Decided
to read
this as
a follow up to watching Gale's
“the Man
in the Orange Shirt”.
While
it was an enjoyable read, I
had this strong sense of deja
vu reading
this book – I am not sure why this was.
Maybe
I have read it before, but if I had my recall was not that strong,
and it
must have been before I started to blog about books.
Maybe
it was something about the authenticity of the characters…
…or
maybe, just maybe, this was actually fairly generic writing filled
with standard tropes played together in the guise of creativity? The
maverick artist mother, the strong and silence father, 3 children –
one a big shot in London, one loyal and close to home, one off the
map altogether.
I
feel bad if
offering that last possible conclusion seems
to rip into the book – I enjoyed it, the ebb and flow of their
lives were believable and engaging. The picture of Quaker life and
worship was deeply appealing. But somehow it never surprised me, and
never
really
moved me
beyond the
safe space
of the
observer.
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