Amy Bloom's New Novel

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Over the Thanksgiving weekend, I read Amy Bloom's new novel, Away.

There are times when the reviews or blurbs for a novel can be more elegantly written than the text of the book itself. In this case, Away was described as a "beautiful, effulgent book" (Ron Carlson), "amazingly dense" (Kirkus Reviews), "raunchy, funny, and touching" (Caryl Phillips), "urgent, riveting, fabulously entertaining" (Emma Donoghue), and a "book full of tender wisdom, brawling insight, sharp-edged humor, and--if it's possible--a lovely, wayward precision" (Colum McCann). Christopher Tilghman said that "Amy Bloom's work has always revolved around what love and desire can make us do. In Away, she paints filial love on an immense geographic and historical canvas. The result, a story of loss and survival, is gripping."

I've been a fan of Amy Bloom's work since I read her first short story collection, Come to Me, and I'd been anxiously awaiting the release of Away. Even so, the blurbs were so effusive that I actually felt skeptical before I'd even turned to page 1.

Now, though, I think this is one of those rare instances where the praise seems, if anything, inadequate. The book isn't for everyone--it's rife with coarse language, very dark themes, etc.--but she handles the material deftly.

Anyway, I'm not even going to attempt to spin a poetic web of praise for the novel. Here's what I have to say: I read it feverishly within a span of 24 hours, and now it's several days later, and I'm still thinking about the book. That's about the highest praise I can give.

It may not mean as much out of context, but this quote--about a woman who is physically alive yet emotionally dead, and haunted by memories and thoughts of loved ones who are physically dead--was my favorite from the book:

"But here, in the basement of the Goldfadn [Theatre], among the dead, it doesn't seem to be a question. She can feel them underneath her, pushing at her, pressing at the backs of her knees, lifting her up and out of the grave. Yaakov, closest to the top, straightens her skirt and brushes a last crumbled leaf from her cheek, so she can join the living, not just to do what they do, which even the dead can manage, but to feel what they feel and keep on, which even the living find hard." (quoted from Away by Amy Bloom, page 82 in hardcover)