She handed the open tube across the cello.What do I do with this? I asked.
You write your name.
You’re being dramatic.
Am I? she asked.
The name of the lipstick was Japanese Maple. Against her pale skin, the letters looked lurid and blotchy.
The Japanese maple on our roof was slightly more purple than the lipstick. Its leaves in fall the color “of bruises” Ana once said. She would have looked good wearing that pigment. I held the glistening tube in my hand, not knowing what to write or where. I wanted to write Ana’s name, or both our names, as though we were a piece of luggage that, lost, would find its way back to the loft. So I put our address down, taking care with each number, each letter: 150 First Avenue; and then I showed my arm to the cellist, and she said: Your name. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to write it down.
Recommended by: A Reader’s Journal
Basically I chose to read Birds in Fall because I’ve been rereading a bunch of old books lately, and I thought, You know, I have this massive long list of books to read that I’ve been at some pains to compile, and here I am doing nothing but reading stuff I’ve read before a million times. So I glanced at my List, picked a few things at random, and checked them out of the library; and then I read this one first because it has a pretty cover.
Birds in Fall is about a plane that crashes off the coast of Nova Scotia. The families of the people who died come to the wee island where it crashed, and they all stay in the little inn together while they are waiting for news. I thought it was going to be extremely depressing. If it hadn’t had postage stamp birds on the cover, I might never have read it and devoted my time entirely to the watching of Angel until my eyeballs fell out. (He hit Buffy in the face.)
However, there were postage stamp birds on the cover, and for the first two-thirds I enjoyed this book tremendously. It was – and you’ll have to excuse the adjectives and be aware that I hate myself a little bit for using them – haunting and elegiac. The whole thing of becoming a community on the basis of their mutual loss worked very well, and Mr. Kessler created the mood quite perfectly, the boredom and the grieving more or less put on hold until bodies could be found. Excellent.
Then around chapter nineteen or twenty, everything went to hell. Well, not to hell, but the book experienced a sudden drastic drop-off in interestingness. Everyone went home and I got bored and kept wanting to skim, and I read the end like five times, but it didn’t help because the end wasn’t that interesting either. Everyone went home. I didn’t even care about Ana getting closure, and previously I’d been unable to put the book down, I was so involved in whether Ana (and everyone) got closure. So humph. I was all set to recommend this book to my mother and put a lot of energy into persuading her to read it, and then it got less interesting and saved me the trouble.
Still, it’s worth reading, and I can see reading it again. For one thing, the drop-off in interesting was so drastic and sudden that I have some concerns that I, not it, might be the issue. Perchance I just suddenly became not in the mood for this book, and in fact it didn’t change at all. So I’ll probably read it again sometime, to see if that’s the problem. I can see that being the problem; the more I think about it, the more likely it seems.
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