn't exist. Sylvie begins to fill the house with odd collections of things -- empty tin cans with their labels removed, newspapers and magazines. Leaves begin to pile up in the corners of the room -- a visible reminder of her own ideas about 'the essence of housekeeping'.

Besides being an immensely entertaining story and a literary jewel, the book is a treasure trove of wisdom. It addresses the concept of human need and offers one of the most shining promises of fulfillment and hope that I have seen.

I knew when I picked up this book that it had been made into a film -- I put off watching it until I had read the novel, wanting to experience the richness of the written word first. The film is good, if low-key -- if you haven't seen it, definitely read the book first. This is one of the finest reading experiences I've had in recent years -- I can wholeheartedly recommend it, but PLEASE take your time and savor every word...!