A Home at the End of the World
-Michael Cunningham, A Home at the End of the World
Michael Cunningham is fast becoming one of my favorite writers. I loved - loved - The Hours. I saw the trailer for A Home at the End of the World and recognized the plot from what I'd read on the back of the book one day in the bookstore. I knew I'd have to read it fast, before I heard anything else about the movie. The movie version of The Hours was incredible - a very good movie, but not quite as good a movie as the book was a book.
Whether the movie of Home brought the book to life or maimed it, I wanted to have read it first. I'm glad I did. What Cunningham does best is describe the small, complicated feelings that drive people, that are too uncertain for most people to share with anyone, that make a person uneasy about herself and her place in the world. There's a scene at the beginning of Home where a young mother, home alone with her son, transplanted from New Orleans to Cleveland, looks out the window, "waiting for a moment when the frozen landscape might resolve itself into something ordinary she could trust as placidly as did the solid, rollicking Ohio mothers who piloted enormous cars loaded with groceries, babies, elderly relations." She asks her five-year-old son what he is thinking. She asks him to tell her a story. She asks him to tell her another, something funny.
Anyway, this book really resonated with me.