J.K. Rowling's The Casual Vacancy. Little, Brown, 2012.
My first
reaction upon getting "into" this 502-page novel about one
small town in England is awe. Awe. Wonder. Admiration at how much
this writer knows about the inner workings of teenagers -- the
beautiful, the popular, the jocks, the nerds, the abused, the cutters
-- and how she rocks these young people in the ripples caused by the
death of one man in one small pond. Pagford, hours from London,
smaller and more conservative than neighbouring Yarvil, is dominated
by the ruins of an ancient abbey and a fractious parish council. The
death of Councillor Barry Fairbrother leaves "a casual vacancy"
to be filled by an election of someone favouring one of the two camps
-- the Mollison/Pagford complacents or the Fairbrother/Jawanda
hopefuls. And the community is set atwitter by the hacked comments on
the district website whispering, like the ghost of Hamlet's father,
things the listeners in their hearts believe but would really rather
not be forced to admit that they know.
Not to
be a spoiler, but The Casual Vacancy is a sad and depressing
story about culture failure, about conservative vs. social activist
attitudes, punishers vs. empathizers, bullies vs. victims. This novel
makes us think about: the needy and the compassionate. The
finger-pointers and the mirror-avoiders. The relationship between
powerlessness and passive aggression. The gaps between systems and the needs of people. The efficacy of monogamy and the nuclear family. The
difficulty seeing and knowing motivations and intentions,
authenticity and hypocrisy. How many people have to die before
reconciliation is a possibility?
During one of the shudder-inducing scenes -- was it the dinner party from hell or the explosive council meeting? -- I realize that "this is why I choose not to be involved." Guiltily conflict-avoidant. And I am comforted by the memory of wisdom shared by an Elder in a Longhouse ceremony some years ago: "We are all here to help each other through." Words to live by, but not in Pagford.
During one of the shudder-inducing scenes -- was it the dinner party from hell or the explosive council meeting? -- I realize that "this is why I choose not to be involved." Guiltily conflict-avoidant. And I am comforted by the memory of wisdom shared by an Elder in a Longhouse ceremony some years ago: "We are all here to help each other through." Words to live by, but not in Pagford.
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